One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

Too close for comfort. Too close to my hometown of Dallas—a dusty little northern oil town with too many bad memories tainting the good times. It’s a place where everyone has a magical love story except me.

“What is it?” Eliza says, noticing the frown on my face.

I shake my head.

“Oh, nothing.” I drop the letters in my lap and pick up the steaming mug Eliza set down next to me.

“King Idiot again?”

“...maybe.” I pick up the mug and take another sip of Eliza’s sublime brew, warming my soul. I slide the letter across the bar. “Toss it for me?”

“Sure thing! You sure you don’t want to read it first?”

For a second, I hesitate. But whatever heartless apology or validation seeking thing my ex sent can’t be worth the grief. Especially not today.

“Nope. Shoot your shot,” I tell her, slurping my coffee loudly.

Grinning, she crumples the letter into a messy ball and chucks it into the pink crate with glittery stripes across the room she uses for recycling.

“Score!” She pours herself a celebratory coffee and sits beside me.

“Eliza, I say this gently, but...I don’t think you need more coffee.” I pat her shoulder.

“And we don’t blaspheme in this house.”

I laugh. “Will you even sleep tonight?”

She picks up a scone and takes a wolfish bite.

“Eventually. How was your day? Besides the working zombie hours and getting a letter from King Idiot, I mean?”

“Same day, different...asshole.” I carefully add that last word, remembering my morning spat at Sweeter Grind. “Actually, that’s not exactly true. I ran into a real weirdo at Sweeter Grind this morning—”

“Oh?” Eliza’s brows shoot up. “Did he follow you? Did he try to—”

“Yes, he followed. But no. Not the typical harassment like you’re thinking. He had a mantrum—a man tantrum—because I was ahead of him in line and snagged the last Regis roll.”

“I mean, can you blame him? Regis rolls are God.”

For a second, I burst out laughing. If Eliza could build herself an altar of baked offerings like the crazy little coffee Pagan she is, I’m sure there’d be a freaking Regis roll in the center.

“Yeah, but get this,” I say. “This dude flips his lid when he finds out the last one just sold out. He yells at the barista and then he tries to buy my roll.”

“What?” She doubles over laughing, her eyes scrunching up in this funny way that makes me join her.

“Oh, wow. You should’ve given him some jacked up price just to see if he’d take it. You could have had a nice payday!”

I purse my lips.

“Well...he started bidding. He got up to five hundred dollars without any prompting on my part.”

“He—what?” Her mouth falls open. “You’re not joking? Let me get this straight. So some rando at Sweeter Grind bids five hundred dollars for a cinnamon roll? Holy crap. You scored the jackpot! I’d be feasting at Le Panier for a week if I had your devil’s luck.”

“Here’s the thing.” I take another slow bite of scone and chew, questioning my sanity. “I didn’t take it.”

Eliza’s eyes almost pop out of her head. She slaps her thigh so hard her coffee rattles.

“No way! Why?”

“Because. This guy needed a serving of humble pie. He comes clomping in looking like a model in a three-piece suit and demands the last cinnamon roll in the shop just because he’s breathing? Because he’s rich? I don’t even know, there’s just something seriously borked about that. Someone had to teach him a lesson.”

“Uh huh. And you, Miss Poe, just happened to notice his suit.”

I open my mouth to fire back but the words won’t come.

“Dakota. You passed up five Benjamins and the chance to hate-flirt with a hot rich guy, and now you’ll never see him again?” Eliza reaches out and gently flicks her fingers against my forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? Like, are you sure Edgar Allan’s craziness isn’t hereditary?”

“Oh, please. We’re super distantly related.” I roll my eyes. “Also, he wasn’t flirting. He was pretty horrible. He kept stalking me as he upped his offers, so what else could I do? I took a huge bite of the roll right in front of him just so he’d get it through his Neanderthal skull that he’s not, under any circumstances, buying my roll. Being rich doesn’t make you God.”

She shrugs.

“I mean, I’ll give you an A in ethics. No lie, I would’ve taken the five hundred bucks, though.” She flashes an awkward smile.

“It was mighty tempting, but this guy needed a lesson. Trust me.”

“Why did you just have to be the one to teach him?”

I shrug.

“Because I could.” I sigh. “Okay, because I had fun with it. I needed to brighten up my day.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you’re coming up on a year since...yeah.” Her face softens. “You had a bad day and a pastry-obsessed psycho was an easy target. It doesn’t matter, lady. Any idiot who pays that much for a cinnamon roll would regret it. I’m sure you’ll never see him again and you saved him five hundred dollars. Tomorrow’s a new day. You’ll feel better.”