Page 100 of Ablaze

“Are you sure you really want to come back?”

I nod. “One hundred percent. Betty and Samantha are doing great running it on their own, but Betty’s getting older. She hasn’t been in the same health as before.” I smile. “Both her and Samantha will be happy to know I’m coming back.”

Dean’s smile lifts before it drops completely and his eyes narrow, like he just remembered something he didn’t want to. A vein pulses in his temple. “And what about your boss?” he grinds out. “What will he have to say?”

I grin, pinching his nipple and hoping to make him flinch, but he doesn’t move even slightly. “Sparky, do you think I’d let you be inside of me for the past, oh,” I look over at the clock on the wall, “three hours, if anyone else was even a consideration in my life?”

That seems to stop his caveman nostril-flaring before his eyes turn dark again. “Turn around and get on your knees. With all those dog names you’re always calling me, at least let me live up to them for the next three.”

Chapter Thirty

MALA

Two Months Later

Isn’t it funny how a certain sound or smell can take you back in time or soothe you the same way a bowl of chicken soup can when you’re sick or a warm blanket does when you’re cold?

It’s the way I feel when I’m enveloped in the freshly baked scent of bread or the sweet perfume of vanilla icing wafting through the bakery. It’s the same way I feel when the bell chimes over the café door.

At home. At peace.

Like I belong.

I belong here.

It wasn’t easy putting in my resignation with Jason all those weeks ago. Despite us barely talking much over the last year–after I declined his offer for dinner multiple times–he made it seem like it came as a complete shock.

“You’re resigning?” His suited form filled the entrance of my office while his blue eyes studied me sorrowfully.

I was in the middle of putting away a few files. I’d need to clear my desk in the upcoming week, too. “Yes.” I glanced at him, then went back to what I was doing. As far as I was concerned, he hadn’t come through on his end of the bargain to support me every step of the way, so I didn’t owe him much more than that glance.

I’d learned almost everything on my own, and while I wasn’t one to be dependent on anyone, I certainly wasn’t a fan of the concept of “trial by fire,” either.

I’d come out the other end of a real-life trial by fire with all my body parts still intact and considered it to be enough of a victory.

“Why?” I felt the intensity of his eyes on me.

I stopped what I was doing and stared back at him, trying to put on my sincerest smile. “Thank you for the opportunity to be a part of this team, Jason. I’ve learned a lot in my short time here, but it’s not really what I want to do.”

“It’s not really what you want to do?” he repeated, scoffing. “So what do you really want to do? Run your little bakery in your little town with your little customer base?”

I sat back in my chair, not giving him the satisfaction of showing that his condescension affected me. Because, in all honesty, it didn’t. “Yes.”

He huffed. “You’re making a mistake, Mala. You’re walking away from an opportunity of a lifetime; a chance most people would throw everything they had away for.”

“I don’t believe in throwing everything away for a chance, Jason.” I smiled. “But I will throw everything away for a sure thing. And what I have in Tahoe . . . he’s a sure thing.”

The double doors open to the back of the bakery, and Samantha’s wide smile peeks out behind a bouquet of flowers. She’s holding a little gift bag with tissue paper sticking out of it, too.

If there ever was a list of criteria written for what makes someone the perfect sister-in-law, she checks them all. She’s supportive, sweet, and hands-off. Not hands-off in a way where she doesn’t care, but more like she trusts my decisions. Ahem, completely opposite to my big brother, of course. He still calls me ten minutes after sending me a text if I haven’t responded to it by then.

“There’s a special delivery for a ‘Mala Sharma.’ Know anyone by that name around here?”

I roll my eyes, wiping my hand on my apron. I close the distance between me and my flowers before grabbing the giant bouquet from Samantha’s hands. She puts the gift bag on a nearby counter.

“Do you need any help for tomorrow night?” she asks, lingering at the door, watching me bury my nose in the unique bouquet of flowers.

I shake my head, my chest feeling warm, my senses enveloped with a sweet perfume. “No, Dean and I have it covered. I’m making pizza from scratch, and Dean’s making his secret orange velvet pound cake. I’m also making sangria.”

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