If Susan and Riley focused on serving people who wanted a morning pastry, good coffee, and quality food, they could close up midafternoon and then cater in the evenings without the burden of keeping the shop open or pressure for heartier food.
Thorne’s mind wandered to him slipping away for a late lunch, catching Riley as he was closing up, covered in flour, dragging him into the back and… Wow, would he ever stop wanting Riley constantly?
For weeks he’d thought of dating and then living with Riley as though trying to see if he could handle a relationship. Now he was ready to admit to himself—and maybe to Riley—that Riley was it for him. Forever. Every time he thought about saying that to Riley, however, he broke out in a cold sweat. Just getting Riley to call the apartment “theirs” had been hard enough. But eventually, if Riley still wanted to make a go of things with him, he’d have to work up the nerve. He wanted to marry Riley, and nothing was going to make him change his mind.
***
Riley sighed and peeked in the oven again. The crust wasn’t quite done, at least he didn’t think so. He was making a custard pie with raspberry jam, a tedious recipe he’d never tried before. He’d decided to add cocoa to the pastry, and he wasn’t sure if it would ruin the texture. He was also unsure how to tell if it was done since he couldn’t watch for it to brown like he normally would.
This was the third dessert he’d baked since he’d gotten to the cabin midday. He had to do something with his hands, or he was going to go crazy left with his own thoughts. As soon as he’d arrived, he’d walked down to the docks and signed the paperwork to take possession of the sailboat. Then he’d sat and admired how fantastic she looked nestled in her slip at the marina.
He was now part owner of a sailboat, despite having no idea how to operate it. How had he ended up a business owner, a boat owner, and the boyfriend of a man who could pay cash for whatever boat he wanted? Riley had grown up with all he needed plus a few luxuries, but Thorne’s world was overwhelming.
Overwhelming upheaval. That had basically been the theme of the last few months. Thorne. Starting school. Moving. Thorne. Quitting school. Looking for space for their own bakery. Thorne.
Riley wasn’t handling the shake-up well. He’d been content as an escort who loved to bake. He hadn’t even suffered much angst about being a sex worker. He’d liked his job and been damn good at it. Sure he’d been a little screwed up about family and relationships, but who wasn’t? Then he’d fallen so hard for Thorne, so fucking hard, but he hadn’t thought there was a chance in hell of anything more than professional with him. Once Riley had accepted that Thorne truly wanted more than just sex, Thorne had been unstoppable. He wanted Riley in his apartment, he wanted to share everything, he wanted a real, honest-to-God relationship. And why shouldn’t he?
Riley had told Thorne he wanted that too. He’d confessed his picket-fence dream, so why wasn’t he thrilled that Thorne wanted that now as well?
Because I’m never going to feel like we’re equals.
So you don’t have tons of money and he does. Do you really care, or are you only worried about what people think?
The tart. He’d forgotten to watch it.
He opened the oven and pulled the pan out. The edges were burnt. Fucking perfect.
Fortunately, he had enough butter to try it again. He’d already been to the little store by the docks twice. The cashier probably thought he had some kind of butter fetish.
He was about to start mixing another crust when his phone rang. It was Marc.
“If you’re calling to bitch at me, don’t.”
Marc snorted.
“I’ve spent the day beating myself up about everything. You were right, okay? I’m an ass, and I need to apologize to Thorne, but I haven’t worked up the nerve to tell him that yet.”
“I got the job,” Marc said, ignoring Riley’s tirade.
“What? With Darius?”
“Yes. That one. I was going to tell you last night, but it didn’t seem like the time.”
Riley broke off a piece of crust that wasn’t too burnt to sample. “That’s fantastic! When do you start?”
“Last week.”
Crumbs spewed across the counter. “What? And you didn’t tell me then?”
“You’ve been a bit busy, you know, and you didn’t seem to think it was a good idea.”
Riley sank into a kitchen chair. “I…fuck, Marc. I suck at being a friend. I suck at being a boyfriend. I’m just shit right now.”
“No, you’re not. It’s fine. I started the day he hired me. I was eager.”
Riley rolled his eyes. “I bet you were. Is he as good as you expected?”