“I liked it because it says you know yourself. You know how to go after what you want.” I set a hand on her knee, embracing the freedom to touch her like this. “But also because I know what it means when you spend all your days making decisions.”
“What does it mean, Logan?” she asks, all sensual and husky.
“It means you’ll want me to pull your hair, swat your ass, and talk dirty to you as I bend you over and take you.”
She shivers. “You know me so well.”
I lean in close and dust a kiss on her neck. “I do.” Then I pull back, clearing my throat, going serious. “I’ll miss having you here. You’re a huge asset to this site. But I also understand why you made the choice, and I think it’s perfect for you. I also might have a client for you.”
Her brow knits. “You might?”
I grin, pleased with the unexpected gift up my sleeve. “Casey Sullivan called me this morning about you. She was quite impressed with you last night.”
Bryn squeaks. “She was?”
“Indeed. She wanted to steal you away from me.”
Her jaw drops, and her lips curve into a wild grin. “Are you serious?”
I pout. “You’re leaving me for her? So sad.”
She swats my thigh. “Tell me what she said.”
“She wants to hire you to handle content partnerships. She called and said she thought you’d be incredible. I said, ‘I know.’ She wanted to know if you’d be interested and how I felt about it, and I said she should make you an offer. That it was up to you, but that I’d never stand in the way. So, it’s your choice. All of it is always your choice.”
“Wow,” Bryn says, taking her time with that word, like she’s letting the news sink in.
“And now I guess you’ll have to tell Casey you’d be interested in perhaps working with her on a contract basis for your new firm. She’d be a helluva flagship client.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “That must be why she called earlier. I have a voicemail from her. And I suppose I should negotiate my way into making her a client.”
“I have every faith in the world that you’ll do just that.”
“And when I make that decision, you’ll help me so I don’t have to make others?” she asks with a wiggle of her brow.
I haul her in for a kiss. “I will gladly do that.”
Then, as a promise, I squeeze her ass hard.
35BRYN
I arrive first.
I pick a table in the middle.
Then I decide the back is better.
Or is closer to the front ideal?
Gah. I don’t know.
Nerves trip through me, like little girls traipsing in too-big shoes.
I grab my phone and turn the camera to selfie mode, checking to make sure I don’t have anything stuck on my face, or between my teeth. I want to look good for Amelia.
I’m wearing jeans, Converse sneakers, and a red top. My makeup is light—just mascara and blush.
I have pictures of my cat to show her.
At three on the dot on Saturday, the man I’m crazy for comes into view outside the window of Peace of Cake. My heart thumps madly, hammering against my chest. He’s so sexy, so suit-y. But right now, he’s so single daddy.
And that’s even hotter.
He wears Vans, jeans, and a Henley, and he’s laughing, holding the hand of a curly-haired blonde.
My ovaries dance a jig.
They execute handsprings.
He’s never been more attractive, and that’s saying something.
Wait. He’s opening the door for her. It’s official. He’s even more irresistible.
He holds the door for his daughter, who jerks her gaze around the store. “Daddy, where’s your girlfriend?”
She’s loud and bold, and I love it. Laughing, I raise my hand and wave. I stand, and they walk over to me.
The girl flashes me a bright smile and extends a hand. “I’m Amelia Clarke. It’s nice to meet you. I like cats, cake, books, and my dad and my mom too.”
Oh. My. God.
She is the most fantastic person ever.
I take her hand and shake. “I’m Bryn Hawthorne. I like road trips and retro posters, sayings about strong women, my friends, and my mom, who’s in Heaven. And I like meeting new people. Like you.”
“And do you like cake?”
“Obviously.”
“Good. But I don’t want to share. Sharing is good, but not with cake, because I want my own piece. Please. Is that okay, Daddy?”
He ruffles her hair. “Absolutely.” He casts me a look like he’s asking if I want to share with him. “How about you?”
I scoff. “Don’t look at me. I don’t share cake either.”
We all head to the counter and order our own slices. I think this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
And maybe more, because when the three of us sit down, Amelia takes a bite, says it’s yummy, then stares at me. “Are you guys in love?”
