Page 8 of Cinnamon Rolls and the Guy Next Door (Holiday Romance in Snowflake Falls #16)
One year later
The smell of cinnamon and brown butter hits me before I even open my eyes. Sweet, but not half as addictive as the taste of Juniper when she’s coming on my tongue. That’s the best breakfast I’ll ever have.
She’s already next door in the bakery, probably has been since four a.m., but my cock’s still hard from the way she rode me before sneaking out of bed. Six months of waking up to her, and I still want her every damn second.
After months of planning, construction, and more bureaucratic bullshit than I knew existed, her shop on Oak Street is real.
Buns N Roses . The name makes me grin every time I see it painted on the window in vintage script with a rose curling around the ‘B’.
Magnus Huckle helped with the business loan, and my MC brothers did most of the renovation work.
Even her uptight parents are coming around now that she’s selling out every day by noon.
I run club errands all day, come home and shower, then throw on jeans and a henley, grab my cut, and head downstairs.
Through the shop window, I watch her for a moment.
Her red hair’s in braids, flour dusting her cheek, and she’s humming along to Motorhead while shaping dough.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. One year in and she still makes my cock ache just by existing.
The bell jingles when I walk in. She doesn’t look up.
“Hey, trouble,” she says, hands still working the dough.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Your boots. Plus, you always pause at the door to watch me first, you creeper.”
Busted.
I stalk straight to the counter, reaching for the fresh cinnamon rolls cooling on the rack. She swats my hand without even looking.
“Those are for paying customers, you thief.”
“I am a customer.” I snag one anyway, taking a huge bite. “Your best customer.”
“You don’t pay.”
“I pay in other ways.” I lean across the counter, lowering my voice. “Want me to remind you how I paid last night?”
Her cheeks flush that pretty pink that trails down her throat. My fingers twitch with the urge to follow it under her apron, make her blush harder.
She winks at me. “Alright, scary biker dude, you’re on cleanup duty, then we can get out of here.”
Tania, Juniper’s assistant, appears from the back, pulling on her jacket. “Okay, I’m done. I need to run. My cousin just texted… she’s engaged!”
“Congratulations to her!” Juniper beams.
Tania smiles, then adds, “In less exciting news, my brother’s military buddy is moving in next door. Heads up; he’s intense.” She gives me a look. “Ex-Marine. Don’t let him scare off your customers.”
“Only room for one scary guy in this town, Tania,” I say.
Tania shakes her head. “What about Carl, that weird old man? His freakily accurate weather predictions give me nightmares. It’s not normal. He’s numero uno scary guy, in my opinion.”
When she’s gone, I grab the broom. It’s routine now; I help close before heading to the clubhouse or take Juniper out for dinner. The domesticity should feel strange, but it doesn’t. It feels right. Like I belong here, by her side.
“Tomorrow’s the big one,” Juniper says, wiping the counter. “Fall Festival round two.”
“We’re going to destroy them.”
“We’re going to bake beautiful rolls and let the best team win.”
“Right. Then destroy them.”
She laughs, that bright sound that always sucker punches me in the chest.
We finish closing up. The music finishes, leaving only the hush of late afternoon and the golden light pouring through the windows.
“I have something for you,” I say.
Her brows knit. “Why? It’s not my birthday.”
I pull the small wooden box from my pocket. Carved it myself in Gram’s garage. Sanded until it was smooth as silk. The moment she sees it, her whole body goes still.
She knows.
I drop to one knee right there, between the display case and the table where she kneads dough every morning.
“Juniper.” My voice cracks. “Junebug. A year ago, your smoke alarm went off and changed my whole damn life. I came up those stairs expecting to find a fire. Instead, I found you, covered in flour, blasting Metallica, burning cinnamon rolls.”
Her eyes shine, her hands covering her mouth.
“You took a broken-down biker who couldn’t bake for shit and made him your man. You’re fierce, you’re sweet, you listen to metal while making pastries, and you make me want to be better. I love you more than riding, more than anything. So make me the happiest bastard in the world. Marry me.”
She’s crying when she opens the box. Inside is the silver band, diamond swirls shaped like cinnamon swirls.
“Yes.” Her voice breaks. “Kieran, yes!”
I’m up in a second, catching her as she launches herself at me, laughing and crying into my chest.
And right there, in her bakery, with the woman who made me whole wrapped around me, I know I’ll never need anything else.
Not bad for a biker who couldn’t bake.