Page 21 of Kill for a Kiss

The door swings open and a wave of warmth greets us, along with the inviting scents of sugar, butter, and vanilla. We step into the bakery, and for a moment, I let it all wrap around me.

Stan stands beside me. “See something you like?” he asks.

I glance over the display of pastries and sweets, and before I know it, I’m ordering green tea. It feels like instinct.

Stan chuckles. “Of course you would.”

I raise a brow, meeting his playful gaze.

“You’re too elegant for anything else,” he says, before turning to order a frozen coffee drowning in whipped cream and syrup. The barista nods like she’s preparing it for royalty. But I suppose the Song-Smiths must be seen as such in this area, given their wealth.

We step aside, waiting, and I think we’re done, until he casually adds, “And one of everything behind the glass, please.”

I blink, watching tray after tray stack up. “You’re serious…?” I ask, glancing between him and the growing mountain of sugary treats.

Stan shrugs. “I like variety.”

“Are you going to eat all of that?”

He flashes me a smirk. “Not by myself. You’re helping.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “That’s insane.”

“And you love it,” he counters with that confident grin.

When we sit, I try to nibble at the pastry, but it’s too sweet. I blow on my tea, trying to ease the discomfort, but it’s too hot. All the while, Stan’s telling me about his family’s place, how things probably changed since Damon recently inherited the estate, but then his tone switches.

“Anyway, you’re eating half of this,” he says, nudging a pastrytoward me.

I scrunch my face, giving him an apologetic frown. “Hmm, way too sweet.”

“Who?Me?” he jokes.

I smile, shaking my head, then sip my tea, nearly burning my tongue but not reacting. It was the perfect temperature when I was drinking with Clo, but then again, this tea’s not too bitter.

“Really pretty.” Stan’s gaze is on me. “You, smiling.”

I quickly take another sip to cover the blush that’s surely spreading across my cheeks. Stan doesn’t press further, instead offering me another pastry. I take a bite from his hand. His fingers touching my lips makes my pulse skip.

“Tasty?” he asks, quieter now.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Nice,” he says. “But I’m not done spoiling you yet.”

I glance at him, then look away quickly, the heat in my cheeks betraying me. When I look back, he’s still studying me, his smirk teasing.

“Go on, keep staring. I can pose if you want,” he says.

I scoff softly, though my lips twitch up. I can’t help it. I look at him again, and he seems pleased.

His laugh is warm, and for reasons other than tea, so is my chest.

5

Sterling

So this is what torture feels like.