Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“No idea,” I say.
Clasping my hand tight, she leads the way a few paces. The small courtyard is flanked by ivy-covered walls on one side. In the center sits a cobblestone fountain, the water sounding a little like chimes as it falls. A pack of girls who could be the cast of a Webflix ensemble show toss coins into it. Next to it is an empty storefront—formerly home of the jar cakes, I guess.
“Look at that,” Elodie says in a whisper, a little awed. Well, clearly she gets off, too, on talking about leases and retail space.
“Let’s see it.”
Her smile is magic. “Don’t you just know the right words to say to a girlie-girl business owner.”
I brush a few strands of her lush blonde hair from her ear, then whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of other words I want to say to you later.” I keep my hand in hers as we bound up the steps to the courtyard. Beyond the fountain, an older man with a trim dark brown beard, warm bronze skin, and curious eyes sweeps the cobblestones. Looking our way, he gives a chin nod. “Good evening.”
“Don’t mind us. We’re just admiring the shop. This place is stunning,” Elodie says immediately.
“Want to check it out? It’s available next week,” he offers, an eager salesman it seems.
I’m not at all in the market for a pop-up shop, but maybe she is. “Sure,” she says, then looks to me with mischief in her eyes. “Let’s check it out…honey.”
I roll with the affectionate nickname, giving her one of my own. “After you, cupcake.”
The man chuckles to himself as he swings open the door for us. The space is tiny but clean. The inside looks like something out of a fashion magazine—one exposed brick wall, a sleek modern chandelier, and a clean, white bar.
Another wall is painted a warm yellow color. The chandelier illuminates some of the art on the wall—caricatures of San Francisco and Hayes Valley. “It’s sexy and fun,” she says as she drinks in the space, running a hand along the counter. “I could test out new flavors here. Tropical chocolates. Tea-infused squares. An extra spicy line.” It sounds more dreamy than real. But it’s a dream she’s enjoying, it seems. Sparking with ideas, her eyes meet mine. “What about you? Oh, I know! You could offer cocktail taste tests! Find out the answer to whether mojitos are better than martinis on Friday night.”
“Martinis,” I say decisively.
“Mojitos,” she declares with a bob of her shoulder.
I shake my head in dirty, flirty admiration of this woman. “That’s it. I have no choice.”
Her brow furrows. “You actually have two choices—martinis or mojitos?”
I close the distance between us and cup her chin. “I mean…I have no choice but to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice feathery. She sounds and looks a little flustered. But the glimmer in her blue eyes says this is the good kind of flustered. “And why does that give you no choice?”
I don’t look away from those gorgeous eyes or her beautiful face. My focus is solely on her. “Because mojitos are sexy. Just like you. And I can’t wait any longer to kiss you, Elodie.”
Her pretty red lips part, and I’m dying, just dying, to taste her. “Then stop waiting,” she says.
I don’t rush in and crush her lips. I don’t slam my mouth to hers. I come in slowly, so we can both feel the tease, so we can climb the stairs up to this kiss together, savoring the anticipation, the final seconds till a kiss becomes more than a wish. Then, when she’s inches away from me, I drop my lips to hers, in a soft, slow kiss that lingers for several tempting seconds.
Seconds that could become all night long. That could become my kisses on her thighs, my hands on her ankles, our bodies tangled together. I finish the kiss with a bite, nipping on her lower lip, a little fiery, a little rough. Letting her know that I might start sweet, but I’ll finish hard, full of passion.
When I let go with a brush of my stubble against her cheek, she wobbles.
I catch her, a hand on her hip in seconds. I steady her as she blinks, breathes out hard, then whispers, “That was…”
I feel the same.
I kiss the corner of her lips, catching her unfinished sentence with my mouth, then I pull back. “We should go.”
“We should.” She looks around once more, maybe getting her bearings before she shifts and says, “This is going to go in seconds.”
“Let’s get you out of here before I do bad things to you in this pop-up shop.”
We leave and out in the courtyard the man gives us a curious look as he rests the broom against the window. “Nice, isn’t it?” he asks, nodding to the space.