Page 50 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Amy

Geraldine Wilkins is like a cross between a fairytale godmother and a sailor on shore leave. An old lady as sweet as sugar, but with a mouth that could make a trucker blush. My badass husband adores her as if she were his own grandmother. More, since he hates his actual grandmother.

Since Wyatt finally finished the blanket he’s been making for his beloved neighbor, I grabbed a batch of cookies I'd made the previous day—or what was left of them, anyway—and we went for our first social visit as a couple.

Geraldine opened the door, took one look at our joined hands, exclaimed, “Fucking finally!” and that pretty much set the tone for the meeting.

After introductions, we’re ushered to a sofa in her quaint living room while she bustles in the kitchen, making tea.

Intent on helping her since she seems to have trouble walking, I make to get up, but Wyatt’s hand on my knee stops me.

“Don’t. You’ll just piss her off,” he says quietly. “If she needs help, she’ll ask for it.”

The delicate china rattles on the tray in Geraldine’s trembling hands, but she manages to get it to the coffee table without spilling anything. “ So, Wyatt, you finally took my advice and found yourself a nice girl,” she announces as she sits down. “After eight years! Talk about being slow.”

I slap a hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. Wyatt, on the other hand, must be used to Geraldine’s antics because he looks unperturbed. “I kept telling you I haven’t met the right woman yet. Now I have.”

“Hmm, hmm. Married her straight away, too. Josie who works in the town hall said you didn’t even have a proper wedding. Seriously, Wyatt?” she chastises. “I know you young ones do things differently now and all that crap, but not even flowers or a ring?”

At that, Wyatt lowers his head, his cheeks gaining a slightly red tint.

Blushing. My fearless hitman is blushing at the old lady’s rebuke, and it nearly makes me burst into laughter.

“That’s okay,” I say to take the heat off him.

“We don’t really care about ceremonies. We just wanted to get married as quickly as possible.

Right, dear?” I ask sweetly, unable to resist teasing Wyatt a little.

“That’s right,” he confirms. “Couldn’t live another second without being married to Amy. And the ring, um…”

“We’ll pick one together later,” I finish for him.

Watching us like a hawk, Geraldine elegantly sips her tea. “Don’t let him get away with his bachelor bullshit, my dear,” she says, scowling in Wyatt’s direction before focusing on me again. “He’s been alone for too long. You need to whip him into shape so he starts acting like an actual husband.”

I barely suppress a snort. “I, um, yes. I will absolutely, um, whip him.” A laugh does escape me at that. It’s really impossible not to laugh at the idea of making Wyatt do anything he doesn’t want to. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilkins. It’s just that Wyatt is already pretty much a perfect husband.”

“Hah! I highly doubt that. Does he make you come? And I told you to call me Geraldine, my dear.”

“Does he— Um. I—” I shoot a panicked look at Wyatt, silently begging him to help me, but the bastard is just sipping his tea as if this lovely old lady hadn’t just ask me about our sex life.

“Well?” Geraldine asks impatiently. “Wyatt? ”

“Several times a day, Geraldine. Don’t worry.”

Oh my god. He did not just admit that! I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just shrugs like it’s no big deal.

Geraldine, at least, seems satisfied with the answer enough to let the topic go.

Reaching for a cookie, she examines it closely before biting into it.

“Mmm. This is good. And really pretty. Where did you order these from?”

“Amy made them,” Wyatt says proudly.

“Oh? Well, too bad you didn’t bring more. I have a few friends over for a book club tomorrow. They’d love them.”

I beam at her praise. I know they’re just cookies, but it feels amazing to hear a stranger praising them.

Of course, Kayla always said my creations were delicious and Wyatt says the same thing, but those two are too close to me to really give me any criticism.

“I can make more for tomorrow,” I offer, excited about baking for someone other than Wyatt and myself.

“There actually were more in this batch but someone ,” I glare at Wyatt, “ate half of them before they were even finished.”

“It’s not like I ate the batter,” Wyatt says in his defense. “They were baked. I even waited until they cooled down. Mostly. They’re cookies! I didn’t know you were going to make them into, like, extra pretty cookies. They were delicious even without the decorations.”

Geraldine laughs. “Men. They’re all the same. When my boys were little, I always had to bake two batches of everything. Or lock the sweets in the pantry.”

“Hmm, that’s an idea.”

Wyatt scowls. “We don’t have a pantry. I’m more in favor of the double batches. Those cupcakes you made last time, the spicy ones, I could definitely eat more of those.”

“You know,” Geraldine says, her eyes narrowing a little as she looks at me, “my friend’s daughter owns a little cafe in town and she’s been looking for someone to help her.

The last girl she had helping out got herself knocked up.

Nineteen and she’s already having a baby, could you believe that?

With some high school baseball player, no less.

Stupid kids. Anyway, what was I— Ah. The cafe.

Samantha is looking to hire someone. She’s great with people, but let’s be honest, her cooking skills leave much to be desired.

I can give you her number if you’re interested. ”

“Um.” Feeling a little overwhelmed, I squeeze Wyatt’s hand, glancing at him to see his reaction.

His expression is carefully neutral, which doesn’t help at all.

“I’m honored, Geraldine,” I start carefully, “but I don’t think I’m qualified for such work.

Besides, I wouldn’t even have a way to get into town every day.

” It’s not like I could ask Wyatt to drive me to and from work, even if I was allowed to work and, by some miracle, got the job. Which I wouldn’t.

“It’s like a fifteen minute ride from here,” Geraldine objects. “Ten if you take that sexy sports car, which Wyatt will happily give you. Right, Wyatt?”

“I don’t even have a driver’s license,” I object before Wyatt can say that he would absolutely never in a million years let me drive the sports car that probably cost more than I’ve made in my entire life.

Geraldine waves her hand. “Pish posh. One of my grandsons just got his license, and he’s just seventeen!

Also, he’s completely stupid. If he can do it, so can you.

Not that I’m forcing you into anything. Apologies if it seemed that way.

People sometimes call me a steamroller,” she chuckles, “but it’s just wisdom that comes with age.

When you’re so fucking old, you realize life’s too short for beating around the bush and bullshit excuses. ”

Unable to come up with anything polite to say, I just make a non-committal sound.

“Like that trucker who nearly died last week,” Geraldine continues. “I bet he had his life flash in front of his eyes.”

“A trucker?” I ask, grateful for the change of topic.

“Oh, yes.” To my surprise, Geraldine pulls out a tablet from beneath the coffee table and skillfully navigates to the local news page.

“Hmm, hmm. Where was it? Ben Facebooked it to me and I put that little star on it to make sure I don’t lose it, but it’s not here.

Stupid thing. Aha! There. Look, he ran straight into that tree.

The branch missed his head by inches. He was probably too busy with his phone to pay attention to the road.

Hah. I don’t think he’s going to be making the same mistake again. ”

“Right…” I tune Geraldine’s voice out as I stare at the images accompanying the article.

The trucker seems somewhat familiar, but I wouldn’t be able to place him if it weren’t for the picture of his crashed vehicle.

The superhero image on the cab is unmistakable.

This is one of the men who ogled me on our drive from Kansas City.

I’d noticed Wyatt taking pictures of his truck, but I’d been too busy freaking out about where he was taking me to truly grasp the consequences.

Checking the date on the article confirms my suspicions. The “accident” happened on the same day Wyatt left to run his “errand”. That cannot possibly be a coincidence.

Geraldine still chatters away about idiots and driving and cellphones, but Wyatt and I both ignore her as we look at each other.

An unspoken conversation takes place, one where I demand to know whether this was his doing, and he smirks in response, completely unapologetic, which is…

wrong. Definitely wrong. But damn! He almost killed someone just for looking at me.

That’s so damn hot. I mean…wrong. Immoral.

Illegal. Evil. My panties should absolutely not be getting wet. Stupid panties.

“Aww, look at you two,” Geraldine coos when she finally notices neither of us is paying attention to her. “Can’t take your eyes off each other. So sweet. Go back home. You clearly need to have sex and not waste your time with an old fart like me.”

That makes even Wyatt a little flustered. “For fuck’s sake, Geraldine,” he admonishes halfheartedly, “you’re the most sex-obsessed person I’ve ever met.”

“Pfft. You should have met me forty years ago. I would have taken you for the ride of your life. Now my joints ache too much to have proper fun. At least there’s the book club. You could join us sometimes, Amy.”

I blink, momentarily convinced that the book club is just a code word for some later in life sex club, which is absolutely not something I want to be a part of. “I’m not much of a reader. Is that, like, a Bible study group? ”

Geraldine snorts. “Hah! No, darling. This month’s book does have a priest in it but the things he does would make Mary Magdalene blush. I’ll Facebook you the details. You are Facebooking, right?”

“Uh-huh. I’m Facebooking.”

Another pleading look finally convinces Wyatt to take mercy on me. Standing up, he nods at Geraldine. “Thanks for the tea, Geraldine. We should be going now.”

“Oh yes, yes. Go home and have fun.” She winks. “And be good to your wife, Wyatt, or you’ll end up like my husband. Keep an eye on him, Amy, and if he steps out of line, let me know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clinging on to Wyatt’s hand, I follow him outside, heaving a relieved breath when the door clicks shut behind us. “Jesus Mary and Joseph!” I exclaim in a low voice. “That woman is…intense.”

Laughing, Wyatt leads me down the steps from Geraldine’s porch to our car. “Yeah, she’s something else.” I’m too dazed by the encounter with Geraldine that I don’t realize anything’s amiss until Wyatt opens the driver’s door of the SUV and urges me inside. “Get in, cupcake. You’re driving.”