Page 17 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

I’m not saying that I stayed up later than is reasonable, watching my phone in case Noelle messaged me. But I’m not not saying that.

She did not message me. Clearly. Nor has she breathed a word about the kiss or the match since she came down to the basement kitchen to work a few hours ago, and the workday is almost over.

Six hours standing less than ten feet apart, and she’s barely said a word to me.

Not that that’s unusual for Noelle, but after yesterday…

I’m probably overthinking it. She regretted the kiss, that much was obvious.

And maybe she has her notifications turned off for Locked and didn’t see the match.

Or maybe she did, and she’s taking pity on me by not bringing up how not interested in me she is.

She sure felt interested yesterday. Before she ran like the wind, I guess.

Noelle is crumb coating a couple of cakes, and I sneakily watch her from behind my bowl of Italian meringue buttercream. I’m an almost forty-seven-year-old woman, acting like a high school freshman with a crush on the goddamn cheerleader. It’s embarrassing.

I wonder if she was a cheerleader in high school. She doesn’t seem like the type, but everything I know about Noelle is secondhand information passed on by a town that clearly sees her as a Whitten before they see her as Noelle.

“What were you like in high school?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Noelle’s hand stills, the spatula she’s holding dead center on top of the cake. “What? Why?” she asks without looking up.

“I’m just curious. You know, were you a band person, an athlete, a mathlete?”

She sighs, spinning the cake on the turntable and smoothing out the crumb coat. “I was head elf of the Christmas Club.”

At first, I think I’ve misheard her. Then, I think she must be fucking with me. But this is Wintermore…

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not. Felix was head elf, and then he passed the baton to me. I also played the clarinet,” she adds, as if to prove that Christmas wasn’t her entire identity, “and I was salutatorian.”

That part doesn’t surprise me. No matter how little I know about her, I can tell she’s smart—not to mention dedicated.

“Did you go to college?”

She grits her teeth, but she’s entertaining my questions more than I expected her to, at least.

“I went to Berkley.”

“You’re kidding! I’m from Oakland,” I say, cringing a little at how enthusiastic I sound, knowing we have something so small in common.

I don’t expect Noelle to sound enthusiastic—I don’t expect her to acknowledge it at all.

I definitely don’t expect her to say, “I know. I looked you up on Facebook.”

“I—Wha—When?” I pick my jaw up off the floor just in time for her to look up. Her expression is a mystery to me. Somehow, when it comes to Noelle, I always feel like I’m a step behind.

“Last night. After I kissed you, before you matched with me on Locked.”

Well, there it is. I guess we’re not ignoring the elephant in the room.

She doesn’t ask if it was an intentional match. She probably doesn’t have to, given how into the kiss I was.

“Are we going to talk about it?” I ask.

Noelle takes her time finishing the crumb coat and carrying the cake to the fridge to chill before answering. “The kiss? Or the matching?”

How can she sound so calm about all this? So unbothered. She starts cleaning up, and I follow suit, because I don’t know how I’m supposed to get anything done when all I can think about is how her lips felt on mine yesterday in this exact spot.

“Both,” I answer, as I scoop the meringue buttercream into a container and set my bowl beside the sink.

“I’m sorry. About the kissing, I mean. It’s pretty out of character for me to kiss people I work with. Or people I don’t… you know.”

I round the island, leaning back against the cool worktop, and crossing my arms. “Why?”

“Why don’t I kiss people?”

“Why don’t you like me?” I ask bluntly, and Noelle looks at me, her eyes wide, like she didn’t expect me to call her on it.

Which, given my personality, is understandable.

“Look,” I continue, “I don’t need everyone to like me.

I’m a big girl. But I’ve been trying to figure you out for years.

Sure, I’m not close with anyone here, but no one else seems to actively dislike me except for you. Why?”

Something like guilt flashes in Noelle’s eyes. She finishes spraying down her surface and follows my lead, rounding the island and leaning back, across from me. There are only a few feet separating us in this position, and I can smell the sweet, spicy scent of her even more than I usually can.

“I don’t suppose telling you it’s not actually about you would be enough to get you to stop wondering?” she asks, sighing when I shake my head.

Truthfully, I’m surprised she’s not straight-up shutting me down.

“Fine. I recognize that this is irrational and petty, but you stole my dream,” she says, finally, and I’m no less confused.

“I stole your dream?”

“Yeah. You couldn’t have known, but I’ve dreamed of opening the first bakery in Wintermore since I moved here.

I was supposed to do it after college, but I couldn’t because Felix couldn’t get his shit together, and I had to work at the toy store.

Then you came along and did it first.” She sounds resigned, but her cheeks turn pink, like she’s embarrassed.

It makes sense. Of course she resents me being here. Sure, I couldn’t have known, but to put your dreams on hold for someone else is bad enough, let alone someone swooping in and stealing that dream from right under your feet before you get the chance to make it happen. I’d be pissed off too.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and Noelle shrugs.

“Not your fault.”

“No, but it’s still shit. For what it’s worth, Noelle, I might have done it first, but you did it better.”

She scoffs, but I step forward, and it dies on her tongue.

“I’m serious. I’m proud of épices et Sucré, and I’ve done better than I could’ve hoped, but you’ve made something amazing here. And with a lot less experience. It’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she replies, looking unconvinced.

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not… Okay, yes, the bakery has done well. But how much of that is because of me and how much of it is because of who my family is?” Bitterness seeps out of her, her brows pinching together, but she quickly recovers. “That makes me sound ungrateful, and I’m not, I just—”

“Noelle. You don’t have to explain yourself. You can be grateful for the support and frustrated that it’s smothering,” I point out gently.

“I never said smothering.”

“You didn’t have to. I live and work across the street from you. I’ve been watching you for months, and I can see the toll it’s taken on you.”

The edges of Noelle’s lips lift in a soft smile. “You’ve been watching me, huh?”

Shit. “Uh, I mean, I… Fuck. I don’t suppose you can pretend I didn’t say that?”

“Nope.” Noelle pushes off the island and heads toward my pile of mess by the sink. “But I won’t ask any follow-up questions. Come on—let’s tackle this chaos and get out of here.”

“You don’t have to help,” I say, quickly rushing over.

“I don’t mind.” She grabs the stack of mixing bowls and a spatula to scrape out the remnants. “For the record, I don’t dislike you as much as I did a few weeks ago. Though you probably guessed that from the kiss.”

“I figured.”

We’re both quiet as we clean. She scrapes and I sort the mess into piles: trash, rinse for the dishwasher, hand wash, put away. I wash, and she puts things away and rinses. All things considered, we get through it quickly.

Noelle closes the dishwasher, turns it on, and clears her throat, looking over her shoulder at me. “Back to what started this whole conversation: I’m sorry for kissing you, and it won’t happen again. It was inappropriate.”

Right. I try not to let the disappointment I have no business feeling show as I answer, “Of course. You’re right. I’m a lot older than you.”

I drain the sink and dry my hands on my apron. When I look up, Noelle is looking at me strangely.

“What?”

“That’s not what I meant. We work together, and that could get messy quickly. Your age isn’t an issue.”

She said she looked me up on Facebook, but maybe she doesn’t realize how old I actually am. “I’m almost forty-seven.”

“I know.”

“And you’re thirty.”

“Believe it or not, I knew that too.”

I squint at her. “My point being, I’m old.”

Noelle snorts, pulling the claw clip from her hair and clipping it to the strap of her denim overalls. I watch her lilac waves tumble down her back, momentarily dizzied by the way they catch the light.

“You’re not old.”

She stretches her neck, her eyes closed, and my mouth goes dry.

“I feel old.” I don’t mean to say it, I’m just so distracted by her that my mouth moves faster than my brain.

Noelle opens her eyes, staring at me with bright pools of blue. Whatever she sees on my face makes her pupils flare. “I guess you’ve got to find something to make you feel young again, then,” she says, her voice low. Have I ever been so turned on by a soft, southern twang before? Definitely not.

“I guess so,” I agree.

Tension stretches between us like spun sugar, delicate and friable. I swallow, and Noelle tracks the movement with her eyes, her tongue skating over her bottom lip.

“Shay?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you match with me on Locked?”

I release a long breath. It feels like we’re balancing on glass. “I was filming B-roll when you kissed me. I watched it back. And yeah, you ran away, but you hesitated at the door. It felt like it meant something. And… it was a good kiss,” I answer honestly.

Noelle half-laughs, toying with her hands. “It was a good kiss,” she agrees. “Maybe a little… quick.”

“Maybe. I watched it back in slow-mo,” I admit.

“I, uh, wouldn’t be against seeing that sometime,” she replies, and I might be imagining it, but I swear we’re inching closer together.

“I’ll text it to you,” I offer.

“Thanks.”

She looks down at the ground, pinching her lips together, almost like she’s having a conversation with herself. Every line of her body is taut, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Noelle…?”

When she looks up, her pupils have swallowed her blue eyes.

“Fuck it.”

I don’t have time to ask what she means before she’s in front of me, grasping my face. Her lips hover over mine, and I want to scream that she doesn’t just close the fucking gap.

“I didn’t ask last time. I should’ve asked. Can I kiss you? Please.” The last word falls from her tongue with a groan, and I don’t bother answering her, cutting her off by pressing my lips to hers, because I need to taste her plea.

She gasps, but wastes no time pulling me into her. I feel a soft tug as she pulls the hair tie from my hair, and my ponytail falls down. Noelle wraps my hair around her fingers, running her tongue across the seam of my lips until they fall apart with a moan for her.

Her tongue slips into my mouth, tentatively teasing mine as she walks me backward until my back hits the island.

She tastes even better than I imagined—like cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg and coffee.

Simple flavors, but they’re like heaven on her tongue.

I could spend years trying to replicate the taste in a cake or a cookie, but I know it would never be quite right because it would be missing her.

She pulls back to inhale a long breath, her gaze searching my face. Her cheeks are flushed a perfect rosy pink, her hair sticking up at all angles from where my hands find purchase.

Noelle brushes her thumb across the apple of my cheek. “God damn. Look at you. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me with so much fire in their eyes. Her expression is dazzling, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“Shay…” She drags my name out, long and slow, shaking her head softly. “I want to touch you. I need to touch you.”

“Okay,” I answer, even though she never asked me a question.

“I guess you’ve got to find something to make you feel young again.” She has no idea what she does to me.

“Are you sure?” she asks, eyeing me with uncertainty. “I’m aware that I’ve been a complete asshole to you for years and—”

“Noelle, it’s okay. I understand. And you’ve been sweet to me lately.”

“True, but I’ve still been plenty spicy, too,” she replies, and the guilt on her face makes me step closer to her.

“I want you, Noelle. Spicy or sweet.”

Her pupils flare, and I feel the giddy nervous rush I haven’t felt since long before I met Philippe as Noelle slips her hands around my body to undo the knot holding my apron together. She tosses it to the side before looking back over her shoulder at the door.

“The polite thing to do would be to take you upstairs to my apartment,” she muses, turning back to me with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “but I’m feeling about as polite as I am patient right about now, so…”

She grips my hips and lifts me with seemingly zero effort until I’m perched on the edge of the island. I squeak in surprise, but it melts into a whimper as she spreads my legs and steps between them, running her palms over my thighs, and brushing my neck with her nose.

Noelle peppers kisses across my collarbone, her hands roaming over my body. She presses her hand against my ribcage and looks up at me. “Your heart’s going a mile a minute. You okay?”

I nod, but my head doesn’t feel like my own. “Yeah, I—” My voice is so scratchy, I pause to clear my throat. “Sorry. I haven’t done this in a while. Been with a woman—or anyone.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says softly. Her fingers are gentle as she toys with my locket. “How long’s a while?”

“I haven’t been with anyone since my divorce a few years ago, but I haven’t been with a woman in… God, like twenty-something years.”

Noelle smiles, the sight of it making my stomach flutter.

“Well, the good news is that things haven’t changed all that much in twenty years.

” She moves her fingers over my skin, cupping my breast and pressing her thumb against my nipple.

Even through my shirt and my bra, it feels incredible.

“It still feels good here,”—she drags a single finger over the denim between my legs, and I almost jump out of my skin—“and here.”

A curse spills from me as she moves both hands under my shirt. Her cool fingers dance against my flaming skin, and I jump, accidentally kneeing her. Fuck, I’m getting this all wrong.

“Shit, sorry, I—”

“Shay,” she says, and it sounds almost like a gentle scold. She pulls my T-shirt up over my head and discards it somewhere off to the side. “Relax, and let me make this good for you, sweetheart,” she murmurs.

And I wouldn’t say no to that even if I could.