Page 11 of Ablaze

Surprisingly, my big brother hasn’t had a problem with just Dean and me hanging out together, either. I gather it has more to do with the fact that not only does Rohan trust Dean like he would a brother, but even he can see that Dean’s way out of my league.

In fact, he’s so out of my league, I might as well be in another country.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the type of woman who keeps Dean’s interest–long-legged bombshells, oozing confidence and class, dressed in skin-tight jeans and sky-high stilettos. The types of women who count each calorie and workout like fiends to maintain their perfectly proportioned waistlines.

Me, on the other hand . . .? I’m currently wearing an oversized gray hoodie that says, ‘Oh, for dog’s sakes!’ in neon pink letters, looking forward to chomping down the last carrot and cream cheese strudel I should have thrown out with yesterday’s trash for breakfast. My rounded hips and severely less-than-washboard-abs clearly take a backseat to my love for pastries.

In my opinion, life’s too short to count anything but blessings–no one understands that better than me–so why waste your energy on anything else?

And as far as sky-high heels are concerned . . .? I don’t even own a pair of shoes without laces.

“Well, make a good impression on the in-laws.” Rohan pats Dean’s bicep, and I don’t miss the frown that pulls down Dean’s mouth. “I’m out of here. Gotta be at the station by six-fifteen.”

Ro’s almost at the door when he runs back to grab another muffin before I can stop him and chuckles, giving me a wink as he heads out.

I sigh, shaking my head and pulling the neck of my sweatshirt higher. I look back at the clock. Ten minutes to open, and Meg is fifty minutes late. My gaze darts to Dean, who seems to be stuck in the same spot my brother left him, looking dazed.

I wish I could figure out what he was thinking. Though, if I had to venture a guess, it’s likely about Nora. The woman he rarely talks about, but the woman who has keys to his house. The woman he’s been dating for the past year but never invites to hang out with me and Rohan.

While I don’t know Nora much beyond the time we were both invited to Dean’s dad and stepmom’s house for a barbecue, and the time I ran into her when I dropped off coffee and scones at the fire station, I get the feeling she isn’t exactly fond of me.

Call it intuition or a nagging suspicion, but ever since she saw me at Dean’s house with that plate of cookies between us, her icy gaze has refused to warm to me, and I honestly don’t understand why.

Sure, Dean and I are friends, but it’s not like she has anything to worry about. My boring dark hair–currently piled high on my head in a messy bun–and brown eyes are no match for her camera-ready looks. It really astonishes me that I would cause a disturbance in her head at all.

“Hey, pookster.” I smirk, making Dean’s eyes snap up to mine, like he just realized I was even there. “Want me to make you that white mocha latte you like so much? You look like you need extra whip on it today.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like it usually does. He looks around as if just noticing that it’s only the two of us here. “Where’s Meg?”

Oh, for goodness’ sake! Not him, too.

I squelch the need to sigh. “Running late, I suspect.” Right when Dean starts to say something else–something I’m sure is much like the unsolicited lecture my brother just gave me–I lift my hand to stop him. “Save it, Barkley; I already heard it from Rohan today. I know I need to talk to her.”

Dean shakes his head, glancing at the clock before he rolls up his cuffs and ambles over to the bar. “Alright, go do your thing in the back room. I’m sure you’re stressed about whatever it is you’re supposed to be baking instead of standing out here. I’ll man the bar until she gets here.”

“What?” I pinch my brows. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure she’ll be in soon. Plus, you worked all night–”

Body heat radiates off him as he closes in on me at the bar. I take a step back, hitting the counter behind me. Pulling the neck of my shirt up, I look up at him. With how short I am–at barely five-feet-one-inch–I’m sure the way he towers over me makes me look like a cartoon character.

And despite all that heat wafting off him, a silent shudder runs down my spine.

“I’m not letting you open this café, knowing you don’t have help. I’ll head out when she gets here.” He taps my nose. “Until then, get out of my way and let me do my job.”

“Do you even know how to use the coffee machine?” I ask in a huff.

My brain still feels scrambled with his nearness and all the scent of sandalwood inside my nose. Even though it’s just a hint of a scent on him, it completely overpowers the scent of coffee and sugar surrounding me.

His eyes drill holes into mine. “I’m pretty sure you moaned around the last cup I made you using this exact machine. Want me to do it again?” He leans down to my ear. “Make you moan, that is . . .”

I swallow as fire spreads across my cheeks. Squirming, I try to push back on the counter, even though I can’t go any further back.

He’s just a flirt. He’s like this with everyone.

No big deal. Stay cool, stay cool.

I clear my throat. “Have I told you how pushy and bossy you are?”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.” He smirks.

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