Don't Go Baking My Heart

Devon

The soundsof laughter and incessant chatter were foreign to Devon this early on a Saturday morning. Or any morning, for that matter. The voices drifted up to his room each time one of his early morning guests stepped into the backyard.

Of course, his routine had gotten shaken up since he and Reba had started this baking journey, but the multiple voices were definitely not the norm. He’d sequestered himself in his room to go over the Sanctuary presentation while his mother, Reba, Maxi, and Leah were busy downstairs sorting all the stuff they had bought for the housewarming.

He and Reba should have been working on baking, but all of that went on the back burner, thanks to his mother. They had arrived at seven in the morning with an armload of bags that contained party stuff. He’d let them in and left them to their own devices.

Reba had given him a secret smirk before he turned away. “I have something to show you later,” she’d said.

Devon couldn’t imagine what the something could be, but he was mindful of his family around. He tried to act like he hadn’t seen Reba Wednesday night or Thursday morning. Like they hadn’t had sex at all. Difficult, considering she looked effortlessly sexy in pink shorts and a t-shirt that declared: I Know I’m A Handful, But That’s Why You Have Two Hands.

It reminded him of exactly what he had done with his hands. In his office, on his couch, in his bed.

He hadn’t thought much of the fact that they had gone to his room this time and not the guest bedroom. Although, waking up to Reba curled up in his bed when his alarm had gone off at four had been a shock. She’d stayed.

Don’t overthink this to death. It doesn’t mean anything, not to her. Not like that. She was probably just too tired to get up. You wore her out, after all.

His brain had gone into overdrive while he’d done his morning workout. Usually, he’d go for a run around the neighbourhood, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Reba alone or wake her up just yet. If she was still sleeping the closer it got for him to leave for work, he’d have no choice, but it had been quite something to look down at her sleeping form. She’d looked peaceful and unlike the wrecking ball that had smashed into his life almost a month ago.

She’d come downstairs eventually while he had been making breakfast in his shirt, his belt around her waist turning it into a dress.

“I left my bag in the car, and my dress is a balled-up mess somewhere,” she’d explained.

He’d only had enough energy in him to offer to get the bag for her if she watched the eggs cooking on the stove. Otherwise, he would have peeled the damn shirt off, and they’d be going at it again, right there in the kitchen.

Even now, as he rearranged slides on the presentation, his mind flashed back to how she had looked in his shirt, makeup a little smudged, eyes drowsy, her lids lowered as she watched for his reaction. Reba did everything with a purpose. It might have been practical for her to wear the shirt instead of coming down naked, but he was certain she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Focus on the now, you fool,” he muttered.

He had spoken to Dax about Vic and decided that it was best to put someone else on the project. Vic was too volatile to trust with being a part of the team who would walk the client through the proposal in the coming week. He hadn’t liked being pulled off of Sanctuary, but Devon had to think about what was best while Vic sorted out his life.

Chelsea, who he had put on the project now, had stared at him wide-eyed when he’d told her on Thursday that she was taking over for Vic and should spend the long weekend—Friday being their Independence holiday—getting familiar with the presentation as she would be handling that part. It was a lot to put on someone in a junior position, but Devon suspected she had been picking up Vic’s slack for some time. It was also a moment for her to shine.

Oddly enough, his morning-after-sex chat with Reba had helped him reach his conclusion about Vic. She had showered and changed into a casual outfit from her bag, surprising him by asking about the Vic drama while they ate.

“So, do you feel clearer on what you want to do now?”

“Are you asking me if us having sex helped?”

She smiled around a forkful of her eggs. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know. It’s a potential shit show in the making,” he’d admitted.

“So, stuff isn’t going as planned. Such is life. If you must make a plan,” she made a face at that, “then at least be open to changing it when presented with new information.”

Her words had given him real pause, made him realise that while Vic was good at what he did—when he wasn’t bringing his personal drama into the office—he wasn’t the only one who could do this.

Devon was nervous about these changes, but if Dax hadn’t trusted him with new responsibilities and challenges, he wouldn’t have moved up the organisation like this. They would do a run-through on Monday, and either Chelsea would prove her mettle or Devon would have to do the entire thing himself. He was prepared to, but Dax kept reminding him in not so subtle ways that a good manager knew how to delegate and utilise the skills of their team.

A knock on his bedroom door startled him. What now? He eased himself up from his chair and opened the door to Reba.

“Hi,” Reba smiled up at him, a black plastic bag in her hand.

“Did my mother see you?”

Reba rolled her eyes. “I’m not some amateur. I asked her where your room was because I had a special baked delivery. She wouldn’t think I already knew my way.”

“Special baked delivery? It’s not one of those brownies, is it? Is that on the menu?”