Lemon Cake (Naughty Desserts)

Decan

looked over the edge of his book, bringing himself back to reality. He’d needed to escape for just a few hours, so he’d settled into his favourite Starbucks with a book he had read a thousand times already. But now his coffee was cold along with his enormous chocolate chip cookie.

When he let his gaze wander over the other coffee drinkers, he met those of a few women staring at him. He’d used to bask in the stares and giggles, loving the attention. He’d worn his hair down, those long black curls falling over his shoulders and showed his tattoos openly—for no other reason than to have a girl point them out to her girlfriends. However, four years ago that had turned on its head—everyone pitied the guy in the wheelchair. It wasn’t just the looks, but people talked to him differently. It was as if his cognitive abilities went out the door with his leg function. was often overlooked when out with others, and questions were never asked directly towards him.

One of the women separated from the group, making her way towards him with flushed cheeks. She was fidgeting with the hem of her black t-shirt, and the sway of her hips drew his eyes south to the way the denim of her high-waist jeans moulded to every curve.

She stopped in front of him, and her eyes flickered to the book in his hands. “I was wondering where you got the book from. I’ve never seen that edition.”

Surprised, he looked down at the book as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “My sister actually rebound it.”

“It’s gorgeous. I liked the story, but the ending of the series wasn’t really what I had hoped for.”

“Really?”

She shook her head.

“What had you hoped for?”

“I mean, I knew the story wasn’t centred around a romantic happy ending since it’s more about the epic fantasy, but I was hoping for the main characters to end up together.”

“Have you read the newest one?”

“I wanted to, but it’s buried under the enormous pile of books I want to read.” She laughed shyly, glancing over her shoulder to her friends before her weary eyes landed on the book once more. “I tried binding my own books because I fell down the rabbit hole of fanfiction, but I’m not very crafty.”

“That’s how my sister started—with fanfiction. Then she moved on to her favourites.”

“I think it looks amazing.” The woman gave him a shy wave, and turned to leave. “Well, thanks.”

The next words out of ’s mouth were completely involuntary. “Do you want it?”

“What?” she asked, turning back to face him.

Her eyes held him captive as he tried to sound confident in his next words. He felt rather out of practice, but there was something about her that he wasn’t ready to let go of yet. “The book. She never bound the others because she hated this one’s colour, so it always looks out of place on my bookshelf.”

She stared at him, lips forming a perfect O. As if he’d been possessed, he grabbed a pen and flipped the book to the last page, scribbling down his name and number. Shit, he felt stupid, but he had to at least try.

“Here,” he said a little firmer than he’d intended, thrusting the book at her.

Were her hands shaking? But before he could confirm, she had the book clasped tightly to her chest, her cheeks a beautiful cherry red. “Thank you.” Then she was off, returning to her girlfriends .

had no desire to hang around and possibly look even weirder, so he grabbed his belongings and made his way back to his car. Houston was in the midst of summer, so his palms started sweating immediately. He opened his trunk and pulled himself to his feet. Once steady, he held onto the car with one hand while lifting his wheelchair inside with the other. As soon as everything was secure and closed up, he pulled himself along the roof rails and towards the driver’s door.

Two years ago, he’d been too embarrassed to get into his car—even more than being seen in the wheelchair. It had taken a long while for him to be proud of his accomplishments, no matter how insignificant they seemed to others.

After a short drive, he arrived at his apartment building in the Galleria Area. He parked in his spot and then took the elevator to the sixth floor. The ink was barely dry on the papers for the apartment when he’d had his accident, so even though he hadn’t wanted to, he’d renovated it to fit his new needs. He’d installed rails disguised as mouldings, carpet had been replaced by hardwood, and his shower had been expanded to accommodate a chair. Though he appreciated all the small accessible details, he loved that he’d found ways to keep them discreet—less clinical.

As much as he tried not to, checked his phone constantly, hoping the woman from the coffee shop would contact him. He’d learned a long time ago not to get his hopes up, but she was cute. Damn, he should have at least asked her name.

needed a distraction from the girl with the dirty blonde hair and the curious blue eyes, so he pulled his laptop out and started working through his emails and client bookings. He’d been an editor for a publishing company but after his accident, he enjoyed being his own boss.

After finishing up a virtual meeting with one of his authors, he checked his phone again—and his heart leapt. There was a missed call from a number he didn’t recognise, and they’d left a voicemail. tried not to get his hopes up. He was used to rejection. The few times he’d attempted anything, they would either draw the line at being friends, or stop contacting him altogether. He opened the voicemail and brought the phone to his ear.

“ Hi, this is Hope. We met at the coffee shop earlier .” She trailed off for a moment, seeming to find her confidence. “ I was hoping we could meet up again soon. Call me back .”

didn’t hesitate to return the call, and Hope answered quickly. “!”

Was that happiness in her voice? “Sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she chirped.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Or do you work on weekends.”

“Thank God I don’t.”

“Do you have any plans yet?”

He could practically hear her smiling. “I was going to go thrift book hunting, actually.”

’s shelf did have a few empty spots. “Is that an only you thing? Or are these hunts open for someone to join?”

“Nobody’s ever asked to come with me before.”

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“I would like that.”

“Where do you usually go?”

“I go to a few places. Just start in one store and work my way around based on what’s close.”

“Oh, so you’re a pro.”

That made her laugh and fuck that sound warmed ’s heart. “Some might say I’m crazy or boring, but I enjoy it. How about we meet up at Starbucks, grab a drink, and we can start hunting from there?”

“Sounds good to me. Does ten work for you?”

“That’s perfect.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya.” Then the line disconnected .

blew out a breath, leaning back and running his fingers through his black curls that had gotten long over the last few months.

couldn’t believe it. He was going on a date and somehow, he felt excited and terrified all at the same time.

As he settled on the couch with his dinner in his lap and the TV playing, his best friend Marco called. They were friends all through high school, and he was the only one that really stuck around after his accident.

“Hey, man,” he greeted him, muting the movie.

“Turns out I don’t have to work tomorrow. You good to go to the gym tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe in the evening.”

Marco gasped dramatically, feigning horror. “What could you possibly be doing that could be better than meeting your best friend?”

“Meeting someone who’s much cuter than you.”

“Wait, what? I didn’t even know you were talking to someone.”

“I wasn’t until today.”

“Did you meet her at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah. She came over and asked me about the book Layla bound for me.”

“Ah, so she’s a book lover and she made the first move. What are you two gonna do tomorrow?”

“Book hunting. She wants to go thrifting.”

“That’s cute as shit.”

“Yeah…” Even though he was alone, ducked his head to hide the blush rising on his cheeks.

Marco sighed, knowing him far too well. “, stop questioning yourself. She made the first move! She clearly saw something she liked in you.”

“Or she feels sorry for me.”

“If you say another pessimistic word I will slap you through the damn speaker,” Marco hissed, his usual playfulness gone .

“Fine.”

“Good. Call me and let me know how it went, okay?”

“I will.”

The call ended, and set his phone aside.

Marco’s brutal honesty had driven mad during his recovery—he’d always call him out when needed just like he had on that call. He’d hated it, but now looking back at the time, he couldn’t thank Marco enough for it.