Don't Go Baking My Heart

He might not be a people person, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read others. Reba was bothered by this.

“Their loss.” It sounded like empty platitudes, yet he felt compelled to say something, anything, to get her back to her usual self.

It bothered him, this mix of annoyance and sadness in her expression. He wasn’t the best at showing what he felt—his sister called him out on his Virgo ways a lot, not that he believed astrology could rule who he was as a person—but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel things at all. Feelings were just inconvenient, and he preferred to keep his under wraps.

“So you say. You wouldn’t date me. I bet you have a list of all the qualities you prefer in a partner, and I fit none of them.”

He said nothing. Of course, he had a list; it was what he had used to compare what he wanted to Monica’s traits to see how compatible they were. Was it so wrong to want to calculate the risk of a given situation? Monica’s reaction had surprised him, leading him to not recognise the easy-going woman he had someday thought he’d marry.

She had basically told him he didn’t get it and he didn’t want to understand why she was upset. Perhaps she had been right. He was out of his depth with these things. “Is that a bad thing? The list, I mean.”

She stared at him, hand still on the piping bag. “Oh my god. You really have a list? I was joking.”

Well, this was awkward.

“Can I see it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Nothing in this world would compel him to do that. He had learned from Monica’s reaction. He and Reba weren’t romantically involved—that kiss notwithstanding—but he still wasn’t sharing that with her. He didn’t want another lecture about how he shouldn’t reduce others to a risk percentage.

“Come on. I’m curious. It would make me forget I want to send a bag of exploding glitter to my ex’s house.”

He flinched. “My god, you’re the actual devil, aren’t you?”

Exploding glitter. Just the thought of that all over his house was enough to make him break out in hives.

She flipped her pink ponytail over her shoulder. “The devil ain’t got nothing on me. But don’t worry, I’ll be too busy enjoying free wine at this fancy thing I’m going to tonight to plot any glitter bombs. Oh, hey, actually, you should come with me.”

“Why in the world would I want to do that?” He was trying to limit the time he spent with Reba. “I’m not in the mood for another one of your socialising plans.”

“Oh, you’ll want to attend this. A Sweethand client sent two tickets to some cocktail exhibit thing tonight. History of Buildings or something like that, at Stollmeyer’s Castle. Cherisse is obviously not here, and I was only going for the free fancy shit, but you actually know about this stuff. Maybe you’ve even heard of the event?”

She was correct—the devil had nothing on Reba. Here she was, dangling his version of a juicy steak right in his face. Of course, he’d heard about this exhibit. The company’s board were all invited, and Devon had been internally sulking about it all week. For once, there was something he actually cared to attend, and while he sometimes got perks as a Senior Manager, it was usually to some useless event he didn’t give a shit about. Apparently, they were trying to keep the guests limited for this one, it being highly exclusive and all that. And here was Reba with two tickets.

“You have tickets to the Historical Society Gala? How in the hell?”

“The devil works hard, but I work harder.” She winked. “So, is that a yes? I can debut Cassandra tonight. The dress code sounds fancy as heck. I think a red wig is just in order for this.”

He could imagine Reba running wild through that exhibit doing God knows what. She might run into Dax. The two of them could end up plotting things, supposedly for his own good. He couldn’t have that. He needed to keep an eye on her. Dax liked Reba, and he would be only too eager to go along with all her ridiculous notions. Besides, he would get to be immersed in the history of the region’s architecture. He couldn’t say no to this, and Reba damn well knew that.

“I mean, unless you already have tickets?”

“I don’t,” he ground out.

“Huh, really? Well, isn’t that a shame? And here I come with an extra ticket. Must be fate.”

“Fate as a concept doesn’t sit right with me.” The thought that no matter what he did, his entire life was already mapped out? No, thanks. There were things he couldn’t control; didn’t mean he didn’t try.

Like right now, he wouldn’t show Reba how his heart rate jacked up at the thought of this exhibit. For her, it was just a free cocktail party. For him, the chance to revel in information about historic sites around the Caribbean. He had an entire section of his life plan dedicated to visiting key structures around the world. Might seem lofty and expensive, but he was determined to make it happen someday. The exhibit was his kind of fun, and the last person he expected had the power to hand it to him.

“Of course, it doesn’t. You want the ticket or not?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Let’s get these in the oven, then.” She waved at the cookie trays where he had finished piping his regular shapes. “I’m adding sprinkles to mine. You can even use a fork to add some more patterns to the batter if you wish.”

“I suppose I should. Might make them more appealing to my co-workers.”