Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

L aura

“What’s with the smile?” Sasha Olson, the café’s manager and my only other employee at the moment, bumps my hip with theirs. “You look all giddy. I thought you didn’t want to go to this wedding.” They refill the coffee maker with fresh grounds, their Sweet and Salty logo apron tied loosely around their athletic waist.

Sasha is always trying to get me to go rock climbing with them.

I step back to take a final look at the Wild in Love cake. Four tiers of brightly patterned frosting are crisscrossed with zebra stripes and decorated with an entire encyclopedia’s worth of zoo animals. All topped with a custom sugar penguin couple, with a little stone tucked between their feet. Daisy Gustavson’s dream come to life. I snap some photos for Frosting Monkey on the off chance the icing starts to melt. “I don’t know. Maybe it will be fun.”

It was fun last night, not that I’m about to share that with anyone. Ever since Jesse moved into my spare apartment—not into my house, no matter what lies Opal Larson spreads—Chris has been calling and texting. And not just Chris. More unknown numbers leaving creepy messages, like busy tonight? Saw you in town, gorgeous. Gross. The only one I told Rory about mentioned Lucretia Borgia— how’s that donkey treating you? —but he tried tracing the number and couldn’t find anything.

It’s almost enough to make me forget that I like Jesse. After last night, laughing and sharing chicken pot pie with him, exploring that soft, gentle, shy nature that he tries to hide behind a gruff exterior, I like him even more.

And that is a massive problem when he is about to meet me here at the café. “Maybe I should have asked him to meet me at the house,” I say aloud.

Sasha glances over at me, their hazel eyes narrowing. “Don’t second-guess yourself. Have you talked to Daphne lately? She’ll set you straight.”

Ah, yes. My best friend, living the high life as a hospitalist in Chicago. Daphne has a similar problem to mine, where she has a lot of difficulty being alone but then also sort of hates all of her partners. She handles it with far more aplomb than I do, though.

“I don’t know.” I pick up a large cardboard box and fold it around the cake for protection during transit. Jesse volunteered to sit in the back and babysit it on the thirty-minute drive to Serenity Bay, the lakeside resort where the wedding and reception will be held. A little flare of warmth spreads through my chest. He agreed so quickly and with so little thought for his own comfort. Chris had volunteered exactly once, back before we ever slept together, and then promptly went back on his request after I’d been to bed with him. Asshole. “Is Chris dating someone new?”

“Fuck if I know. If he is, she deserves better.” Sasha picks up a tray of baked kringle, their lightly tanned arms strong with the weight of the pastry, and heads for the partition between the front of house and the kitchen.

“He asked me to go to the wedding with him,” I say quietly.

“And I’ll bet you told him right where to stick that request.” They disappear out front to load the pastry case with the kringle.

I hadn’t used those words exactly. But I had deleted his texts and attempted yet again to block his number.

Sasha returns with an empty tray and sets it near the dishwashing station. “Have you thought of entering the Sweets Showcase at the cherry festival yet?”

“Thought about it? Yes. Done any preparation? No.” I laugh as I tape cardboard pieces around the cake. It takes an awful lot to protect a four-tier confection. “I never win anyway. Fortuna Dryden always does.”

“That’s only because her family bribes the judges.” Sasha rolls their eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll think of something fabulous. It’s your turn this year. I can feel it deep in my witchy bones.”

Sasha has been a practicing Wiccan since high school, and I can’t fault their instincts. They predicted I wouldn’t get the liquor license when I applied, and they can predict almost without fault the trends the tourists look for every season. I say almost because there was that one golden milk fiasco, but I’m as much to blame as Sasha for that one.

Sasha goes back out front to serve customers, and I wash the flour and powdered sugar off my hands. I have just enough time to fix my makeup before Jesse is due to arrive.

This is not a bad idea, I tell myself as I blend the concealer into my face. We’re friends. Friendly, at least. Even he said it’s a fake date. He is helping me out, and I do not need any more commitments in my life. New Laura is not clingy.

There is a knock on the back door. I stand and walk to it, chastising my body for lighting up at the thought of Jesse. That is not how friends or roommates act.

All nonchalance, I open the door and promptly become entangled in a battle between the door handle and the kitchen towel hanging from my apron strings.

“Uffdah!” I shriek, whipping around as the opening door carries me with it. A low chuckle brings heat to my cheeks, flaring up my neck. Darn it. Of all the things to do in front of a hot guy. I struggle with the tangled kitchen towel until I free it from the door handle. I’m definitely switching out the bar handle for an ADA-compliant crash bar.

“Can I help?” Jesse asks, his voice deep.

I straighten my apron and inhale to regain my composure. “I meant to do tha—” Whoa.

Jesse stands before me in a plain black suit with a navy blue tie, and maybe it’s just that I’m already attracted to him, but whew heck, Hot Older Guy in Suit is now my new favorite kink. His beard hugs his jaw in shades of brown speckled with gray. The suit clings to him like he had worn it before he’d muscled up while fixing up his cabin. In other words, yum .

My mouth fills with saliva, and all other parts of my body heat.

“Laura?” He takes one step into the kitchen, his hand steadying my arm. “Are you okay?”

No. I’ve died and gone to Hot Older Guy in Suit Heaven. It will be this fantasy and my vibrator later tonight. Maybe I’ll scream while I come with it inside of me. I’ll scream so loud Jesse will hear me in his apartment, and he’ll barge in only to find me—

“Are you sick?” Jesse moves forward and presses the back of his hand to my forehead, his brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t have a fever.”

“Sorry,” I choke out. “I don’t think rampaging libido is an approved medical diagnosis.” Oops. His pupils dilate, and the sides of his nose, almost hidden by his two-day mustache, flare. Then his face softens into a sensual smile.

“You would know,” he says softly. He’s so close to me, and his hand slides from my forehead down the curve of my neck. The way he’s staring at me, the way he doesn’t retreat. Does he want this too? Desire flashes bright and hot inside me. Kiss him, you horny toad, it whispers in my brain.

He tilts his head, so close that his scent swarms around me. He must have come from work too, but he’s put on some sort of cologne. Or maybe it’s the hand soap at Moe’s. He smells like lemon and grass in the morning after a night’s rain.

“Hey Laura, do you know where the extra—” Sasha’s voice cuts through the moment, and I jump a foot away from Jesse. “Never mind.” Their tone holds a not-insignificant amount of amusement. “I can find the extra muffins. Carry on.”

“No, it’s okay.” Shit. Shit, shit, double shit. Sasha isn’t one to gossip, but if I look like I’m about to climb Jesse like an alpinist, that’s going to show up at the wedding. And the wedding will be full of gossips. Replete. Swarmed. Thronged with gossips. Not mentioning my family and the Drydens. Hateful people. “Jesse, have you met Sasha? They run the entire show when I’m off in la-la land somewhere.”

“That can’t be true. I doubt you’re ever in la-la land.” Jesse waves to Sasha over my head. “Hey. I recognize you from the store. You’re into rock climbing.”

“Right.” Sasha leans a hip against the side of the counter, amusement still playing over their delicate features. “You work at Moe’s. I’ve heard a lot about you. Apart from the tourist trade, we don’t get a lot of newbies in St. Olaf.”

“Well, here I am.” He says it while staring at me, which only serves to remind me that I’m still in a dirty apron, only half my makeup is done, and I have my hair up in one of my work bandanas. Great impression, Laura. He’s definitely not about to kiss me, not if I look like this. “By the way, why does everyone call it Moe’s? It says Tools and Trinkets on the sign.”

“Moe’s ex-wife named it, and he never changed it.” Sasha crosses their arms over their chest.

Without bothering to excuse myself, I head for the small office where I stashed my dress bag and purse holding my high heels, but I can still hear them through the open door. I hurry through the rest of my makeup.

“Why didn’t he change it?” Jesse asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sasha directs this at me as I walk back into the room, carrying my things for the wedding. “He’s still in love with her.”

Another twist of desire knots deep inside my stomach.

“I can’t imagine loving like that,” Jesse says to Sasha. “That whole lifelong unrequited thing.”

The desire coils into disappointment. Emotionally unavailable. Big surprise. “Some people find it,” I say, my own voice surprising me. It shouldn’t. New Laura stands up for herself. “My moms had it. Even when Ma Allison forgot everything else—her words, how to eat, how to keep her head upright—she always recognized Mom Marie. Mom held her hand almost continuously for the three days before she died.”

Jesse looks at me with some strange, inscrutable look that in no way resembles pity. “I’ll bet you say almost because you were the one forcing her to eat and rest and go to the bathroom.”

The feeling of being seen, being recognized for who I am and what I’ve accomplished, hits me like a thousand-pound gorilla.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to mount him like an ape.

“We had better get going,” I say quickly. “We don’t want to be late for the wedding.”