“So?” Dylan dumps some flour into a bowl and brushes her hands off. She stares evenly at Brooke. “This is my bakery, my fucking name is on it, and I don’t have to explain to you why I’m allowing this today.”

“Oh, I know exactly why you’re allowing it.” Brooke points a finger at my face. “That mouth right there. It makes people stupid.”

I keep my laugh muffled as I bring my arms across my chest, looking between the two of them.

Dylan removes her apron and lays it on the stool. “I’ll give you two a minute.” She hits me with a smile before moving across the room and climbing the stairs.

A door closes.

Stepping behind Brooke, I drop my head and kiss her shoulder. Her hands relax against the wood, while mine snake around her trim waist and pull her back against my chest.

“Think she’ll notice if I duck under this table and stay between your legs the rest of the day?” I ask, running my nose along her skin.

“Probably. Dylan doesn’t miss much.”

I smile. “Shame. I know I’d feel a lot better about fucking up this morning if I spend the next eight hours getting you off.”

“Mason.” Brooke spins around and tilts her head to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her before she can get another word out, my hands gently squeezing her hips as I fight the urge to inch closer and kiss my way through this.

She stares at me, silently absorbing my apology. Her shoulders drop with a quiet sigh, her eyes lowering to a spot on my shirt, and that, fuck, that right there is the reason why I’m here and not relying on her casual brush-off.

She isn’t fine. She’s disappointed, or hurt, or something. Definitely not fine.

“Now would be the perfect time to call me a wanker, Brooke. Or a tosser. I know how much you like slipping those words into our conversations. Feel free to let me have it.”

Her eyes flick to mine. She narrows them, draws her fingers into a fist, then knocks it gently against my chest. “What the fuck, dude?” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier, fighting back a smile as she stands on her toes to get closer. “You forgot? How could you forget?”

“It was that hot as fuck phone call last night. I think I lost some brain cells with that emission.”

“Aw, are you dumb and pretty now?” she chuckles, lifting a hand to my cheek. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’ll still play with you. Do you like shiny things? Here. Let me get my keys.”

I grab her waist when she tries to dart away.

Fuck, I love her playful like this. Completely unaware of how open she is to me. It’s beautiful, her unguarded heart. I like to imagine it’s untouched as well.

She laughs against my neck, her hands sliding under my shirt.

“So,” she whispers, her lips pressing to my skin.

“So.”

“Last night was fun.”

I kiss her hair. “Mm. Maybe I’ll bring two tents with us this weekend and we can reenact it in the wilderness. I think your moans will sound lovely in an open field.”

She leans back to look at me. “Two tents? You’re delusional if you think I’m separating from you at any point during this absurd camp-out. I told you I didn’t want to do this. Now you’re trying to suggest we sleep apart? Fuck that. Haven’t you ever seen Deliverance? I know that wasn’t set in Chicago, but there are freaks everywhere. You’re stuck with me. One tent. One sleeping bag. Get ready for stage-five clinger status, buddy. I’m going to be on you like a hobo on a muffin.”

My mouth stretches into a smile. I grab her face, bending for a kiss. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of course you do.” Her hands circle my wrists. She bites at my lip. “The stalker becomes the stalkee.”

“Exactly,” I say quietly, opening my eyes to watch hers slowly flutter open.

She stares at my mouth like she wants another taste, but she isn’t asking, or moving in for it. I think I’ll leave her like this.

Waiting. Wanting.

“What time do you want to do lunch?” I ask, letting my hands fall away and moving beside her.

I tap my finger on the large mixing bowl. The white powder vibrates against the steel.

She nudges against me and slides the bowl in front of her, along with several various sized measuring spoons. “One? That’s when I usually take it.”

“Great. I have a break between classes then.” I rest my hand on her back and kiss her cheek. “You know that park with the water fountain about ten minutes from here? Meet me there. I’ll take care of the food.” I make for the exit, glancing back when I reach the doorway.

I smile.

Brooke looks like she wants to ask questions, maybe protest the location and offer up a private spot where clothes aren’t required.

I know my girl.

Instead, she lifts her hand and waves me off. “Okay, but you better show up this time. No epic facetime wanking sessions between now and lunch. I need you focused. Maybe you should grab a banana or something. I hear that’s brain food.”

A laugh rumbles in my chest.

“I’ll be there,” I tell her, I promise her, as I back out of the room.

I will fucking be there.

I beat Brooke to the park and claim a vacant bench near the large fountain.

Three sprouts of water erupt from the center, fanning close to the flat stone edge and darkening the rocks. A few children drop coins into the water and stand on their toes to watch them sink to the bottom. Dog walkers and mums with prams filter in between one another along the paved footpath.

It’s a nice day, the cool spring air smelling of flowers and cut grass. The sun slicing through the clouds.

My ringtone sounds from my pocket.

I’m expecting it to be Brooke, telling me she’s on her way, or maybe that I’m still a huge tosser for standing her up earlier and she’s paying me back by for it.

Palming my phone, I look at the screen.

It isn’t Brooke. The woman calling might’ve threatened castration if I would’ve pulled that stunt with her.

I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey. How are ya?”

Tessa grunts. “Finally! Someone answers the damn phone today. Sweet Christ, I’m going batshit crazy listening to these transcripts and I need a reason to not listen to them.” A loud crunch comes through the line. “Humor me. What’s new? What happened with that one chick who definitely does not have bigger balls than me?”

I chuckle, my eyes searching for Brooke. “You know, I should be offended you’re only calling me to get out of working. You’re a terrible mate.”

“Hey, screw you. I should be offended you left the best fucking state in this beautiful country to be all adult and open up your own business, but I’m not, ‘cause that would be shitty of me. Even though I still don’t understand why you couldn’t open up your own studio here. ‘Bama girls love yoga.”

We share a light laugh. I know of one particular ‘bama girl who doesn’t care for yoga one bit.

“How’s all that going anyway?” she asks.

“Good. Yeah, really good. It’s a bit shocking, actually. I might have to consider tacking on another class during the day if interest stays this fortunate.”