Everything Between Us (28 page)

At first I don’t get it, but then it hits me—“And that makes you nervous.” She nods. She wants this to be as challenging as possible. “Okay,” I say. “That’s what we’ll do.”

Her fingers brush my thigh, and then she gets brave and rests her hand there, drawing me tight. “Tell me about your day.”

I put my hand over hers. “It was good.”

She snorts. “Daniel.”

I know that tone. The one that tells me she won’t accept my evasions and bullshit. The one that says she expects my honesty, that she wants to
know
me. My fingers curl around hers. “I applied to teach classes this summer at a community arts program in Muskegon.” I don’t mention that her mom’s pulling the plug on my commission, or that it’s one more hit to my already dwindling income.

Her grip on me tightens. “That’s a bit of a drive.”

I feel her keen gaze on me, crawling up under my armor, reaching for the
why
that I’m not saying aloud. “Seemed like a good schedule,” I explain in order to fend her off. “And they pay well.”

“And you need the money,” she says softly. Just like that, I can tell she’s figured me out. Her hand disappears from my thigh.

I want to snatch it back, to say something to make her smile and forget what she’s just realized, but we’ve arrived on Main Street, and I know she needs to focus on herself and what she’s come here to do. Besides, I hate talking about this with her. I get worried that she’ll think these changes I’m making come along with expectations. That she’ll get freaked out and run. It would be bad if she did, because she’s the only thing making me feel steady right now. It’s like Romy said—it took the possibility of being with Stella to push me to face what I’ve been avoiding. It’s scary as fuck.

I find a spot on the street about two blocks away from Maguro’s. Her fingers are chilled as she laces them with mine, and her cheeks are pink in the late winter breeze, which pulls tendrils of her hair loose from the knot. The lights over the sidewalk catch glints of gold in a few of the strands as they float around her face. She looks so beautiful that it makes me ache. All I want is to be alone with her for a few hours, to take her back to my apartment and make her cheeks pink for a whole different reason. I’ve come so close to asking her each time we’re out for one of these exposure sessions, but I don’t want to push her. Still, tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because I don’t have Liza’s commission hanging over my head, this last thread of obligation that held me to her. Maybe it’s because I can see Stella getting more confident every time I’m with her. Or maybe it’s just because I’m starving for her.

We stroll along the sidewalk, and Stella’s gaze gets stuck on the window of Emanuelle’s, a boutique bakery. I slow down as soon as I see her interest, and we end up standing in front of this huge wedding cake in the display case, surrounded by invitations and a veil to complete the effect. It would feel really awkward with any other girl, but I know why Stella’s staring at it.

It’s not the idea of a wedding. It’s the cake itself.

“Amazing pastillage,” she murmurs. When she sees my clueless look, she points to the delicate snowflakes arranged all over the cake, each one unique. She lays her palm flat on the glass.

It hits me so hard. That gesture, her expression. That’s how she used to look in the glassed-in porch before she started to go out again. “Have you ever tried something like that?” I ask, nodding at the cake.

She blinks. “Oh. No. Nothing like that.”

“Come on,” I say, tugging her hand. “Let’s go in for a minute.”

“But this place is about to close, and we have to go to—”

“It can wait.” I pull her through the door. The place is empty of customers, but the displays still contain plenty confections and cakes, some with flowers that seem startlingly real, some decorated like tiny presents all wrapped up with a bow. Stella looks like she’s in heaven. The smile on her face is so real, so easy, so
free
. I stand back as she walks slowly around the periphery of the store, sometimes kneeling to put her nose close to the glass when she notices something that really interests her. Seeing her like this makes my heart pound for so many reasons.

“Oh, hi there,” says a guy as he strides out from a back room, dusting flour onto his black apron. He’s young, probably about my age, with dark hair. His eyes skate over me and laser in on Stella. “Can I help you?”

She doesn’t look up from the display of fruity puff pastries, and he leans over the counter to peer down at her. When she tips her head up, I see his expression change from one of detached courtesy to genuine interest. His eyes widen a little, and his smile grows. “Were you just admiring the view?” he asks softly.

I grit my teeth. It certainly looks like
he’s
admiring the view. I cross the store in about two seconds, and he stands up straight as he sees my approach, reining in his smile. My arm snakes around Stella’s waist as she gets to her feet. “Those are really beautiful,” she says, pointing to the pastries.

The smile is back. “Thanks,” he says. “I’d never made those before and was afraid I’d put too much glaze on them. Only put them out a few hours ago, so they’re really fresh. Want to try one?”

I open my mouth to say we’re heading to dinner, and I feel like an asshole as Stella nods eagerly. The guy, whose nametag says Sam, grabs a pastry from the case and cuts her a sample. “I’m graduating in a month from the pastry arts program at Becker,” he tells Stella. He’s watching her mouth as she nibbles the pastry, and I don’t think I’m imagining the glint of wishful thinking in his eyes. He notices me glaring at him and looks away quickly. “I’m trying to impress Emanuelle. Hoping she’ll give me a good reference. I want to move to Chicago.”

Stella touches her fingertips to her lips as she chews the pastry. “Keep making things as good as this and she’ll probably be begging you to stay,” she finally says with a smile.

The dude’s eyes light up, and I kind of want to punch him.

He politely offers me a sample, and I’m about to turn him down, but Stella accepts on my behalf and then takes it from him. She turns to me with a mischievous expression that makes my blood rush south. “You’ll like this. Come here.”

As if I would turn that kind of invitation down. I slide my arm along her waist as she feeds me the bit of pastry, and it’s damn good, but it has nothing on the way she’s looking at me. My fingers spread across her back as I bring her close. “I do like it,” I say, leaning in to taste her lips, fighting the hunger inside me that has nothing to do with food.

Sam opens one of the display cases with a loud clatter, and Stella pushes gently on my shoulders. “We’ll take two,” she says to him.

I walk out of that store carrying a little white box and a lot of whirling thoughts. Stella looks lost in her own world as we make our way up Main Street. When we’re just a block away, I let myself say what I’ve been thinking. “Did you know Becker had a pastry arts program?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. I draw her close, kissing her temple. “Did you ever consider enrolling in a program like that?”

She lets out a choked laugh and steps away from me. “You have met my mother, haven’t you?” she asks, an edge creeping into her voice.

“Very funny.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she mumbles.

“I know, and I also know how she is.” I pull to a stop two stores down from Maguro’s and step in front of Stella so I can see her eyes. “But I also know I’ve never seen you look as happy as when you were in that room full of pastries, and I could tell it wasn’t because you were dying to eat them.”

She looks away. Hiding from me. “I did mention it to my mom. A long time ago,” she says, her voice barely audible amid the street noise. “When I was first applying to colleges.”

My fingers close around her chin and I guide her face to mine. “And she shut you down.”

She glances up at me and then settles her gaze on my chest. “Not just her. My dad, too. His reaction might have been worse—he thought it was a joke. He laughed so hard he nearly choked on his scotch.”

I lean my forehead against hers, realizing for the first time the lengths she’s gone to please her parents, to keep the peace. All at the expense of her own interests, maybe even her dreams. “You can’t live your life for them, Stella.”

She stares back at me, bold and challenging. “If that’s all I was doing, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” Her fingers close around my collar as I start to step back, because that reminder was like a shove in the chest. “Don’t. I’m just—” She sighs. “I’m doing my best, Daniel.” She leans her forehead on my chin. “I’m doing everything I know to do.”

I let my lips linger on her brow, cupping the back of her head to keep her where she is. “I know.”

“Don’t let me avoid going into Maguro’s much longer,” she says, leaning away. “If you do, I might decide it’s not worth it.”

“I only live a few blocks from here …” Even thinking about taking her there makes my cock start to swell. I can still taste the sugar from her lips on my tongue. “We could take our pastries back there and get creative.” Right now, I don’t want to help her dwell in the real world. Instead, I want to tuck her away in my bed and make her forget anything else even exists. Maybe I want to forget, too, how Sam looked at her, how she’s going to go back to school in the fall, how all of this is temporary, how it all feels like it’s falling apart, but I can’t get enough of her. My hands close over her hips, and her fingertips touch my neck, sending hard chills down my spine. When she bites her bottom lip, I nearly forget that we’re in public.

“I have to get in there and do this,” she says, even as she presses forward, her chest to mine, her mouth close enough to claim. “Stop tempting me.”

“Look who’s talking,” I mutter, my gaze focusing on the creamy skin of her throat as it disappears into the neckline of her shirt, my thumbs stroking over the swell of her hips. I want to push her against the nearest brick wall and sink into her.

It takes a lot of effort to let go of her, to take her hand and continue our walk to Maguro’s. I do it because she deserves it, because this is what she wants for herself, what she needs. Because I’m determined to help her get it, no matter what it means for me. And as we reach the restaurant and she touches the pastry box, saying, “Remember to save room for dessert,” while looking up at me with the sweetest, hottest look in her eyes, the realization explodes into my consciousness. It goes off like a bomb, ripping the breath from my lungs.

I’m in love with her.

I know it for sure, even though it’s never happened to me before. Somehow the understanding is just
there
, and it’s deep and devastating and confusing as hell. It’s so big that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it. So I clench my teeth and give her a tight smile, and head into the restaurant to help Stella face her fears.

Chapter Twenty-four: Stella

I hold tightly to Daniel’s hand as we approach the host desk. My heart is beating hard, but not for the reason I expected. I’m hyper-alert to signals that the panic is rising like a flood inside me, but as I tell the hostess that we’d like to be seated at the bar, it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel the lingering warmth in my belly from my time outside with Daniel. When I felt the hard lines of him, breathed in his scent, and melted as he held my hips in a possessive grip. He looks so good tonight. He’s gotten his hair cut, so it’s a little less shaggy but still stylishly messy in his usual, effortless way. Although he still looks casual, he’s wearing dark jeans and a sweater that shows off the breadth of his chest and shoulders.

He helps me shed my coat and hangs both of ours up in the coatroom, then strides out and puts his arm around my back as the hostess leads us to the sushi bar. I can’t keep the smile off my face as I sit down. I’m here with Daniel. In a restaurant. We’re like a normal couple.

He flashes a charming smile at the waitress as he orders a beer, and I stumble over my words as I order tea. I glance over to see him watching me, and my cheeks get hot. Maybe he’s waiting for me to panic and fall apart. But … I haven’t so far, not even close. I walked into that bakery, and even talked to that guy Sam behind the counter, and though my heart was beating a little faster at the flashing images of what it would be like to have a panic attack right in the middle of that quaint little shop, it all felt manageable. Daniel was right there, and he made any fear melt away when he put his arm around me, when he let me feed him a bite of pastry. In fact, when he started to touch me, I nearly forgot where I was. It was like the whole world went away.

I frown. That’s not good. Heather said I’m supposed to face my fears, but I’m not scared at all. I’ve been telling her things were going better than expected, that although I’ve been nervous during these homework assignments, I haven’t had a single panic attack. I thought that was awesome, but when I told Heather about it in our last session, she wasn’t pleased. She said that if I want to reach my goals, I can’t let myself be comfortable. Or
comforted
.

The sushi chef leans over us, his eyebrows rising, waiting for us to tell him what we like. Daniel waits for me to say my preferences, and I take my time, waiting for the anxiety to kick in as the chef squints at me. But Daniel’s hand is on my thigh, and it’s so distracting, the way it’s sending heavy waves of desire rolling through me, that I forget what I’m trying to do.

When I’m done, Daniel rattles off a few specific things that he wants, and then we watch as the chef works. I love the flash of the knife, the deft, confident way he handles the food.

“You look pretty relaxed,” Daniel says, the corner of his mouth curled upward.

“I like being here. There’s just something so … cool … about being able to make beautiful food.” Daniel’s eyes narrow, and his expression is so knowing that I change the subject to his family, just to throw him off balance. I don’t want to even think about the possibility of cooking or baking for a living, but after talking to Sam, I can’t stop thinking about it. He looked so relaxed, with flour on his apron and a smear of icing on his shirt. It looked heavenly, to spend the day making delicately beautiful confections and then seeing people’s eyes light up as they look at them, seeing them smile as they taste them.