“Then eat quick, sweetheart, because I’m feeling dirty.”
At his words, I take a huge bite of my sandwich, which makes him laugh, and hearing that, I smile around my mouthful. Afterward, I try to focus on eating, but it’s hard to do with him moving between toying with the edge of the fabric just beyond my nipple and skimming his fingers up and down my thighs. It probably doesn’t help that the ridges and valleys of his abs and the distinct line of hair that disappears into his boxers fascinate me to the point I cannot stop touching them.
I don’t know who gives up trying to eat first, but I do know it’s me who screams his name as he makes me come in the shower before he groans mine.
I open my shop almost two hours later than I normally do, and for the first time since I opened the Sweet Spot, I don’t care that I might have missed out on paying customers. Right now, my mind isn’t on work or all the things I need to get done. Instead, it is filled with thoughts of the man who showed up at my house with breakfast and gave me three fantastic orgasms. The guy who made me promise I’d see him when I get home from work, giving me something to look forward to that has nothing to do with my business.
With a smile on my face, I walk through the kitchen to my office and drop off my purse before I grab one of my aprons off a hook near the door. I pull it on over my head and tie it behind my back. Turning on the ovens so they can warm up, I then grab things from the fridge so I can do what I do every morning—make a fresh batch of my chocolate chip cookies. The crispy cookie with diced semidark chocolate might be one of my least-favorite cookies to eat, but they are my best seller. No matter how many I bake a day, I can never seem to keep them in stock.
I spend the morning and afternoon baking and tending to the front of the shop whenever a customer comes in. At 3:30 p.m., Aubrey and Rachelle show up, and like most days when they arrive, they seem to bring the crowd with them. We work in sync, taking orders, boxing things up, and cleaning tables. After five, the flow of customers starts to slow, allowing us to finally take a breath. The girls talk about all the things happening at school, what boy each of them is crushing on this week, and Christmas, which is just a few weeks away.
Normally, I decorate my place from top to bottom for the holiday, but this year, I haven’t even bought a Christmas tree for my condo—something I have done every year. Even the shop isn’t as festive as it has been the past few years. The girls put out a few decorations, and I paid to have the glass window facing the street painted with a Christmas theme, but that’s all.
Last year, the holiday season was seriously depressing. My mom was angry to the point of making the Grinch look like Santa Claus, and my brother didn’t come home, leaving me on my own with her. He lives in Maryland with his longtime boyfriend, Sam, and after talking to Mom and reading her vibe, he decided smartly to spend the holidays with Sam’s family in Washington, DC. I wanted to jump ship like my brother and go to Leah’s parents’ home for the day, but it was my mom’s first Christmas without my dad.
The day started bad, then ended worse. Mom refused to help me cook, and she barely ate or talked to me, no matter how hard I tried to pull her out of her funk. She spent most of the day (and evening) drinking wine and crying, and then she got sick before eventually passing out. I spent Christmas night keeping an eye on her in a chair next to her bed, which was the crap icing on a really crappy day.
That’s why I haven’t put much thought into one of my favorite days of the year. I haven’t wanted to be excited about it, then feel crushed when I have to witness my mom’s depression over a holiday I normally really enjoy. Thinking about my mom now, and hoping she really is going to try to find happiness again, I know I shouldn’t let what happened last year determine how I celebrate Christmas this year. I should get a tree, even if it’s just a small one. I should also ask my mom what she wants to do this year, since Chris is once again going to Sam’s parents’ place. He and Sam are planning to fly down here to celebrate the New Year with me and Mom, if she is up to it.