Page 3 of Sweet Hate (If You Dare #1)

HAVEN

H ow many people can say they uprooted their happy, mostly fulfilling life, moved back to a town they hate to inherit a bakery, and then set fire to that bakery on day one?

Oh wait, let’s not forget being rescued from said fire by the one person they wanted to try to avoid, preferably forever .

Just me. That’s who.

It’s probably more common to get bitten by sharks while riding a unicycle.

In fact, I’d rather take my chances with the sharks. At least then I’d tick something off my bucket list while avoiding running into Axel in this stupid town.

Not to mention the tiny issue of figuring out how to bake a ten-layer wedding cake for the most prestigious and well-connected family around here without a working freakin’ kitchen.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm, serene thoughts. You got this. It’s fine.

Ugh.

It’s not fucking fine. It’s a dumpster fire.

Why’ d I ever let Grams convince me to leave London and come back here?

Wasn’t it bad enough being named after the damn place my parents banged and essentially made me?

Apparently I’d forgotten how tough it was being forced to live here.

You know what people say—opinions are like assholes, everyone has one—well that couldn’t be more true.

I grew up under constant prying eyes and muttered judgements.

They all loved to voice their opinion on dad’s choice not to raise me and it didn’t stop there.

W hy does she color her hair like a rebel?

Why does she dress like that?

Why does she spend so much time with Axel and not her girlfriends?

It was constant. I couldn’t wait to get away.

I side eye Grams as we walk into the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner. At least she’s taking the fire in her stride.

“Go grab the fixings for your lasagna, Havey. I’ll go pick us up a cheesecake for later. I think you need a little something sweet to make you smile.”

Ha, she’s not wrong. Strolling toward the pasta aisle, I’m more than happy to eat my feelings.

My life might be a total shit show, but at least there’s lasagna, although even that’s a piss poor consolation now. My dumb ass didn’t think to pack my favorite Dolmio creamy sauce, to make it London style.

Urghhhhhh. Bollocks.

Now I’ve had it the British way, anything else is going to taste like spag bol but with pasta sheets.

I wonder if Alfredo sauce would taste similar?

Screw it, it’s worth a shot.

Well, if I can grab the damn jar from the top shelf. Apparently the store caters primarily to giraffes, because the height of this shelf is ridiculous .

Glancing around the aisle, I’m hoping to find someone not so vertically challenged to help me, but I’m shit out of luck. It’s totally empty.

Nothing is going to keep my ass away from my lasagna today.

I refuse to be defeated by a jar.

It looks like I’m about to test my skills as a gymnast.

Stepping on the bottom shelf, I stand precariously on my tiptoes, stretching my arm up as far as I can reach. My cami lifts, exposing my midriff, but I can’t worry about that right now.

At least I’m not flashing my tits today. That’s one point in my favor.

I huff out a sigh, trying to make my body stretch just a touch more. This is absolutely ridiculous. My fingers only just graze the damn thing.

Balls.

White knuckling the shelf, I use all my strength to pull myself up as high as I can— thank you, trapeze class. I finally manage to get my fingertips around the jar just as a hand swoops in out of nowhere, right by my nose, and scares the shit out of me.

With a squeal, I fly backwards along with my sauce and land squarely on my ass.

Again.

And because this week is the gift that keeps on giving, the jar smashes beside me, showering me, and the stealthy assassin standing behind me, in sauce.

Fuck my fucking life.

I look like an elephant orgy’s happy ending.

Maybe if I just sit here and keep my eyes closed, they’ll ignore me and walk away.

Far, far away.

Unfortunately, the not-so-subtle cough behind me says otherwise .

Dammit. I should probably apologize.

Way to make new friends in town, Haven.

I tilt my head back slowly and make eye contact with upside-down piercing blue eyes.

Very familiar, hostile , piercing blue eyes.

Jesus, not again.

Spinning on my butt to face him, I take in the white splatters covering his black jeans and steel-toe boots. There’s even a large splodge right on his trouser snake. Oops.

He looks like a virgin after his first go round with a dirty mag.

Oops.

Well…at least I’ve not alienated another person in town. So, there’s that.

This one already hates me.

I’m really trying to ignore the cold, slimy sauce dripping down my cleavage as I scramble to stand up. But since my luck is trash, I manage to cut my finger on a shard of glass when my hand slips in a puddle of Alfredo.

A heavy sigh from above me is all the warning I get before I’m unceremoniously hoisted up by the waist for the second time this week.

“Hurricane.”

That’s it.

One word.

His growly tone immediately pisses me off. His hands flex on my hips, and I grip his palms, making sure to dig the tips of my nails in just a little as I pull them away from me.

I wish I knew what I did to deserve his wrath. No way in hell I’m asking though. This man is a wildly different beast from the boy I grew up with.

Two can play this game, Mr. Verona. He wants to be a dick, I can be one right back.

A prettier one too.

“Verona.”

His eyes flash at my use of his surname—he hates me doing that, always has.

The awkward silence drags out before his eyes trail down, taking in the splatters of white slipping slowly down my bare cleavage. His nostrils flare, and he gulps as I watch a muscle ticking in his jaw. I wonder if he’s thinking of elephant orgies, too. Or if he’s thinking of the times he…nope.

NOPE.

I’m not going there.

I bite my lip, heat creeping across my cheeks, and his eyes snag on the movement before they come back to meet mine.

Why does he have to look so good?

My heart rate picks up, the fire smoldering in his gaze freezing me in place. Is he getting closer? Am I? Before I can process, his brows slam down, his eyes narrowing as he glares at my hand.

“You’re bleeding.”

Oh, yeah. Right.

“It’s fine. Just a nick.”

He shakes his head, his hand snaking out to grip mine and examine the cut. His warm touch is gentle as his thumb strokes across my palm. I stand there in complete and utter disbelief as he moves my hand toward his mouth.

Surely he isn’t going to kiss it better—what are we, five?

Before I can pull away, say something, anything…he sucks my finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip as he licks up the blood. Releasing it with a pop, he plants a soft kiss on my hand before reluctantly letting it go so it falls to my side.

Fuck. Me.

What the hell was that? And why don’t I hate it?

Butterflies riot in full force, and I don’t even want to mention the reaction his little vampire act just had on my panties. He isn’t supposed to be causing any of those. He hates me, I’m not a huge fan of his—end of story.

Right? Right?

This is bad. Really fucking bad. I need to blow this popsicle stand. And fast.

Fuck the lasagna.

“Right, OK, well, this has been great. I’m sorry about the…” My words die and my hand—what the heck? It’s flopping around like a limp fish right now, with no sign of stopping.

Christ, get it together girl.

“I really should be going. Please let Grams know once we can get in and sort out the bakery. Okay, thanks. Bye.”

I spin on my heel to hightail it out of here when his hand reaches back out and grabs my wrist, sending a jolt of electricity shooting up my arm, and I almost slip in the puddle of sauce and glass I was trying to avoid.

Slowly, I stare down at where his big hand is wrapped around my wrist. My eyes snap up to his face, but his gaze is still burning a hole into our joined hands.

I wait for him to say something, anything, but he stays silent.

Awkward.

I give my wrist a slow tug, and his eyes finally rise to mine. I know I should look away—hell, I should run away, but I can’t. Especially not when his thumb strokes my inner wrist, trapping my breath in my throat.

Silently, he takes a step closer, edging me backwards, his eyes never leaving mine.

As he crowds me against the shelves, I’m hyperaware of the warmth rolling off his body, my senses misfiring in direct response. That yummy leather smell invades my senses, and that's when I notice his worn, soft-looking biker jacket. Does he ride a motorcycle now?

His thumb burns, stroking the inside of my wrist, branding me. His nostrils flare as his tongue darts out, running slowly along his lower lip. Without the perpetual frown he’s been sporting, he looks a lot more like my best friend and a lot less like this man who hates me.

He was my favorite person in the world once. He meant everything to me, and there was a time I thought I meant something to him too.

We used to communicate with the barest look. We just knew . But now I’m not sure what the look he’s giving me means, and I hate it. My eyes burn with unshed tears and I swallow down the swell of emotion threatening to break my facade.

His other hand cups my face, his thumb stroking along my bottom lip. The familiar move sends a shiver down my spine.

I missed him.

“Haven, I?—”

“Cupcake! There you are. And I see you’ve found Axel again.” Gram’s voice snaps us out of whatever stupor we were both in, and he jerks back, scowling at me again.

Damn—I mean good .

What am I doing? Why am I giving this twat the time of day, let alone letting him touch me? He isn’t the same guy. In fact, I’m not even sure the guy I thought he was ever existed.

This stops here.

She rolls her cart up to us and takes in the mess we’re in with a giggle. Yes. Grams, my eighty-two-year-old grandmother, just giggled.

I’m glad someone’s finding this funny.

“Oh dear, what happened here?” Her eyes scan the floor in amusement. Heat floods my cheeks as I try to find the words to explain today's mess.

“It’s my fault, Grams. I startled Haven.” A smirk works its way across Axel’s face as he quickly glances my way.

This moment gives me a real sense of déjà vu. Axel used to be great at putting me at ease. Stepping in to handle situations, making sure I was comfortable, especially when I got older and didn't feel like I fit in around here.

A pang stabs my heart. I miss that boy. Our friendship. The one I never expected to end.

“Nonsense. It’s no one’s fault. These things happen. Let’s find someone to clean up the floor. Axel, would you be a dear and grab another jar of sauce for us? Why they insist on stacking these shelves to the heavens, I’ll never know.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He effortlessly reaches over me to grab another jar, his chest almost brushing my nose in the process. I’m once again assaulted by that now familiar leather scent, and wow , the same Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue aftershave he used when we were teenagers.

“Here you go, Grams. Need anything else before I head out?” He winks at her, putting the sauce in her cart and flashing her a blinding smile.

Grams beams back, looking at him like he hung the moon, because of course she does.

My brain stalls, unable to compute this moment. It’s like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone.

Everyone loves Axel. They always have. He’s always been the happy-go-lucky guy who had time for everyone. Everyone except me these days, apparently.

“Oh no, Axel. Why don’t you join us for dinner?

We’re making your favorite and it looks like you were planning on making it too, no sense in that.

” She waves at his cart where—I shit you not—mince, garlic bread, and lasagna sheets sit.

“I remember how you demolished it with Havey every week. Plus, I’m sure you’d love to catch up with each other. It’s been so long.”

Beaming with pride she looks between us expectantly. I can’t even bring myself to look at Axel right now, choosing to study the white spot of sauce seeping into my pink sparkly Converse instead.

“Uh, thank you, Grams, but I can’t today. The guys from the firehouse are heading over for dinner to watch the game. Raincheck? I really should get going or they'll beat me home.”

Relief floods me, and fine, maybe a little disappointment too…but we’re not going to talk about that right now.

He bends down to kiss her papery cheek before glaring my way above her head.

Cold, hard eyes stare at me for a split second longer. “Hurricane, it’s been a pleasure.” With that he turns, swaggering back down the aisle. Whatever he had to say forgotten, and any trace of the boy I once knew long gone.

I don’t care.

I've not heard from him in over a decade. I really don’t need to start now.