Page 15 of Cupcake of the Month (Just Add Peaches #2)

Josh kept his face impassive as Jordan escaped into the convention hall, the click of her shoes echoing down the hall until they disappeared into the cacophony. He was such a fuck-up. What the hell had he been thinking?

That one was easy to answer. It was the hot, raw energy that had passed between them. The sensual way she moved against him. The craving that consumed him any time she was near.

The memory of her that kept him company on lonely nights.

Life would be easier if Jordan was still angry and avoided him instead of setting his world on fire every time they were together.

A pang of longing shot through him. She deserved so much more than a man who turned on those closest to him.

Yes, his mom and stepdad were the ones who embezzled the money.

But it was his testimony that convicted them.

He was supposed to be loyal to his family, and instead he turned on them like a starving dog fighting for a scrap of meat. It was why he had to take such care with Zach, to prove he wasn’t a selfish bastard like Marian and Clint.

He slunk back to Barb’s booth, unease tightening like a fist in his belly. A group of women passed and he ducked his head, recognizing some of them from catering, ones who flirted and sized him up and wanted to get into his kitchen.

“So, who’s she?” Barb placed fresh meatballs on a tray when he returned.

“Jordan Shoenover.” Josh added a cucumber and carrot garnish, then gathered the tray and stepped in front of the booth.

Barb’s hands kept moving in sure, steady motions. “She’s not one of your regular bakers.”

“She’s not a…” Josh took a deep breath. “Never mind.”

A surge of patrons visited the booth as the event wrapped up, clamoring for the last few morsels of chicken meatballs. He managed a grin at Barb over their compliments. Not bad for a home-grown chef who had learned by instinct instead of attending a secret-agent cooking school.

Finally the last few guests of Plates of Macon strolled out the door of the convention center.

The music quieted and a hum of conversation took over the space.

Noise levels rose as they stacked their pots and pans and filled travel containers.

Josh and Barb traded samples with the Greek and the vegetarian booths next to them, earning appreciative nods and giving them in return.

Once everything was cleaned up and the leftovers packed, he helped Barb load the van, still feeling Jordan’s body pressed against his own. At this rate, he was going to need a cold shower when he got home.

“That’s the last of it.” Barb slammed the van door closed and gave an exaggerated scan of the parking lot, moving her entire body as she surveyed the nearly deserted space. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Josh followed the path of her eyes but saw nothing that would cause concern, only other caterers packing their vans and talking among themselves. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no one in a fancy car waiting to take you home.”

After kissing Jordan, after feeling her soft skin, thoughts of other women left a lead ball in his stomach. “I’m pretty wiped. Between Fountenoy Hall and catering, I didn’t get much sleep this week. Mind taking me home?”

Barb’s brows lowered, creating a wrinkle between her eyes. “Hop in.”

Josh watched for any cars in the parking lot or on the street that pulled out at the same time, then fished his phone out of his pocket to see if Zach had checked in. He hadn’t. And maybe to see if Jordan had sent him a text after she’d fled from him earlier.

She hadn’t.

He read through a text from his neighbor Lucy, who said Zach had helped her change the lightbulbs in her apartment and they played board games. At least he hadn’t been alone all night. Josh checked the mirrors one more time before he leaned back in his car seat as exhaustion swept through his body.

“You know, Josh, if you need to scale back on the catering, it’s okay. I like using you because you’re creative as hell in the kitchen and those baby blues draw in more people than the smell of my dishes.”

“I’ll let you know.” Chances were he’d keep working. As crass as it was, he needed the money catering jobs pulled in.

“You have a unique understanding of food that’s going to hit it big time. When you start your own venture, I’ll understand. You have the financial mind for running a business and the skilled hands for a successful kitchen.”

“Not a chance. You’re stuck with me.” Before being mentored by Barb and seriously exploring food, his idea of unique was adding jarred salsa to scrambled eggs.

Barb pulled up to his apartment. The real one, not the brownstone he used when someone else drove him home in case Marian and Clint had tried to find out where he lived. They were resourceful enough to hire someone to follow him. “I packed up some meatballs for you. They’re already in your bag.”

“Thank you.” He reached for his backpack and got out of the car.

“And thank you for your work tonight. When I retire, you’re going to be the first person I call to hand over the business.” Barb drove away before he could respond.

His body absorbed the shock of her words. Retire? She’d never mentioned retirement.

He unlocked the lobby door and tried to sneak past Berry’s apartment, but the man must have x-ray vision. As soon as Josh’s foot touched the bottom step, Berry’s door opened. Maybe next time, Josh should bring a nugget of Kryptonite and see what happened.

“Evening, there, Josh.”

“Hey, Berry. What’s new?”

“Watching TV.” The man swept the small area with his gaze and nodded. “Have a good night.”

Josh hightailed it up the three flights, his backpack bumping his body with each stride. The apartment was quiet and dark when he entered, but a light peeked out from under his brother’s door.

The privacy screen and futon were already set up, his small lamp turned on and illuminating a small vase with fresh flowers wedged next to his stack of books on the milk crate.

Lucy’s touch. He found himself smiling. Even though the situation had sucked these past few years, he had found a great group of people to have it suck with.

He put the meatballs in the fridge and knocked on Zach’s door. His brother yelled out a greeting and Josh entered the room. Zach sat on the floor with his back propped against the wall, his old laptop resting on his thighs.

“I’m home.”

“Good time?”

The thought of Jordan’s breathy sigh before they’d kissed had him nodding, even though she had stormed away from him afterward. “Yeah. You?”

“There was math homework involved. Ms. Lucy helped me figure it out.”

“It’s nice having a teacher around.”

“Yeah.” Zach ran his thumb over the edge of his computer. “Did you play nice with the other chefs?”

Josh grinned. “What do you think?”

His brother took an exaggerated sniff of the air, nostrils flaring. “I think you smell like fried chicken.”

“Chicken meatballs. That will probably be dinner tomorrow, so I hope you like the aroma.”

“I’ve smelled worse.”

“Brat.” Josh tousled Zach’s hair. “So what’s your report about?”

“It’s for the school paper.”

“Pulitzer material?”

“One day.” Zach’s focus went back to his laptop. “I’m interviewing Berry tomorrow and need to prepare my questions.”

“Why Berry?”

“He’s weird.” Zach’s eyes lit up. “Ever notice that he seems to know when we come home? I’m investigating why. I think he was in the military and was in charge of keeping his people safe. Or maybe he was a bat in a former life and uses echolocation or something.”

“You figure it out, you let me know.”

Josh’s phone buzzed and a thrill of anticipation went through him. He backed out of Zach’s room to peek. It was a random pop up for one of the games he played. His heart made a quick descent to the floor.

Man, he was already too far gone if even the thought of a text got him excited. Kissing Jordan had knocked him senseless, had stirred the passions he’d buried.

Frustration gnawed at him. Serving and smiling and waiting for judgement on his recipe always made him tense.

Not to mention kissing a woman and having her run off afterward.

He pulled on his gym clothes and wrapped his hands with athletic tape.

The heavy punching bag could take the brunt of his aggravation.

He punched the bag with his left, enjoying the force of the contact as he snapped his hand back.

He did it again, then flowed into a hit from his right.

And again. Soon the rhythm and footwork took over his body and freed his mind, which went back to All Things Jordan.

He’d kept tabs on her over the years, checking her social media and bringing up the Shoenover Strategic Management website to see her client list growing.

He did the right thing by leaving. She never would have been successful if they were together.

Being with him would’ve given her credibility issues.

Once his muscles were jelly and his knuckles stung, he peeled the tape off his bruised fingers.

He had gone too hard on the bag. Or maybe not, since Jordan was still pervasive in his mind.

He hopped into the shower, maneuvering under the thin trickle of water.

The warmth finished soothing the aches in his body and swirled the scent of meatballs down the drain.

When he was clean, he grabbed a pair of boxers, then smacked his pillow a few times to even out the lumps.

No harm in checking in. Make sure she got home okay. See if she would ignore him.

And dammit, he couldn’t help himself.

Hey, Jay.