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“Nothing! It’s nothing wrong, exactly…”
“But it’s not perfect.”
I make a face, feeling rude for not being completely in love with their gift. “It’s just that I envisioned it in a different color,” I say. “That’s all.”
“Then we’ll get you a different color,” Dominic says, like it’s as easy as that. “What color did you want it? We should have just asked, but we wanted to surprise you.”
“I didn’t mean to make it a big deal…”
Xavier pokes me in the side gently. “You’re not. We want to give you something you’re going to love completely. So if that means we have to redo it, then that’s fine. Pretty good isn’t good enough for you. It has to be perfect.”
The warmth I’m coming to be familiar with spreads through me at their words, and I duck my head, trying to hide the pleased, honored smile on my face.
They make me feel so sappy, but instead of dwelling on that, I go to fetch my notebook so I can show them the shade of lavender I want.
Chapter 41
Penelope
My stomach is in knots a few days later. It’s opening day for my bakery. The moment I’ve been waiting for. My hands are shaking, and I clasp them together tightly, looking around for probably the hundredth time this morning.
Everything is ready. I know it is because I’ve gone over my checklist time and time again. All the tables are in place, straightened and put an exact distance from each other. There’s a cozy couch set up in one corner, with a sofa and two chairs around a low table, for people who want to hang out or work or just read some of the books on the shelves nearby.
The front bakery case is full to bursting with cookies, cupcakes, lemon bars, brownies, and cake slices. I went a little overboard last night with the stress baking, but the result is that there are so many things for people to try on opening day.
The sign is up, the menu behind the counter is ready, and I have flyers talking about custom cakes and baked goods spread strategically throughout the place.
I’m wearing my apron, hair pulled up into a bun, ready to greet customers and answer questions as they come.
I stand there, fidgeting and then decide I don’t want to wear this apron. It’s a nice spring blue, but it’s not the right one.Quickly I dash to the back and change to a green one that matches more of the decor inside the bakery itself.
But is that the right one? It has to be perfect, and I don’t know how to make it right.
It’s the green one. It has to be. It matches things, it feels good. My hands hover over the blue one again, but I push it away, walking purposefully back out into the main area.
The men are stepping in as I come back, and my heart stutters at the sight of them.
They’re dressed down from the clothes they’d wear to the office, but they still look good enough to eat in nice jeans and button down shirts. Each of them carries himself in a way that exudes confidence and power and I find it both soothing and arousing on a day like today.
Dominic catches me looking at them and he smirks, coming in closer. “If you don’t stop looking at us like you’re imagining filthy things, we’re going to have to push back the opening,” he says. “Because we’ll be too busy fucking you on every available surface.”
There are a lot of surfaces to choose from at this point, and I flush at the image of it. “I don’t have time to re-sanitize everything,” I tell him with a smile.
I kiss him and then Xavier and Tristan, lingering a bit on each one in an attempt to calm my nerves.
“How are you feeling, shortcake?” Xavier asks. “Are you ready?”
I make a low noise that’s not quite a groan, but close. “I don’t know, maybe? I think so? I’m nervous.” It doesn’t feel bad to admit that to them, and they’d probably be able to tell anyway. “I changed my apron like three times already, and I keep looking around, trying to figure out what’s missing, even though I know nothing is. I just want to look good and want this to go well.”
Tristan runs a critical eye over me and then smiles a small smile. “You always look good,” he says. “Today is no exception.”
The sincerity in his voice makes me feel a rush of warmth and that goes a long way toward helping me relax.
“Thank you,” I murmur to him.
“What can we do?” Xavier asks, rolling up his sleeves.
“I want to put those cookies out on the tables,” I tell him, pointing to a tray. “So people can have some samples while they mingle around.”