2
The next morning, I wake up to six more text messages from Alex.
Unknown:Good morning, Sundance.
Unknown:I have a question.
Unknown:Something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
Unknown:Can I ask it?
Unknown:I’m taking your silence as permission.
Unknown:Who is Harry and why does he have prince hair?
A small giggle bubbles up in me, and my lips are twitching with the urge to laugh outright as I respond.
Me:Your hair is longish and wavey. Very princely. Similar to the Harry Styles prince hair era. Ask Google.
Three dots pop up, then disappear. I wait thirty seconds, watching the text box, and just when I decide to throw my phone down and get ready for the day, the dots dance again, followed by a string of photos of Harry Styles in all his prince-haired glory.
Unknown:Prince Hair Harry is fucking gorgeous.
I laugh out loud.
Me:Facts.
Unknown:You think I look like him.
Me:Whoa there, Butch. Rein in your ego. I said your hair was similar. That’s where my comparison ended. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Unknown: Whatever you say, Sundance.
Unknown:Any comparison at all is a compliment.
Unknown:This man is a god.
He sends me a few more pictures of Harry Styles. My smile is unbidden as I flip through them, thinking up a witty retort, but my breath hitches and my eyes go wide when the final picture is a selfie of Alex.
The selfie is from the shoulders-up, but I can tell he’s shirtless, and whoa momma, the traps on this one. His hair is loose and wavy, cascading around his defined, scruff-covered jaw, accenting a dimple in his chin, and dancing over the tops of his shoulders. His plump lips are pulled into a sexy crooked grin, and his deep brown eyes are crinkled at the corners. I’m so focused on the picture that I actually jump a little when the next text comes in.
Unknown:You think if I grow it out I can reach LHH status?
Unknown:(That stands for Long Hair Harry. Real fans know.)
I laugh loudly. This guy is ridiculous.
Me:I think you can try. But keep your expectations realistic. The only person who can pull off the perfect LHH is LHH.
I throw my phone on the bed and head for the kitchen. Ivy programs the coffee pot at night, so I’m hit with the aroma of caffeinated goodness the moment I step out of my bedroom. Judging by the silence, she’s already left for the library, which means I have the apartment to myself to spend the day baking before retiring to the porch to drink wine and read my newest romance novel.
After making my coffee and changing out of my sleepshirt, I pull out my cookie notepad and plan today’s recipe.
So far, the favorite amongst my taste testers have been a caramel cheesecake bar cookie. It was delicious, but I don’t know if it’s unique enough to win the cookie contest with Bakery On Main.
I need something creative. Something that will wow the judges. That’s not going to happen with some boring, run-of-the-mill recipe. No, I need a cookie that’s going to stand out.
I survey my ingredients. I still have stuff from the cheesecake bars, plus a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips, and my brand new, beautiful bottle of pure vanilla. Swoon.
On a whim, I run into my room and grab my phone. I read the new texts from Alex asking about my plans for the day, and in reply, I snap a picture of the vanilla and send it to him. His responses buzz through immediately, one after the other.
Unknown:What are you implying, Sundance?
Unknown:Are you baking?
Unknown:Or are you doing something “vanilla”?
Unknown:You’re welcome btw.
Unknown:For the vanilla.