THE WEDDING PLANNERS

ERIN THOMSON

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Dear Reader

About the Author

ONE

JEMMA

THERE WAS ONLY SO much pacing a person could do in a four hundred and fifty square foot flat. I took my fifth (sixth? Seventh?) loop past the coffee table, to Darcy’s bedroom door, and back around the armchair before coming to a halt in front of her couch. If I kept this up I was going to wear a track through her rug.

“I’m fine,” I said, though whether it was for Darcy’s benefit or mine I wasn’t sure.

It was almost true. And maybe with a few vodka shots I could convince myself that I was just hallucinating. Although if I was going to hallucinate something, the end of my career wouldn’t be high on the list. A naked Hemsworth would be far more appealing, and yet I didn’t see one of those in the kitchen offering me Dom Peringon and chocolate covered strawberries with a sexy smirk on his face.

My stomach gave a threatening roll, letting me know that the crumpets I ate earlier were on notice of eviction. Because that was exactly what I needed—vomit everywhere to go along with the food poisoning allegations. Food poisoning. My food had poisoned people.

Allegedly.

It was rubbish, I was sure of it. The event in question, a bachelorette dinner, had been flawless. The bride-to-be had cried when she walked in—admittedly she was already plastered, thanks to a half-day winery tour—and told me that if she didn’t already have a caterer, she wanted me to do the wedding.

How did we go from that… to this?

I scanned the Facebook thread, and my stomach gave another warning rumble. It didn’t even matter if it wasn’t true—which I was confident it was not. I did not poison people—the point was that it was out there. In the world. Tarring me with a poisoned brush. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Was I finally going to have to admit defeat, shut the door on my life in New York and move back home? Was this the thing that broke me?

My parents had turned my room into a gym when I left at nineteen, so I’d probably have to sleep in the attic between the Christmas decorations and Mom’s extensive collection of Charles and Diana wedding memorabilia including a replica of her dress, complete with twenty-five foot train. I’d have to take a job at The Sergeant At Arms in Guilford and churn out bangers and mash and over-cooked steak for the rest of my life. And that was assuming I could even get a job cooking. I’d have to be grateful to serve a medium-well steak on a Sunday lunch service.

“You're not fine. You’re spiraling,” Darcy said from the kitchen, she didn’t look like a Hemsworth. Not at all. Not even if I squinted. She was too short, too curvy and too ginger. The fact she was in possession of a vagina didn’t help either.

“Of course I’m bloody spiraling! You would be too if some trollop from Jersey torpedoed your career.” I made an explosion noise and flopped sideways into her overstuffed couch cushions.

“Your career is not over.”

I barked out a laugh. It may not be over yet, but the writing was very much on the wall. I’d be lucky if I had a single booking left by tomorrow morning.

“I’m a failure,” I said with a sniff. “A big fat failure. Why did I think that I’d be able to do this?” The familiar old voice in my head started telling me all the things I’d been trying so hard not to believe. You’re not good enough, Jemma… You can’t do this on your own… You’re in over your head…

“Hey, hey, hey...” Darcy dropped down beside me and pulled my head into her lap, her fingers attempting to comb through my ratty mop. “You are not a failure.”

I waved my phone at her. “Am too. Susie from Jersey has made sure everyone in the tri-state area knows that I am not fit to cook food for human consumption.” Maybe I could start a line of dog biscuits? People spent obscene amounts of money on their dogs.

Darcy snorted like she sensed the direction of my thoughts. “She was drunk. And I’m sure I heard one of the others talking about some truck-stop-diner-seafood-something-or-other. You didn’t make those women sick, Jemma.”

“Probably not” — definitely not — “but it doesn’t matter. Everyone believes I did.” I sat up and blew out a breath. “I thought I’d got it right this time, you know? I finally came out the other side of J— my past. I got myself together.” My voice trailed off. Surely if I survived Jonah Evans, I could survive this too. Or maybe I only had so much left in the tank, and this was the thing to push me over the edge.

“You are doing amazing. You were also fast approaching burnout and we both know it.”

“I do not know that.” Also, burnout wasn’t a real thing. It was a convenient excuse that people used when they didn’t have what it took to succeed.

“You barely took a day off all summer—”

“I know, it was brilliant! And I was booked up until Thanksgiving. Half of them have already cancelled.” And the rest would, too, soon enough.

“You’ve still got Cream and Sugar.” Yes, my should be part-time but was more like a full-time gig cooking brunch for hipsters. Go me. There was only so much avocado I could squash on toast—with a side of poached eggs—before my brain would turn to mush. Don’t be an ungrateful bitch, Jemma.

“I know, thanks, Darc.” If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have that job, and it was all I had left now.

The door burst open.

“The cavalry has arrived!” Harley crowed, holding two bottles of tequila aloft. The last thing I needed right now was tequila. Unfortunately for me, Harley had a determined look in her hazel eyes, and she was dressed for seduction. Although, to be fair, Harley was usually dressed for seduction, even when she was behind a coffee machine. She dropped her bag, kicked the door closed and in only a few steps was in front of us, grinning like a Disney villain.

“That bitch from Jersey can suck my left tit, Jem-Jem, she’s just jealous of your culinary prowess.”

“Har—”

“Come on, we’re going out.” She dropped one bottle into my lap then unscrewed the other and took a swig like she was drinking water.

“Have fun,” I said, examining my nails.

“Nuh-uh.” She waved the open bottle in my face. “You too grouchy pants, let’s go.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Darcy swiped the bottle and tipped it to her lips. Like a normal person, she winced. “Come on, Jemma, you cannot sit around all night wallowing.”

“I’m not wallowing. I'm thinking. I’m regrouping.” And trying not to think about how much a ticket back to London would be. I was confident it was more than was in my savings account.

Harley took another gulp of tequila and pulled me to my feet. “Less thinking. More drinking. And then you need to get laid. Tomorrow you can think,” she added as an afterthought, saying think like it was a dirty word.

Darcy stood. “She makes a good point…”

They both had a point, I knew that. But it didn’t change the fact I wasn’t in the mood for tequila and people and pretending like I didn’t want to curl up and cry for a couple of hours—or days. I closed my eyes against the sting behind them, willing the tears to remain at bay until I got myself home. It didn’t happen. They leaked down my cheeks as a sob cracked in my throat.

Darcy and Harley landed either side of me on the couch, their arms curling around me until I was a Jemma sandwich.

“Thank you,” I said with a sniff. “I appreciate what you’re both trying to do but I’m just not going to be very good company tonight. I don’t want to bring you down.”

“You are not bringing anyone down,” Darcy assured me. “How about we all stay in, order pizza and ice cream, and watch some John Wick?”

“What is it with you and those movies?” Harley asked over my head.

“It’s Keanu Reeves. Who doesn’t love Keanu Reeves?”

“Point Break Keanu Reeves, sure—”

“Do not even try and tell me that John Wick Keanu Reeves is not as hot as Point Break Keanu Reeves.”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you.”

“As much as I would enjoy watching the two of you argue about Keanu Reeves’ various hot phases… I think I’ll head home.” I tried to stand but was held in place by two sets of arms. “Come on, I just want to have a shower and wallow on the couch. Maybe cry a bit more.” And think about what the bloody hell I was going to do now. Their grip eased and I stood. “I promise I’ll be fine. Probably asleep by nine.”

“Jemma, that is just fucking depressing. You are young and hot and should be going out and getting laid, not crying in bed by nine pm.”

“Thank you, I think. But I’m okay, I promise.”

Harley looked poised to argue some more but a look from Darcy held her tongue. “Okay, we will let you go home, so long as you agree to come to brunch tomorrow.”

I agreed and after more hugs and assurances that everything would be fine, I was allowed to leave.

Twenty minutes later I legged it up the stairs, praying that Mrs. Snyder wouldn’t poke her head out and find me blotchy and tear stained before I made it inside my flat.

I kicked the door closed, threw my keys into the bowl and stood there for a moment, staring at the wall. The same question was rolling around in my head, what am I going to do now? I was no closer to working out the answer. It was going to take more than a few hours to come up with a battle plan, I knew that much.

My flat was still and dark, the last streaks of orange fading with the setting sun. While sitting on Darcy’s couch, coming home and wallowing sounded like an ideal situation. Now that I was here, my flat was too quiet, and my thoughts too loud. Maybe I should have gone out— downed enough tequila shots to make me forget, at least for tonight.

Would I regret it tomorrow? Quite possibly. But at least a hangover would also provide a decent distraction from career implosion. Maybe Harley was right—something I would never admit to her face—and now was not the time for thinking.

I went to the fridge, got myself a beer and drank it down in a long, gas inducing skull. No, now was not the time to think. Now was the time for distractions.

“Okay, I’m in,” I said as soon as Darcy answered the phone and Harley howled, evidently, I was on speaker.

“I’m not doing shots,” I told them, like I had any kind of control over the situation.

“We’ll see you in thirty,” Darcy said.

“Wear something tight and short!” Harley yelled, then added, “I’m gonna get you laid sugar tits!”

TWO

NASH

“IT’S OPEN!” Dallas called a beat after my knock. I shouldn’t be surprised that my sister would leave her door unlocked, despite being only five when we moved to New York her heart remained in the small town south of our early childhood, where we never locked our doors.

I wandered into her open concept kitchen-living area, which overlooked Central Park, and found her wearing what had to be the skimpiest fucking underwear on the planet. I clapped a hand over my eyes, but the damage was already done.

“Jesus, Dal! Put some fucking clothes on.” Was I early? Did I imagine the fact that we had plans today? I glanced at my watch, I wasn’t early, and we definitely had plans. It was almost six in the evening. Why was she in her underwear right now and not dressed?

“Nash, dear brother, this is how I walk around in my own home.”

“Dallas, dear sister, I cannot have a conversation with you when I can see your nipples. That shit ain’t right.” I went to the kitchen island and pulled up a stool, the slap of her bare feet on the hardwoods followed me.

“Well, if you’d picked up the last issue of Sports Illustrated you would have seen them already.”

I made a mental note to never buy Sports Illustrated again. Ever.

“Aren’t we supposed to be—”

“About that,” she cut in and I rolled my eyes skyward because of course less than forty-eight hours after I got back to New York she was bailing on me for a better offer. “Duke and I have been invited to this... party.”

“A party? You're ditching me for a party?” I tried not to sound like a pouting toddler and failed miserably.

“Aww… don’t be like that.” She sidled up to my side and bumped my arm with hers.

“Dal, I’m not being like anything. But I swear to God, I cannot talk to you when you’re half naked.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “It’s literally no different to a bikini.” I wanted to argue but she carried on without pausing for breath. “Also, why do men get to have their nipples out left and right and women don’t? It’s bullshit. Free the nipple, Nash. Free. The. Nipple.”

She had me there. I was not down with the whole gender double standard thing, but I still had no interest in seeing all my sister’s...stuff.

“Please stop saying nipple.”

“Nipple. Nipple. Nipple.” Each one was punctuated with a finger to my ribs. I remained staring at my clasped hands and rolled my lips together to keep from smiling. My sister was a brat. Now and forever. She dropped her head onto my shoulder while continuing to whisper the word nipple over and over. My junk was retreating inward.

“Babe, stop making him squirm.” Duke padded into the room and threw a robe at Dallas. Thank. God. She slipped the flimsy bit of silk over her shoulders; it barely covered her ass, but it was still a vast improvement. He held out his fist for me to bump. “How are you, man?”

“Good, great,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster and palmed the back of my neck as tension crept up my spine. I still wasn’t sure what to say to that question yet, not that anyone who asked actually wanted to hear the truth. So, I didn’t give it.

I was sure that Duke was a good guy, the way Dallas looked at him certainly suggested he was, but I didn’t know him well enough to make the decision for myself. The fact I’d only been back in New York for a few days, after over a decade working in LA, probably didn’t help. I should probably get to know him, especially now they were living together. The fact she moved in with him after only two months was a new record, even for her. Next thing she was going to tell me she was getting married. The thought made my stomach roll. They might be living together but they were still a long way from getting married.

“If we want to make it to the airport, we need to leave in twenty,” Duke added to Dallas.

“Airport? I thought you were going to a party?”

“We are! It’s in Palm Springs!” The robe flew open as she bounced on her toes and my eyes darted to the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided one-eighty-degree views. A party in Palm Springs. Naturally. “Technically the party will probably start on the jet. But semantics. We can’t hang tonight, I’m sorry.” She pouted and nudged me with her elbow. “It’s you and me on Tuesday though.”

Was I disappointed? Yeah, a little. As much as Dallas drove me crazy, I loved the girl, and after being away for so long I was looking forward to being back in New York and spending time with her—when she was clothed anyway. I guess I just needed to find something else to do tonight because I wasn’t interested in sitting alone in my parent’s Chelsea apartment with only Netflix and my thoughts for company. No thanks. Even if I wasn’t really in the mood for going to whatever it was Dallas had planned, it was nothing if not a good distraction.

Now, I needed a new one.

“NASHVILLE!” Chase waved over the heads of several customers lined up at the bar, her eyes twinkling, her grin wide and her raven bun leaning slightly to the left. The large knot in the red and white bandana she had tied around her head made it look more intentional than it probably was.

“Chase,” I said, accepting her one armed hug around my neck as I stooped down to her level. “How many times have we talked about calling me Nashville?”

Her nose scrunched as she considered the question. “So many that you’ve become a bore.”

“Maybe I can change your mind by calling you—”

“No.” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “There’s no need to go doing things we can’t take back…” There was a pause as she released my face. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you had that thing with Dallas?”

“She bailed.” I slid onto an empty stool.

“Good.”

I barked out a laugh. If it was anyone but Chase I might have been offended. “Ah, thanks.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean good because you can go with Mack to the lock in at Bucks’. He’s been bugging me all day and I’m going to kill him if I hear another word about it. Please take him off my hands.”

Chase and Mack had been running Rudi Blue together for over five years and, despite their glaring differences, they’d somehow managed to make it work without killing each other.

The bar was crazy popular and a perfect blend of the two of them. It was in an old, narrow warehouse and unlike most of LA’s bars, it hadn’t been gutted and given the industrial chic makeover. Instead, they had cleaned up the original bricks and timber, and all of the new fixtures looked as though they could have been there when the place was in its heyday, operating as a shoe factory. The front half was still the full height of the building, with vaulted ceilings and beams wrapped in string lights, while the back had a lower ceiling to allow for the incredible rooftop set up above it.

Right now, the space was filled with the hum and chatter of people enjoying one of the last warm Saturday nights before fall took hold.

Chase stepped away from the queue and let one of the other bartenders take over. I didn’t like the way her eyes studied me, she always saw too much, but I guess that was to be expected when you’d known someone for more than half your life. Her lips parted, ready to ask the dreaded question, how are you doing? And unlike most people she wanted to know the answer, the real answer. And the real answer was everything is fucked, and I am not okay. Not sleeping. Barely eating. I hadn’t cooked a single thing since Nadia left. It was the longest I’d gone without cooking since I started culinary school at nineteen. Food was nothing more than a necessity for me now, there was no enjoyment from it, in it. The fire, my fire had gone out and all that was left behind was ash. It was all I tasted.

Chase wanted to hear all that because she was my friend, and she was a fixer.

“Nashville!” Mack crowed, and I had never been so grateful to hear that stupid fucking nickname, which was longer than my actual name, in my life. Chase narrowed her eyes in his direction before I received a look that told me she wasn’t done with me.

Mack caught my hand in a shake and bumped my shoulder with his. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a thing with Dallas?” He pushed a handful of unruly blond hair off his forehead.

“She bailed,” Chase answered for me.

“Bucks,” he said without missing a beat and turned to Chase. “You should come too.” She rolled her eyes.

“Mack, I am keeping our business running.”

“It will not miss you for one night.”

“Last time we went to a lock in at Bucks I danced on a table and lost my bra. They’re animals.”

“You were the animal, and you loved it.” He bounced his eyebrows at her.

“Not the point,” she snapped, her cheeks turning the color of a summer strawberry. “I’m working.”

“You work too hard.”

She turned her exasperated gaze on me. “Will you please take him away now?”

NOT QUITE TWO HOURS LATER, after stopping for some fried chicken, which I really wanted to enjoy but couldn’t, Mack and I were following the sounds of life. He stopped in front of a nondescript red brick building which appeared to be locked up tight.

“This is it?” I asked, it really didn’t look like much from where we were standing.

“This is Bucks,” he confirmed with a grin.

Despite looking deserted from the outside, the place was wall to wall with bodies when we walked in. I followed through the crowd as Mack wove toward the bar. A tall guy with a nose ring, and the kind of face that could drop half the panties in the room, gave Mack a fist bump and handed over two bottles.

“Cheers,” I said as we settled at a high table and tapped our bottles.

“Cheers, it’s good to have you back, man.”

“It’s good to be back.”

I’d never felt much in the way of homesickness when I moved across the country not long after finishing high school. Instead, when I was out from under my parents’, more specifically my mother’s, constant badgering it felt like I could finally breathe. Of course, I’d missed Mack and Chase and Dallas, but I was also living my own life. LA had never become home exactly, but it had been my place. Until it wasn’t anymore.

“And how’s life on the other side of Bailey Brick Co.?” He asked.

“It’s not what I was expecting. Not that I knew what to expect once the sale went through. I feel like I should be doing something, you know? Then I remember I don’t actually have anything to do...” I ran a hand down my face, sifting my fingers through my beard. At some point I’d have to start thinking about what was next. Not that I really had the motivation for that. In truth I didn’t have the motivation for anything. It was a good thing the sale had gone through, and I was no longer working when Nadia walked out. I couldn’t imagine having to cook and work when I was in that headspace. Not that much had changed in the last month.

“It’ll get better,” he said, anticipating the direction of my thoughts. His eyes were uncharacteristically serious. I nodded, feeling tension pull tight across my shoulders. It had to get better, didn’t it? It sure as shit couldn't get worse.

Two beers later I was scanning the crowd full of hipsters and found Mack talking to a woman on the other side of the bar. And that was probably my cue to leave. I emptied my beer and took a step toward the door; the thought of going back to my parents’ empty apartment prevented me from taking a second. I didn’t want to go back there, alone with all this shit rolling around in my head. No, what I wanted, what I’d wanted since I left LA, was a distraction. And there were a whole lot of them here.

Could I really do it? I wasn’t even sure I remembered how to talk to women in bars, it had been years since I’d needed to even try. But in the interests of finding myself a new distraction I’d give it a shot. I scanned the crowd, with no real idea what I was looking for, until—

Bingo.

She was the polar opposite of Nadia. Perfect. Five-four-ish, with wavy blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders, big eyes that I was guessing were blue, and a pair of full lips that were making me think some very specific thoughts.

Don’t think. Just act.

I grabbed another two beers from the bar before weaving my way toward her. The closer I got the sexier she looked and the clammier my palms became. She was gorgeous up close with a mouthwatering set of tits and round squeezable ass. Goddamn. There were nerves but, yes, this was exactly what I fucking needed. She was standing with a redhead and a brunette and the three of them looked like they could star in some Charlie’s Angels soft porn or something. The redhead said something to the blonde, she nodded, and they consulted the brunette who was making fuck me eyes at a guy beside her. The blonde shrugged on a black leather jacket.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” I asked as I made it to the three of them.

The blonde turned her face up to me—hitting me with a bright sapphire stare—and I had to swallow a groan as heat rolled over my skin. She seemed to falter for a beat before her eyes swept the length of me. When she came back to my face there was a smirk playing at the corner of those suckable lips.

“I am.” And an accent, South African? Australian? Maybe English? “I don’t see a reason to stay,” she added, eyes roaming over me again.

“Maybe I could give you one.” What the hell was I saying?

“It better be more than just another beer…” The half-smile dented her left cheek with a cute as fuck dimple. I offered the bottle, unopened because I didn’t need her thinking I was a date-rapist. Nimble fingers unscrewed the cap and she raised it to her mouth, taking a slow sip. Her tongue slipped over her bottom lip to catch a drip that escaped, and I might have blacked out for a second.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” I blinked, tearing my focus away from her mouth.

“Are you going to give me a reason to stay?” Her eyes were deadly this close, all wide and innocent, but holding a promise of something else entirely. And I realized I had absolutely no idea what to say.

Clearly sensing my lack of game, her smile stretched into a grin. “You have absolutely no plan here do you?”

“None whatsoever,” I admitted, and she laughed, the sound sending a tingle down my spine. “I just knew I wanted to talk to you.”

Another slow sip of beer. “Just talk?” One eyebrow arched. Was that a trick question?

I swallowed a mouthful of beer, keen to draw out the moment. “No, not just talk.”

“Hmmm… so what else do you have in mind?” She asked, those eyes wide, lashes batting.

I leaned in, crowding her, and brushed my lips against her ear. She shivered; her free hand fisted in my shirt.

“Nothing that can be done in a bar.”

THREE

JEMMA

THE UNIVERSE WAS OFFERING me a gift in the form of a drop-dead gorgeous man mountain, with a sexy as fuck grin, whose lips were on my ear and scent was soaking my senses.

I wanted to drag him out of here immediately.

But I hadn’t even got his name yet, so maybe I needed to pump the brakes. Or just tap them. Taking my foot off the accelerator would be a solid start. The thing was, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to slow down. My nipples could currently cut glass, heat was curling around my hip bones and I was lost in a pair of intense, gray-green eyes that were turning me into a lusty puddle formerly known as Jemma. He had long, wild hair that spilled down past his shoulders and a beard...and holy hell he was just oozing sex. I could practically see it coming out of his pores. I wanted to lick him all over.

Why should I take things slow? I’d had a terrible day. I deserved a distraction. This was why I came out tonight, wasn’t it? For this particular brand of distraction? I was pressed against his chest, one hand death gripping his shirt, and all I could think was how quickly could I get him naked.

I took a sip of beer. He did the same then licked his full lower lip. Oh lord.

Fuck slow.

Fuck waiting.

I needed him. Immediately.

My hand slid up his muscular left pec, over his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck. He leaned into it as I pulled him down and, after the briefest moment of hesitation, of grazing noses and shared breath, our mouths met. Electricity burned down my spine and I felt the growl that rumbled in his throat before he palmed the back of my head and slid his tongue between my lips. Good God, the man kissed like the devil and tasted like sin.

Our beer bottles were discarded, and he pulled me flush against his chest, one arm locked around my back while the other hand continued to hold my head, fingers tangling in my hair. His tongue teased mine, pressing forward, caressing, retreating. It was so good I was almost lightheaded. Forget that, I was absolutely lightheaded and high as a kite on this guy. I used his shoulders as leverage, pulling myself up, pressing closer. I was going to climb him like a bloody tree.

By the time we broke apart I was panting—and so was he.

“You want to get out of here?”

I pursed my already tender lips. Yes, I absolutely wanted to get of here. With him. Right now. But I wasn’t keen to end up as a social media hashtag, so I grabbed his chin in one hand and Darcy’s shoulder with the other. She turned and dutifully snapped a photo, leaving him flash blind and blinking.

“Yours?” She asked.

“I’ll text you,” I said with a nod, blew her a kiss and dragged my night’s entertainment out onto the street.

“What was that?” He said, still rubbing his eyes.

“If I go missing, your face will be all over social media by morning. A lady can never be too careful.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times while his thoughts arranged themselves. “But we’re still...” The uncertain look on his ridiculous face melted me a little more.

“Oh yes, we’re still…” I said, pressing closer and rising on my toes to brush my mouth over his. The electricity crackled again, and we stood there lost in each other until a taxi pulled up and he dragged me inside.

“Where to?” The driver asked. I rattled off my address before my mystery man had a chance and we resumed making out like teenagers in the back of the cab. His hands were everywhere, they slipped down to my ass and squeezed, and I moaned into his mouth.

It was a small miracle that we were both still clothed when the cab pulled up on my street. The guy—whose name I realized I didn’t know—threw some money at the driver and dragged me out onto the sidewalk.

Our progress inside was slow moving thanks to the fact we barely made it two steps without both our hands and mouths remaining occupied. I fumbled with the keys, with that enormous hard on pressing into my back, and finally we were inside.

My bag hit the floor, quickly followed by my jacket. His jacket was next, then his shirt and for a second, I just stood there staring at him. Holy hell he was a work of art. Not at all what I would usually go for but oh boy, his chest, all broad and tattooed and peppered with fine hair, might be my new religion.

“Dress off. Bra off,” he all but growled, closing the space between us. All I could do was nod and comply, mesmerized as I was by the downright filthy look in his hooded eyes. He was staring at me like I was something to eat. I had never wanted to be devoured so much in my life.

I undid the top of my dress and tore off my bra, then moaned, loud and long as he sucked my nipple into his hot mouth. Fuck. Yes. I arched into him as his teeth dragged over my skin. The action made my clit throb. Hell, everything about this guy made my entire body throb. I wanted more. I needed more. I was going to lose myself in him. My fingers worked his belt open and flicked the button on his jeans. I needed to see the whole damn package.

His jeans hit the floor and I was once again staring. Muscular thighs, more tattoos, Jesus Christ I was in danger of spontaneously combusting, this guy was so bloody hot. I kicked off my boots, wiggled my dress down to the floor and pushed him back toward my bed, still vaguely aware that I didn’t know his name, but I was too far gone to care. And, frankly, it made the whole thing even hotter. I was going to shag this guy senseless, then kick him out and never see him again. Harley would be so proud.

His legs hit the bed and he fell back, pulling me down on top of him. I sat up, rocked my hips over his barely contained cock and we both groaned. Focus, Jemma, must establish ground rules.

“This is just for tonight.”

“Fine by me.” He grabbed my face and kissed me so hard my head spun.

“I mean it,” I continued once he had released me. We rolled and he started to move down my body. His tongue felt amazing. “You better be gone when I wake up tomorrow. And no names.”

He paused at that, hungry eyes roaming my face before he rasped, “Consider it done, sweet thing.” Oh lord the whisper of a southern accent made that name just about the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. His fingers hooked into the lace of my knickers. My hips rocked; I wanted his mouth on me. Now.

“You want me to eat your pussy?” Normal Jemma would have run out of the room at a question like that. Sex Kitten Jemma, who had taken full control of proceedings, was here for it. And I wanted him there more than I wanted my next breath.

“Yes. Now.”

“So impatient.” He chuckled against my hip bone, and I squirmed.

“You want my fingers, too?” His breath ghosted over my skin, dragging my underwear painfully slowly down my thighs.

“Yes.” It wasn’t so much a word as a moan as his mouth finally came down on my sex. He kissed me the way he had my mouth, tongue slow and teasing and setting a fire in my veins.

“You taste so fucking sweet, I could feast on you all night.” Oh Christ. I was going to come embarrassingly fast if he kept saying shit like that.

“You want this?” He asked before dipping a finger inside and covering my clit in one long lick.

“Yes, god, fucking yes.” One finger was quickly joined by a second and I felt the roll of my orgasm building. He groaned against me, the vibrations sending shivers over my skin.

“Clit. Oh god, suck my clit,” I cried, my fingers tangling in his hair. I rocked into his mouth as his talented digits coaxed me closer. It was almost too much, and yet nowhere near enough.

“That’s it, sweet thing, fuck my face.” His mouth covered me again and that was it. My orgasm slammed into me like a truck, stealing my breath and any conscious thought. I was all feeling, and light and breath and bloody hell I had never come like that. In. My. Life. But he didn’t let up, not even when my thighs clamped his ears. That tongue kept going and his fingers curled and pulsed and hit a spot inside me I hadn’t even realized existed until I screamed and saw stars.

When I was sure I was going to pass out his fingers left me and massaged my inner thighs as I rode out the waves of my second orgasm on his face, his low groans of appreciation drawing the whole thing out. Once I had gone limp, he peered up from his position between my legs and I swear I nearly had a third aftershock orgasm as I watched him wipe his mouth and lick his lips. Good. God.

He crawled up the bed like a predator, pausing only to lavish some more attention on my nipples, but I wanted his mouth on mine, so I tugged on his hair until we were once again face to face and kissed him, slow and deep. The taste of me on his tongue made my whole body pulse with want. I slid a hand between us and curled my fingers around his cock. Jesus, it was something, thick and warm and smooth, and so hard I was amazed he hadn’t passed out. Literally all his blood had to be pulsing through the thing. He grunted into my mouth as I swiped my thumb over the head, spreading his moisture. I wanted to taste him, but my progress south was stopped short.

He pushed me onto my back, a slow smile creeping over his face. “I need in that sweet pussy of yours. You can suck me later.” My mouth watered, already excited. What was going on with me tonight?

“Spread those legs for me, I need to see you.” Honest to God, if anyone else had said that shit to me I definitely would have slapped them. But not this guy. No, for this guy I just spread my legs wide and watched as he ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled the thing over his monster dick.

“So fucking pretty. You want this cock in that pretty pussy?”

More than I had ever wanted anything else in my entire fucking life. “Yes. Fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

There was nothing slow or delicate about his entry, instead he drove into me in one long stroke until he was buried to the hilt. I gasped, feeling stretched and invaded and fucking perfect.

“Fuuuuck.” He groaned close to my ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth. “You okay?”

“God yes.” I lifted my knees and he hooked one over his shoulder, sinking deeper. I let out a noise that I’d never heard before.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he growled as he started to move slowly, finding a rhythm. “So. Fucking. Good.”

My fingers trailed over his shoulders, his back, his chest and down his abs. His body was insane. There were muscles everywhere, long and lean, they shifted under my hands. He bent to brush a kiss over my lips.

“So fucking sexy.”

“Harder.” My heel pressed into his ass driving him deeper.

“You sure, sweet thing?”

“Yes, harder—Oh god—more, yes.” We descended into moans, groans and grunting pants as he slammed into me. My body tingled as the sounds of us filled my room, my flat, my world.

“Suck my tits.” He did. He sucked, and licked, and teased with his teeth. I was just a ball of sensation.

“You gonna come again? Touch yourself, I want to feel you come on my cock.” As soon as my fingers moved over my slick skin my third orgasm for the evening hit and I once again saw stars. He swallowed my cries in a messy kiss before shifting back on his haunches and driving into me with even more force. I was going to come again. The third one (or was it fourth?) hadn’t even subsided yet and I already felt another hot on its heels.

“You want more?”

I groaned and slid my hands over my boobs, squeezing. “Yes, more.”

“Goddammit, sweet thing, you’re gonna kill me.” He continued to thrust and thumbed my clit and it was game over for the fourth time. I clawed at his thighs, his hands, whatever I could reach as I panted and rode out my blinding orgasm. I had never come so many times in such quick succession.

“Fuck— Yes— That’s it— So good— Oh fuck— I’m gonna—” The sound he made as he came was hands down the sexiest noise I had ever heard and I was sure that recalling it over the next few days (maybe even weeks) would be all that was required to make me come anytime, anywhere. He collapsed on top of me, the weight of him was bliss, and stayed there until his breathing slowed.

As he rolled onto his back and dealt with the condom I tried, in vain, to cover myself up. Now that the orgasm high was diminishing, self-consciousness had begun to creep in.

“Oh no you don’t…” he said pulling me on top of him, he rubbed my wet pussy over his cock. It felt ridiculously good. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“You’re not?” Goosebumps broke out over my skin as he kneaded my thighs.

“Not even close.” His hands roamed up over my boobs and into my hair before he pulled me down for a slow, tender kiss. I felt him thicken underneath me. Was he really ready to go again already? Lord, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to walk tomorrow.

FOUR

NASH

WITH A SOFT SIGH the woman beside me rolled over, her back arched in sleep, pressing her round ass against my thigh. My body reacted immediately, and I was sorely tempted to wake her. Not that I would. Honestly it was a miracle that my dick could even move at this point considering how much sex we’d had. She was incredible. And it was like she’d flicked some long dormant switch in me. I couldn’t explain it. Sex with Nadia had never been bad, but it had never, ever, been whatever just happened. That was raw and primal and just so good. I wasn’t even sure I could explain it if I had to.

I should get out of this bed and leave, we had agreed that it was one night only, after all. Yet I found myself wanting to linger, wanting to curl myself around her back, bury my face in her hair and sleep. Something told me I’d sleep like the fucking dead beside her. And I’d do just about anything to get a decent night’s sleep.

It had never been an issue for me before, even after a long night of service when I was still buzzing with adrenaline as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out. Since Nadia left though, I’d been lucky to get a couple of hours a night. But right now, with this woman breathing slow and even beside me, her juicy ass pressed against my leg, and the smell of sex and sugar and black tea in the air, I could probably sleep for two days.

But that wasn't the deal. The deal was that I be gone when she woke up, not passed out beside her.

Trying my best not to jostle the mattress I slid one foot onto the floor and eased out of bed. She shifted again, the sheet covering her slipping down to her navel and I bit back a groan. Just once more wouldn’t hurt, would it? No, because once wouldn’t stop at once. I was not getting back into bed. No matter how good she looked. One arm stretched across the spot I’d been a moment before and she edged closer to the pillow my head had been on, her lips parting on a sigh. Even asleep she was making it seriously difficult to leave.

First, I needed my clothes.

I found everything, both mine and hers, strewn between the door and bed. Just the memory of watching her tear down the top of her dress last night had my cock twitching as I pulled my jeans on.

Time to go.

I hesitated at the door, but what the hell was I actually thinking of doing? Crawling back into bed with her, waking up next to her. She didn’t want that. And in truth I didn’t really either. I had nothing to offer another woman when I was still well and truly fucked up from the last one.

It didn't matter how sexy she was. It didn’t matter how good we had been together had been. It was time to go.

“YOU’RE LATE.”

“Hey Mom, it’s great to see you too,” I said, leaning to kiss her offered cheek. Even at ten on a Sunday morning she was immaculate, heaven forbid Eva Easton wear anything other than cashmere and silk. Today was a pair of wide leg pants the color of cinnamon and a tank a shade or two darker than fresh cream. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen my mother in denim.

“You look terrible, did you not sleep at all last night?” She snagged me by the chin. And this was how the entire morning was going to go. “Don’t look at me like that. You think I’m not going to notice my son looks haggard? Honestly, sweetheart, have you slept at all in the last week?”

“Haggard?”

She wasn’t listening. “Dallas, you didn’t tell me he looked this bad.”

“Mom, Dallas is—”

“He doesn’t look that bad, Mother,” Dallas said, and it wasn’t until that moment I noticed the phone in Mom’s hand, the one that was not currently holding my face. “Hey Nash,” my sister added.

“Hey Dal, how’s Palm Springs? Why are you on the phone right now?”

“It’s amazing and I couldn't miss family brunch!”

I didn’t bother arguing, because with Dallas there often wasn’t much point. She couldn't stay in the state to see me last night but at least she was on the phone for family brunch.

“I can’t believe you just up and left your brother in his time of need.”

I resisted an eye roll. “My time of need, really?”

“Well, what would you call it? You’ve been in the city for two days and refused to see anyone. I’m concerned about you.”

“Mom, I told you not to lead with this. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Fucking hell. And this was why I did not want to come to brunch this morning. If I thought having Dad here too would make a difference I’d ask where he was, but he’d never really been around, especially not at mealtimes. So, I kept my mouth shut and walked further into my parents’ apartment.

It was all monochromatic and sterile, the same way it had been since I was in high school. I guess it was part of the reason I spent most of my time at Mack’s, well that and the fact his parents were never home.

Manhattan rose up on all sides as far as the eye could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bringing in the only hits of color. The view didn’t make up for the fact the place had no soul.

I wasn’t even sure why I agreed to come this morning. Or why I didn’t cancel when I got all of an hour’s sleep. Part of me really wished that I’d just stayed in my mystery woman’s bed. Even if I hadn’t slept, I would have at least been beside her. Wrapped in that feeling of a warm woman and surrounded by her heady scent. That would have been almost as good as actual sleep. Instead, I’d gone back to my parent’s other apartment in Chelsea, the one my mother insisted I stay in, and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling wondering what the fuck I was going to do with my life.

It wasn’t just about Nadia, although that would have been enough, it was about my career too. I was a chef who didn’t want to cook. That didn’t exactly bode well for my future in the industry. The main problem was that I had no real idea of how to go about finding my passion again. It hadn’t disappeared overnight; it was more of a slow decline. I’d tried to ignore it at first, tell myself I was just having an off day, an off week, an off month. But the longer it went on the harder it got to ignore, until the sale finally went through, and it was like this huge weight had been lifted off me.

Only to return doubled when Nadia walked out the door with some prick from her work without a backward glance. Trent.

Dallas was right. I didn't want to talk about it. Because unless I was talking to my wife about it, then what was the point? And I could only listen to my mother tell me that I needed to make things right so many times before I considered smothering her in her sleep. I wasn’t the one who needed to make things right. Nadia was. Although I wasn’t even sure there was anything to make right at this point. She left. Even if she did say she wanted to come back, how the hell was I supposed to trust her again? She’d broken us. I didn't know how to go about fixing it.

The next two hours passed as I expected them to. Mom talking endlessly about how I needed to reunite with Nadia. It was as though she didn’t even hear me when I spoke. She certainly didn’t want to hear about the fact that there was another man. These things happen, Nash. I resisted the urge to ask how often they happened with her and Dad.

“I’ll come around tomorrow, sweetheart,” she said as I was leaving, or trying to anyway.

“That’s not necessary.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I hate to think of you moping around the apartment all alone.”

“I won’t be moping. And I won’t be alone,” I assured her. It did little good.

“I’ll have Marina make your favorite and come for lunch.” She tapped my cheek, and I was dismissed.

I nodded, kissed her cheek and made a mental note to be out of the apartment by ten.

AFTER ANOTHER MOSTLY SLEEPLESS night I was climbing the walls by nine so was out of the apartment well before my mother arrived with her personal chef. I appreciated what she was trying to do, mostly. It was just that I could do without the constant guilt trip about not doing enough to fix my marriage.

I walked around for an aimless hour before stopping for a coffee that tasted more like sink water after a full service. And yet I kept drinking it because I didn’t think it was actually about the coffee as much as it was the fact my head was all fucked up. I kept telling myself that at some point I was going to enjoy food again. That it had to happen. Because the alternative, that I would live in this hell of bland coffee and ash, made me want to jump off the fucking Chrysler Building.

With the coffee gone I stopped for bagels and donuts, not because I wanted to eat them but because if I wanted to see Chase, she would demand to be fed. In her own words, why else would I be friends with a chef?

After coming up empty at both her place and Mack’s I went to Rudi Blue. They were closed on Mondays so there was no reason for either of them to be there, and yet when I knocked, Mack pulled open the door and I could hear Chase inside.

“Hey man, what are you doing here?” He asked. I held up the bags of food. “You look like hell.”

I was going to have to start wearing a sign around my neck that said: this is just my face.

“If that’s Theo with the kegs, tell him to come back!” Chase called.

“Not Theo,” I said as I came up behind her and dropped the bags on the long oak bar.

“Nashville, what are you doing here? You look like shit.”

I ignored both the question and the comment on my appearance, because now I was getting paranoid, and turned the conversation away from me. “What are you both doing here? Isn’t Monday your day off?”

Chase laughed. “How many of those did you actually take when you had Bailey?” She had me there. Days off were pretty non-existent as a business owner. “Anyway, Monday is business meeting day.”

“And you’re doing it here because?”

“Because if we’re at either of our apartments we end up watching Netflix and getting nothing done.” She shot a stern look in Mack’s direction as he took an enormous bite of a peanut butter and jelly donut.

“I can go, if I’m interrupting.”

“You brought bagels and donuts, that’s fuel, not an interruption,” Chase said with a smile and a squeeze of my hand.

“Glad to hear it.” Although now I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing here. I didn’t really feel like talking, I just didn’t want to be alone. I’d been alone enough in the last month, but my thoughts got too loud when I was alone; and I’d had enough of my own thoughts to last a fucking lifetime. I didn’t need to say any of this for both Chase and Mack to understand.

“You know what these need…” Chase said as she bit into a butter slathered bagel.

“What’s that?” I accepted the other half she offered. It was still warm, the butter melted and dripping. But as it met my tongue there was nothing.

“Your parmesan and truffle scrambled eggs.” She let out a sound that was way too close to a sex noise for my liking and Mack sucked in a startled breath beside me. The sooner the two of them sorted their shit out and just admitted they were in love with each other the better. I knew not to say that out loud though unless I wanted to get slapped. Twice.

“Next time you deliver bagels you can do so with scrambled eggs, please and thank you.”

“Only for you,” I said with a wink and as much enthusiasm as I could muster. It wasn’t enough to fool her.

“When did you cook them last?”

“Don’t know.” I took another tasteless bite. It had been years since I’d made those eggs. Nadia hadn’t eaten dairy since our honeymoon, that ruled out parmesan in her eggs, when she was eating eggs anyway.

“Nash.”

“Chase.”

“When was the last time you cooked?”

I did not like how quickly or easily she’d come to that question. “Did you forget I’m a chef, Chase?”

Her attention darted to Mack, some silent communication passing between them. It looked an awful lot like I told you so.

I waited for the inquisition to follow, but it didn’t come. I knew better than to think the matter had been dropped, she’d catch me again when I was least expecting it. Maybe I’d make the eggs just to shut her up.

FIVE

JEMMA

THAT’S IT, sweet thing, fuck my face.

I woke up panting and on the brink of orgasm, with one hand inching into my underwear and my hips rocking against the mattress. I considered finishing what my mind had started but it just wasn’t the same. I couldn’t feel Mr. Orgasm’s breath and beard on my skin. Couldn’t feel his fingers biting into my thighs as I ground myself against his mouth. Goddammit. I threw off the covers and marched directly to the shower, stepping in as I wrenched the taps.

“Cold!” I hissed. “Oh god, so cold.” My teeth rattled against one another, but I forced myself to stand under the frigid spray and cool the hell off. This was starting to get embarrassing. I’d woken up the same way every day since the mind-boggling orgasm-fest last weekend. Seven days of waking up about to come only to realize that it was all a dream, again.

As the water started to heat up, I squeezed a liberal amount of body wash onto my wash glove and scrubbed, maybe a little harder than was strictly necessary. Why was I still thinking about Mr. Orgasm? Yes, we had a good time, an exceptional time if I was honest, but I still woke up alone, as requested. I didn’t have a number to contact him on. I didn’t even have a name!

Maybe that was why my brain was still fixated—because he was a mystery. A sexy, sexy mystery. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t felt that kind of chemistry with anyone in a long time. It should probably scare me, especially considering the last time I did, well, that didn’t exactly end well for me. I pulled myself up before letting the Jonah memories take me down a spontaneous shame spiral. Nothing good came from thinking about him.

With my fluffiest towel secured over my boobs, I padded out into the kitchen for a tea and to start on the sourdough crumpets for Mrs. Snyder. It was a Sunday tradition of ours, one I missed last week because I was so horrendously hungover, and also masturbating like it was my job. Heat once again pooled low as I thought about Mr. Orgasm. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted he be gone by morning. Maybe I should have gotten his name. Maybe I should have asked him to marry me after the tenth orgasm. So many maybes. None of which changed my situation. I had needed a distraction, and he was an exceedingly good one, and that was just fine. Besides, relationships weren’t exactly a strong suit of mine. And I had my career to focus on, considering I was basically in rebuild mode, for the second time in four years.

As expected, I’d lost all of my upcoming bookings after the food poisoning allegations. It felt like all the work I’d done to establish myself had gone up in smoke. I was back to square one—or maybe negative eight because of the whole I-poison-my-clients thing that was still floating around.

When I wasn’t reliving the sex from last weekend, I was crying about the disaster that was my career. I’d spent the week scowling into smashed avocado and shakshuka and licking my wounds, but it was time to get back to work. Honestly though, I wasn’t sure where to start, and the temptation to continue to mash avocado on toast was real. It was safe. It was consistent. I got to hang out with Darcy and Harley. But did I want to do it, full time, forever? Well, no.

I pulled out the crumpet batter that had been proofing overnight and ladled a portion into the greased rings in my pan. There were few things in life better than fresh crumpets with lashings of butter and a generous drizzle of honey. So simple, and yet so perfect. I wondered if I could make a living selling crumpets?

Maybe I could be the one to finally break the humble crumpet into the US mainstream. They could go viral! And with a little non-dairy milk action they could easily be made vegan. Gluten free could be a little trickier, but manageable. Could I deal with only making crumpets for the rest of my life, no matter how good they were? No, probably not. I blew out a breath, discarding another potential business idea.

My short attention span meant I needed more variety, which was why the catering business had been so perfect. Every new booking meant a new menu, a fresh challenge. Rebuilding my reputation wasn’t impossible, but I had no idea how long it would take. And I had bills to pay now. Thank God for Cream and Sugar and the steady stream of people who couldn’t be bothered to make themselves toast.

Mrs. Snyder opened the door and grinned, her flawless coral lips stretching over impossibly perfect teeth. I had no idea how old she was. When we first met, I had put her in her early seventies, but she could easily be over ninety. Her silver bob was blunt and kissed her jawline, the fringe low enough to obscure her eyebrows entirely, and highlighting a pair of unnervingly sharp gray eyes. The tortoiseshell frames that were perched on her nose would have looked three times too big on anyone else’s face but somehow suited Mrs. Snyder perfectly.

“Good morning,” she said, eyeing the large plate of crumpets I carried, before turning heel and expecting me to follow. I did, trailing behind the short train of her pale pink silk robe as it billowed and swayed in her wake.

Like the woman herself, Mrs. Snyder’s home was perfection. The polished floorboards were covered in lush rugs in various shades of off white that I never wanted to step on, for fear of leaving a grubby footprint behind; the walls were hung with art and photos; the whole place just screamed of a life well lived.

Her husband had died of throat cancer a decade ago and the pair had never had children, so she was left in her brownstone with only her memories for company. Not that Marion Snyder was the type of person to sit and wallow. She had a sister in Cincinnati who was constantly trying to get her to move but, despite the numerous pleas, Mrs. Snyder refused to leave New York. I knew the feeling.

I lived in the self-contained flat at the top of her brownstone. It was small, but the rent was ridiculously cheap, and I had a surrogate grandmother/oracle/savior just downstairs whenever I needed her.

“I missed you last week…” Her voice was low and smokey, with the kind of rasping lilt that made me think of old movies. I could easily imagine her on screen, in black and white with a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other.

“Me too, but I would not have been good company. Trust me.” I deposited the crumpet plate on the kitchen table and went directly to the kettle. I knew my way around Mrs. Snyder’s kitchen as well as I did my own. White cabinets, white bench tops and brass hardware. It smelled of the rosemary that grew in the window box and lemon from the always overflowing bowl by the sink.

“Mmm… that have anything to do with the man you had up there with you Saturday night?”

“What?” I said, feigning confusion while staring steadfastly at the bench and willing my face to cool down.

“Sounded like you had quite the night… I just wish I got a glimpse of him.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that she heard, as mortifying as that knowledge was. Oh lord, how was I going to have a conversation with her now? “Tea?”

“Yes please,” she answered, the smile in her voice making the words sweet. I could feel her staring, her eyes boring a hole between my shoulder blades.

When I was confident that my face was no longer beetroot red, I turned, teapot in hand. I was a grown woman, who happened to have had very good, and apparently very loud, sex that could be heard by my landlord. This was fine. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For the fact you heard all of… that.”

“Oh honey, as a woman you should never apologize for taking your pleasure, besides it was better than PornHub.” She looked far too amused by all of this, considering I was dying on the inside.

I covered my face with my hands. “Oh my god.”

She laughed around a mouthful of honey-laden crumpet, and before I could insist that we needed to talk about something else, anything else, my phone rang.

I yanked it out of my pocket and answered, “Jemma West.”

I was met with a shrill screaming on the other end of the line and held the phone away to see who was calling. Dallas Easton. Why was Dallas Easton calling me at ten-thirty on Sunday morning?

“Jemma! Oh my god! How are you? What are you doing?”

“Hi Dallas, just having some breakfast with a friend, how are you? Is everything okay?” She sounded way too amped, even for her.

“Everything. Is. Amazing. Can you meet me at The Village Den at one?”

“Today?”

Her laughter tinkled down the line. “Yes, today! Can you make it?”

“Ah, sure, of course. Are you going to tell me why?”

Another laugh. “Do I need a reason to see you?”

“Usually, yes.”

“See you later, Jemma.” She hung up and I stared at my phone for a beat. What could Dallas possibly want to see me about? I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of months.

We met at an event I catered earlier in the year, and Dallas had loved every second of it. She insisted we exchange numbers and had texted here and there, but it had been a while. What could she possibly want now? I guess I’d know soon enough.

“Was that your man?” Mrs. Snyder asked, I assumed her eyebrows were arching provocatively under her fringe.

“He is not my man; he is a man. And no, it wasn't him, it was a friend.”

“You planning on seeing him again?” So much for me hoping that this conversation was over. Didn’t change the fact that I didn’t have anything else to say on the matter though.

“Considering I don’t know his name or have a way to contact him, no.” Was that a little stab of disappointment somewhere under my rib cage? I ignored it.

“He knows where you live though.”

“And?”

“And what if he decides to stop by…”

“He won’t.” He wouldn’t. Would he? No, I was very clear that our dalliance was one-night-only.

It was obvious that Mrs. Snyder wanted to dig into this more but decided against it. I was grateful. There really wasn’t anything else to say. Mr. Orgasm and I had a brilliant night. One that reminded me I was a young woman who thoroughly enjoyed sex. But that was that. I was kind of glad that I didn’t know his name or anything else about him, it would have ruined the magic.

I poured us both tea and asked if she had any gossip from her weekly bridge game. Apparently, Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Montgomery got into it over who had the better orchids. Drama plus. I loved the scandalous lives of the older women of New York.

MRS. SNYDER WAVED me off from the stoop as I cursed the fact that the New York weather hadn’t gotten the memo about autumn. Two weeks in and humidity still hung heavy in the air, making sweat collect between my boobs in record time. I considered booking an uber, but considering my current lack of prospects, I decided conserving money was the smarter move and opted for the subway instead.

As I dropped down into a seat my mind wandered back to Mrs. Snyder and her comment about Mr. Orgasm ‘stopping by’. I hadn’t even thought about the fact he knew where I lived. Would I get home one day and find him standing on the pavement? I wasn’t sure if the thought was exciting or terrifying. I needed to stop thinking about it. I needed to stop thinking about him altogether, unless I was in bed, or the shower and I could do something about it.

“JEMMA!” Dallas bounded into the restaurant, took one look at my two drinks—one mimosa and one Bloody Mary because I couldn’t choose—and told the closest waitress to bring more, pronto.

“Oh my god, I’m so excited you’re here!” She pulled me into a hug, her dark chocolate beach waves flying around us. Dallas was a knockout in every sense of the word; huge brown eyes, full lips, legs for weeks (not mere days) and curves, curves, curves. She was on the cover of the last Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue for God’s sake. Oh, and she was also one of the nicest people I’d ever met. The least she could do looking like she did was be a bitch, but no, the woman was an angel.

“It’s so good to see you,” I agreed.

“So, you’ve guessed why I called?”

“I have not. Should I have guessed why you called?” Were we supposed to have some kind of telepathic bond I wasn’t aware of?

“Remember that time I said that if Duke ever proposed I would totally get you to plan my wedding?”

“And then I laughed in your face and told you I wasn’t a wedding planner, yes I think I can remember that.” I slurped down some more Bloody Mary, it was heavy on both vodka and tabasco, just the way I liked it.

“Well…” She held up her left hand and tinkled her fingers. I was momentarily blinded by a diamond the size of a small cat on her ring finger.

“Oh my god! Dallas, you’re engaged!” I blinked. “Congratulations!”

She squealed like a teenager, accepted her mimosa as soon as it hit the table and emptied it in one long sip. Did this mean what I thought it meant? She couldn’t be serious.

“I’m still not a wedding planner,” I reminded her, despite a little flicker of hope burning in my chest. She wasn’t actually going to do it, was she?

“I know, I know. But honestly, Jemma, there is literally no one else I want to plan this thing. You can do it. I know you can.”

Yes, she was. I gaped at her. Honestly, when she said that I’d be planning her wedding one day she’d been drunk and I assumed that she’d never remember it, let alone follow through. And yet, here we were. I should tell her no, that there were so many more qualified people in the city to do it. But she was asking me. She wanted me. Oh my god. Planning the wedding of Dallas Easton and Duke Prince could be amazing. It could be exactly what I needed. No more hipster brunches or vegan, gluten free crumpets.

It was completely irresponsible for me to be even considering saying yes. I was not a wedding planner. I was a chef, a caterer. Maybe I needed to just accept the catering portion. Could I do that? If I wanted to do the right thing by Dallas, I should say that I would cater but that was it. I should say thank you but no thank you and point her to the nearest actual wedding planner.

“I’ll do it.” The words were out before I could stop them. But I couldn’t bring myself to regret them when Dallas was beaming at me from across the table.

“I have a wedding planner!” She clapped and threw back my mimosa. A few of the other diners glanced at us. They all had that ‘I think she’s famous’ look in their eyes. Dallas was completely oblivious.

I swallowed. I was going to plan a wedding. Lord help me. Where did I even start?

“Now that’s out of the way… How are you? What have you been up to?”

My brain tripped over itself. “Um, fine. I’m fine—shouldn't we talk about it? The wedding?”

“Not yet, let’s catch up first. Surely you can do better than just fine? Come on, give me something, preferably spicy.” Her eyebrows bounced as she moved onto her Bloody Mary.

“Uh… it’s been kind of a mixed bag. I had the best sex of my life last week. Of. My. Life. It was ridiculous. But work has been slow—non-existent, actually—because a group I catered for accused me of giving them food poisoning, so...” Why did I tell her that? She had just asked me to plan her wedding and then I told her I might have poisoned people. What was the matter with me? And the sex thing was completely inappropriate if she was my newest client.

“Well, the food poisoning thing is obviously a mistake because you are far too good of a chef to do that. And after you plan my wedding no one will remember it, so that’s that.” She waved a hand, like she was my fairy godmother, and the matter was solved. I desperately wished it was that simple. “Let’s get back to the sex. Who was the guy?” Why the hell had I even mentioned it? I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him anymore, let alone talking about him.

“Oh—I don’t know,” I admitted with a shake of my head that I hoped looked relaxed when inside I had turned to jelly at the memory of Mr. Orgasm.

“What?” She laughed.

“I mean I know who I had sex with,” I stammered trying to backtrack and not sound like a complete wanton hussy, as my grandmother would say. “I wasn’t blackout drunk or anything. I remember every last glorious detail. But I don’t know his name or anything.” In hindsight, that did not sound like an improvement.

“Why on earth not?”

“Because it was a one night only deal, which was my decision,” I rushed to add seeing her look of horror.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” She looked genuinely concerned for my mental health.

I sighed. “Relationships aren’t a strong suit of mine. Also, I made the one night only rule before the orgasm train got rolling. But still…” I shook my head. Get it together, don’t start thinking about Mr. Orgasm and all of his talented appendages. “I was—I needed a distraction from the whole career-ending food poisoning thing, and he was that. And we didn’t exchange names, let alone numbers. Plus, I was kind of a woman possessed that night, there is literally no way I’d be able to look him in the eye again. I’m fine with it being a one-night thing.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?” She asked with a smirk.

“I’m not trying to convince you or myself. It’s just a fact.” And I had other things to focus on now, like planning a bloody wedding.

“Uh huh…” she nodded. I slurped down some more Bloody Mary in the hopes of getting a midday buzz and forgetting this conversation.

“Brat, am I late? What’d I miss?” Dallas’ focus moved past my shoulder and her face split into an enormous grin. I spun in my chair and choked on the bite of celery I’d just taken.

“Nash! No, you’re not late. And you didn’t miss anything but a little girl talk—Jemma here was just telling me about the mind bending, best sex of her life that she had last week.”

Was it possible to swallow your own tongue? If so, I just did it.

SIX

NASH

JEMMA HERE WAS JUST TELLING me about the mind bending, best sex of her life that she had last week.

Had I heard that right? My brain felt like it was stalling. The woman who I had dragged myself away from in the small hours of last Sunday morning was currently sitting across from my sister. And they were discussing the sex she’d had last week. The sex she’d had with me.

Sweet thing—Jemma—was staring up at me with those huge blue eyes of hers, cloudless sky surrounded by a ring of deep ocean, and my cock went rock hard as memories of her, naked and laid out under me, flicked through my mind. I swallowed. Dallas was still rambling on beside me. Dallas! She didn't know it was me. No, how could she? And it certainly didn't look like Jemma was about to fill in the blanks.

“Nash! Earth to Nash.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

She shook her head. “God, you’re a space cadet sometimes. This is Jemma. Jemma, this is my brother, Nash.”

“You—your brother. He’s your brother.” She stammered before adding something that sounded like of course he fucking is, under her breath.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jemma.”

She cleared her throat and took my offered hand, the feel of her skin on mine sent a shot of electricity up my arm.

“You too, Nash.” Her cheeks were stained pink, and I was seriously tempted to drag her out of here, or just have my way with her against the nearest wall, because apparently, I was turning into a caveman.

“And you can, um, ignore the thing that—I mean, you know, Dallas—” She was seriously hot when she was flustered. I tried to imagine how far down that blush would go. Bad idea. I could remember all too clearly the way her tits flushed as she came.

My sister laughed. “Relax Jemma, we’re all adults here. I’m sure Nash is just jealous he wasn’t the one to rock your world! Oh my god, kidding, don't tell Nadia I said that!” Oh fuck.

“Nadia?” Jemma said. My wife’s name—ex-wife’s name—on her lips made my stomach roll.

“His wife.” Dallas waved her hand in the flippant way she did. Jemma’s eyes were as big as dinner plates, and I could see her teetering the line between confusion and blind rage.

“Ex-wife. Well, not officially.” Fuck, not helping. “We’re separated,” I clarified.

Jemma didn’t look convinced. How did they even know each other?

Dallas continued speaking. “I’m so glad you’re both here! It’s my dream team!” She said with a clap as she collapsed back into her chair. Jemma and I just stared at her. Dream team?

“Sit, Nash.” I sat. Jemma edged away, her jaw set and her eyes hard.

Despite this shit show of a situation, I wanted to pull her chair sideways and bury my face in her neck. What the fuck was the matter with me? Last week had been good, better than good, I wasn’t sure I’d ever had that kind of connection with anyone—ever. But she said it was a one-night deal and that could not have suited me better. Yet now here we were, sitting in some hipster cafe in Chelsea, with my sister. It was both amazing and terrible all at once.

“Okay! So, you both know that Duke proposed last night.”

“Dal, get to the point. I'll have a burger and fries,” I added to the waiter who had deposited meals to my two female companions. Dallas had a heaping bowl of salad. Jemma had bacon, eggs, avocado, mushrooms, hash browns and halloumi. A woman after my own heart.

She caught me looking at her plate and glared in my general direction. “What?”

“Nothing. It looks good.” Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she bit into a piece of bacon. I tried not to find it sexy and failed.

“The point, dear brother, is that I want the two of you to plan my wedding.”

“What?” Jemma and I said in unison.

“You can’t be serious,” I added.

“So. Completely. Serious,” she said.

Jemma made a strangled noise beside me.

“You knew about this?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “No, I did not know about this. It would appear I didn't know about a lot of things.” The look on her face told me she did not believe the ‘separated from my wife’ thing. “She sprung the wedding planning thing on me fifteen minutes ago.” Those blue eyes swung to Dallas. “Although there was no mention of having a partner.” She did not sound happy about the prospect.

I bristled. What the fuck was wrong with planning it with me? I mean, aside from the fact she thought I was married, and we’d been naked together seven days ago.

Dallas was her ever-relaxed self; she smiled serenely at both of us and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “The thing is...” she started, and I knew that look, it was the ‘I’m about to say something Nash doesn’t like but he’s going to help me anyway’ look. “We’ve got kind of a tight timeline. And although I have complete faith you can pull it off, Jemma, I just thought that maybe, Nash, you could act as Jemma’s assistant.”

“Assistant?” I barked and Jemma laughed, I shot her a look, but she stared me down. I was not a fucking assistant.

“Oh my god! I’ve gotta go… okay, rapid fire details. It needs to be in four weeks. There won’t be more than eighty or so people, probably less.” She tapped away on her phone and mine vibrated in my pocket. “I’ve just sent you one another’s contact details, as well as the link to my wedding inspiration Pinterest board and access to both mine and Duke’s calendars. I’ll take care of my dress, Duke’s suit, hair, and makeup—but the rest is up to you.”

“Where are you going? Dal, you can’t just drop this on us. I’m a chef, not a fucking wedding planner,” I said, standing as she did, my chair scraping over the hardwoods underfoot.

“He’s right, Dallas, can we talk about this? Planning a wedding in four weeks? It can’t be done. It’s madness,” Jemma said, she was also on her feet. I forgot how small she was, I could easily tuck her under my chin. Or throw her over my shoulder. There was that caveman rearing his head again. Not that it was the time.

“Don’t stress. You’ll both be great, I already know it.” She took both of our hands and squeezed. “I’ve got this new Pilates and boxing fusion class; I can’t be late. I look forward to seeing your progress!” She threw a few bills onto the table and skipped out.

What. The. Fuck?

I stayed standing, staring at the empty space my sister had filled, until my burger arrived. What the hell was she thinking? I didn’t know about Jemma, but I sure as shit wasn’t a fucking wedding planner. I realized that I didn’t actually know a thing about Jemma, aside from the perfect angle to make her scream. That was important information, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t currently relevant.

I collapsed back into my chair and took a bite of my burger. And for the first time in over a month it didn’t taste like ash. It was juicy, well cooked and seasoned, melted cheese, sharp onion, perfect balance. I took another bite. And another. What the hell was going on? Why now? What was different today that my taste buds had decided to wake up?

I glanced at Jemma, who had pushed her own plate away and was scribbling in a notebook. She must have felt me staring because she looked up.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She swatted at her cheeks like there might have been food left behind. There wasn’t.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It goes without saying that we cannot plan Dallas’ wedding together, right?”

“Why not?” Why was I arguing? I didn't want to plan my sister’s wedding.

She shook her head. “It also goes without saying that we don’t need to tell Dallas about last week.” Her focus bounced down to my mouth and I shifted in my seat as my pants started to feel tighter.

“I’m not the one who was discussing my sex life with her,” I pointed out, which earned me a deeper frown and a pout. She had perfect fucking lips. And if possible, she was even hotter when she was angry.

“I was not discussing my sex life—”

“No?” I interrupted. “Then how did Dallas know about the mind bending, best sex of your life?”

She was trying to look unfazed by the reminder, but I could see a tick in her jaw.

“You okay there, Jemma?” It was a mistake to lean in close as I asked it. Her scent—black tea, cinnamon and something else I couldn’t put my finger on—invaded my senses and the fresh blush on her cheeks made my mouth go dry.

“Listen, arsehole, I understand that you don't owe me anything here, but an apology would be nice.” She was practically vibrating.

“You want me to apologize for making you come so many times you could barely speak?” There was something about this woman that made me want to press buttons—all sorts of buttons.

The blush crept back over her cheeks. “No. I want you to apologize for—you know what, don't bother. Men like you don't apologize for sticking their dicks wherever they like. And you were so sure of yourself too, probably wasn't the first time you've fucked around on your wife, am I right?” She paused long enough for me to think she was going to let me answer then kept on talking. “I'm happy for Dallas to think you're helping me, but if you come anywhere near me, I will tear off that huge dick of yours and feed it to you.”

So, she thought my dick was huge? It shouldn’t have been the part of the sentence that stuck, but it was. I forced my mind away from her hands on my (huge) dick. And then the rest of her little tirade struck home. I didn’t fucking cheat on my wife, it was difficult to do that when she had walked out on me.

“Like I said, Nadia and I are separated.”

“Convenient,” she said, lips pursed. I swallowed the instinct to force the point, it was clear she wasn’t interested in listening. What-the-fuck-ever.

“How do you know my sister anyway?”

“Not that it is any of your business—”

“She's asked me to plan her wedding with you, so yeah, I think it is kind of my business.”

“Oh? And you don't think it was my business to know that you were married when you walked up to me last week? How about when my nipple was in your mouth? Or when you told me to fuck your face? No? Still not my business?” If she kept talking about last week, I was going to kiss her and that would be a mistake—although as I stared at her mouth it was difficult to remember why.

“I’m not sure how many times I’m going to have to say it, Jemma, but Nadia and I have separated.” I dragged my attention away from her mouth and looked her in the eye as I said it. She still didn’t look convinced. “Why has Dallas asked you to do this? I get the impression you're not actually a wedding planner, am I right?” I mimicked her accent.

The fire that lit her eyes made my blood hum. This woman was dangerous.

“If you’re insinuating that I am trying to somehow take advantage of your sister, you’re wrong. We met at a dinner event I held. She said to me then that, if she ever got married, she wanted me to plan it. I laughed and told her I wasn’t a wedding planner.”

“You’re a caterer?”

“Again, not that it’s any of your bloody business, but I’m a chef, I run a catering business and work part-time in a cafe.” Some of the fight left her and she twisted her hands. “And as to why I’m doing this, it’s as simple as because Dallas asked me to.”

“You have a catering business, work part-time, and you’re just going to make some time to plan a wedding in four weeks?” Most people would say no to planning a wedding full stop with a full-time job as well, let alone doing it in under a month.

“I’m good at juggling,” she said, not looking at me. There was something about her that made me want to know more.

“I still don’t get it.”

“You don’t need to get it, Nash. And I don’t give two shits if you do or don’t.” She took a breath and I braced. “I’m doing this because your sister asked me to. And look, it must be nice to do whenever you like, but I don’t have that luxury. If Dallas asks, we’re working together like the levelheaded adults that we are but stay the fuck away from me. I will plan this wedding alone, and it will be bloody spectacular.” At no point during this little speech did her voice raise in the slightest. Instead, it remained a low hiss, which was infinitely more frightening.

“Expect your invitation in the mail within the week.” She slammed a fifty down on the table, ripped her bag off her chair and stormed out.

I should not have wanted to tear after her and get her naked. But part of me still did. Nothing good could come of it though. Everything with Nadia was still too fresh, and I sure as shit wasn’t looking to get into something else. I still wondered if maybe Nadia and I could work things out. Could I trust her again? Would I always be expecting her to come home and say she was leaving for the next best thing?

Fuck. Would Dallas invite her to the wedding? I really hoped not.

And why on earth did Dallas need to get married in four fucking weeks? Four weeks was crazy by anyone’s standards. Getting married in four weeks, after knowing one another for less than a year, was a recipe for divorce. And having recently had more experience with that than I ever thought I would, I didn’t want my little sister to have to go through it too.

I didn’t want to play the overprotective big brother in this scenario, but Dallas wasn’t giving me much of a choice. She was rushing into it and I was going to make sure she wasn’t making a mistake. Nadia and I had known each other for years and shit was still hard. And then she left me for someone else.

I shook my head in an effort to dislodge the thoughts. This wasn’t about me; it was about Dallas. I was helping my sister.

I SPOTTED Mack bent over a laptop as I arrived at Rudi Blue.

I’d been trying to get my head around this whole situation, but my brain kept circling back to Jemma no matter what I did. I was trying to ignore the niggle that told me I needed to make shit right with her. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of me—only, for whatever reason, it did. She was clearly hesitant to believe that I was separated. How could I make her believe it? Why did it matter if she believed it or not?

“Jesus, man, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck, what’s up?” Mack asked, running a hand through his mop of hair. I heaved myself onto a stool and stared at my hands. I kind of felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

“Yeah, it’s been a weird fucking day,” I said with a slow shake of my head.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” I scratched my beard. “I just—I don't know.”

“It got anything to do with that hot blonde from last week?”

My attention snapped up to him. “How—”

“I saw her drag you out of Buck’s.” He studied me for a beat. “No judgment here man, I’m pretty sure I’d be fucking my way through the eligible female population if I was in your shoes.”

I shook my head. I was pretty sure if I asked Chase, she’d say Mack was already fucking his way through the eligible female population.

“I didn’t think I’d be in this position, you know? When the sale went through, I figured we’d go on a vacation or something.” I wasn’t going to admit it to Mack but part of me was thinking about kids. Nadia clearly wasn’t. “Anyway, it’s for the best, I guess, and at least she told me before she started fucking him.” I’d been saying the same thing over and over in my head since she walked out. It’s for the best. And I wanted to believe it. I didn’t though, not really, not yet. Or I hadn’t.

“Guess seeing your sister engaged probably isn’t helping either.”

“And how the fuck did you know about that?”

“Oh Nash,” Chase crooned, sliding a beer across the bar. I hadn’t even noticed she was there. “Dallas lives on social media. She posted about it this morning. The press has been gagging over it all day.”

Yeah, I probably should have expected that. “She’s happy, so I’m happy.” Lies. “I just hope she isn’t rushing into it.” She absolutely was. “And then—” I broke off, not really sure what I wanted to say.

“And then…” Chase echoed as she scooted around the bar and hopped onto a stool beside me. She steepled her fingers under her chin and pursed her full lips. She sensed my hesitation and her mouth curved into a slow smile. “Come on, babe, let me have it.”

I sipped my beer and considered the predicament. It wasn’t so much a predicament, actually. I didn’t want to plan the wedding, Jemma did; that should have been it. But I couldn't shake the feeling that Dallas was making an almighty mistake rushing into it like this. And then there was this itch about Jemma. Was it just that I wanted to see her naked again?

Chase was still beside me waiting patiently, spinning one of the coasters.

“Dallas wants me to help plan her wedding.”

“Okay…” She raised an eyebrow that suggested she didn’t understand why this was such a big deal, like it was totally in my wheelhouse to plan a wedding.

“Two things.”

“Hit me.”

“One, it’s in four weeks.”

“Ouch,” she winced.

I nodded. “And two, she wants me to do it, plan it, with the woman I went home with last week.”

She chewed on her lip, trying her best not to laugh.

“Just get it out of your system.”

It bubbled up and erupted, the sound bouncing off the walls and drawing the attention of several people. I sipped my beer while I waited for her to compose herself.

“Oh man. Sorry. That’s—that is bad luck. Or good luck. Depending which way you look at it.” She wiped the corners of her eyes. “Who’s the woman?”

“Jemma.”

“Jemma who?”

Uh. “I don’t actually know.” I didn’t bother confessing I hadn’t known her first name until today.

Her lips twisted in contemplation. “You like Jemma?” She purred the name.

“No Chase, I do not like Jemma. Nadia and I have barely been separated for a month. Jemma and I fucked. That’s it.” I did not like the way she was looking at me, like she could see straight through my bullshit. This was why I didn’t want to have this conversation with her. Mack wouldn’t have asked me if I like Jemma. I didn’t like Jemma because I wasn’t a dipshit teenager. Yes, there was something about her that had gotten under my skin, but that didn’t mean anything. I hadn’t been with another woman in six years, she was just new and different, that was it.

Chase wound her hair into a knot on top of her head as she considered my situation. “So, what’s the problem? Aside from the obvious.”

“Jemma doesn’t want my help.”

“Great, so you’re done,” she said, eyes assessing me. “You don’t want to plan Dallas’ wedding?”

“Fuck no, what do I know about planning a wedding?”

“Okay, so you don’t want to do it, this Jemma woman doesn’t want your help, so she does it alone. What’s the big deal? I doubt your sister would have asked her if she didn’t think she was capable.”

“True. Am I not throwing her in the shit?”

“Maybe, but it’s not like you actually know her, or owe her anything. In your ever charming words, you fucked, that’s it. It’s not a big deal. You’re both adults. Right?” She shrugged and there was that look again, that ‘I see more than you’re telling me’ look.

“Right,” I agreed, trying to avoid her shrewd, dark eyes.

“Then I guess you’re off the hook.” She hopped off her stool.

So that was that. Chase was right, I didn’t want to plan the wedding, Jemma did. Problem solved.

“You sort our boy out?” Mack asked, returning to us.

Chase smiled and shot me a wink. “Of course I did.”

“Good to hear. You want another beer, man?”

“Sure.” I hadn't even realized that I’d finished the first one. I accepted the cold glass and spun on my stool as Chase and Mack fell into conversation. I should be relieved that I was off the hook. I was relieved. I was also twitchy. Dallas shouldn’t be getting married in four weeks. That shit was crazy even for her. But there wasn’t any way for me to stop it—

Unless.

Unless I said that I wanted to be part of the wedding planning and intentionally dragged my feet and pushed the thing out for a little while so Dallas could get some perspective. Could I do that? It would mean having to see Jemma again. I’d need to convince her that I wasn’t a complete piece of shit.

I drained my beer and left. For the first time in over a month, I felt like I had a purpose. An important one. First convince Jemma that I was not a cheating scumbag, then keep my little sister from making a huge mistake by rushing into this wedding. Would that make me a shitty brother? Only if it was the wrong thing to do, which I didn’t think it was. Or if Dallas found out, which she wouldn’t.

SEVEN

JEMMA

WHY DID DALLAS’ brother have to be Mr. Orgasm?

Why did she ask me to plan her wedding with him?

WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE MARRIED?

Granted his relationship status didn’t actually change anything. Even if he was single, it wouldn’t mean that I’d have dragged him out of the restaurant and stripped him naked in the closest semi-secluded spot—tempting as it was. No, that was not going to happen because I stood by my one-night rule. However, the fact that he was married (fuck!) threw a whole bucket of dirty sink water all over my sexy memories.

And he was a chef. Strike. Fucking. Two.

I slowed my stride and focused on breathing deep to ward off an impending panic attack. I was never supposed to see him again, he was going to live in my mind as the shag to end all shags and now we’re supposed to plan a wedding together. In four weeks. This was an absolute disaster.

Should I tell Dallas? Did I have an obligation to let her know that I had been naked with her (married) brother? I’d have to preface the confession with a large I-did-not-know-he-was-married disclaimer, but it did kind of seem like the right thing to do. Maybe then she wouldn’t expect me to go on planning her wedding with him. That might set me free of that immeasurable awkwardness. Was it something I needed to discuss with him first? No, I didn’t owe him anything. I didn’t even know him. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t tell her I’d had sex with her married brother.

An icky type feeling crawled over my skin. I couldn’t believe he was married. I supposed he might not actually be married. He had seemed very adamant about being separated from Nadia. Nadia and Nash. God even their names sounded good together. I bet she was gorgeous, tall and slim, with perfect hair and perfect boobs and perfect fucking everything. A guy like Nash would definitely be married to a woman like that. Fuckity shitting bollocks fuck. Was he actually married? He’d said the separated thing first in front of Dallas, so it wasn’t only for my benefit, but she didn’t exactly look like she believed him.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter whether or not he was married. And it didn’t matter because there was not going to be a repeat of last week. I already knew that. But this, this was just hammering it home. God, imagine if I hadn't said he needed to leave. What if Nadia had called when we were together? My stomach rolled.

He was a one-night mistake that would not be repeated because I did not sleep with men who were married, engaged, or otherwise romantically entangled. Anymore. And I didn't even need to think about him because I had a whole lot of other shit on my mind. Like being a wedding planner for a social media darling and the next big action star. This was it. The opportunity I’d been wanting, needing, and, although it could be a little too good to be true, I was going to grab the thing with both hands and deliver the best bloody wedding this city had ever seen. And there was absolutely no fucking way that was going to be jeopardized by some hot as sin philanderer, no matter how outstanding his dick was.

I didn’t even need Nash. I definitely did not. Not one bit. And he wasn’t even that good looking. Ha. Lies. Lies. Lies.

Last week, when he first walked up to me, I could appreciate his face, obviously, it was a very nice face, but my first thought was hot but not my type. Today though, in the fresh afternoon sunshine, well, he was something else altogether. Not once had I ever experienced such a raw and primal reaction to someone, like my entire existence depended on seeing him naked. Whatever happened in my body when I saw him was a base physiological want. No, it was a base physiological need. I needed to rub myself all over him and mark my territory. And it threw me for a bloody loop, which was probably why I went from stammering idiot to raging bitch in two seconds’ flat. Well, that, and the fact he might be married. Self-preservation was a hell of a thing.

But there was nothing to do about any of that now. I had a wedding to plan. In four weeks. I let out a high laugh that quickly turned into a choked sob and a few other pedestrians glanced at me in concern.

Nothing to see here folks, just teetering on the brink of a mental breakdown is all.

No. I was not having a mental breakdown. I was fine. And I sure as hell did not need Nash and his smoldery eyes anyway. Yes, he was gorgeous. Yes, just sitting next to him and breathing in his smell made me wet, embarrassingly so. But Sex Kitten Jemma had been safely subdued and I was not going there again. Because he was married. And even if he wasn’t (but he probably was) he was also my client’s brother. Wedding planners did not sleep with their client’s potentially married brothers (not more than once, knowingly, anyway).

I walked, muttering to myself about the universe’s fucked up sense of humor for five blocks before I realized I had no idea where I was going. I needed to get my head in the game. I had a wedding to plan. I needed a list. I needed a bunch of lists.

No, a list wasn’t going to cut it, what I needed was a spreadsheet. A big one.

Feeling slightly more in control of my thoughts and emotions, I made my way to the closest subway station and jumped on the L. I could do this. I could plan a wedding in under a month. No sweat. I wedged myself into a window seat and pulled up Google, because everything in life started with Google.

Nash Easton.

Wait, what?

That was not what I intended to search but as soon as I hit go the screen was flooded with results and I couldn’t look away. Just a quick look to appease my overly active imagination and then it was back to wedding planning.

The first few results were links to articles from various news outlets about the sale of something called Bailey Brick Co. I clicked on the top one. And it turned out that Nash was some kind of LA food celebrity. He and another chef—Kieran something—had started the restaurant together almost ten years ago and it exploded overnight. Three years later they had another two opened and at the time of sale there were six in total. Bloody hell. I scrolled down and nearly choked when I saw what the new owner paid for the chain. With a sale like that he’d never have to work again.

I kept scrolling and found a photo of them. The happy couple. Celebrating their engagement at one of his restaurants. How fucking romantic. Then they had a large wedding here in New York, too. And just as I thought, she was perfect. She was tall and slim with sleek, dark hair. She looked like Gal Gadot, Ariana Grande and Sofia Vergara had been shoved into that Weird Science machine and combined to make the perfect woman. I blew out a breath. Moving on. Time to plan a wedding.

Wedding planning checklist.

Oh, good grief.

I chewed on my lip. Maybe googling wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I couldn’t do this? No. I could. I would. I had to. And like I’d said to Nash, it was going to be fucking spectacular. I downloaded the checklist and ignored the fact it was all set out in time brackets starting at twelve months out. Don’t think about it. Just start.

Next up, Dallas’ wedding inspiration Pinterest board. It was gorgeous, she might be completely batty but the woman had taste. And I didn’t miss the fact that there were a few shots from my events in there, too. Her style was clean, simple, organic, lots of nature and country vibes. It was beautiful. I could already see it. Now I just needed to pray I could make it happen.

THE QUIET, empty kitchen of Cream and Sugar helped to ease the anxious knot in my chest. I wasn’t sure why I headed here instead of home, but now that I was here I figured I’d get some prep done for tomorrow. The familiar actions would hopefully get me into the planning zone and I might even get some menu ideas while I was playing around with the food.

“I thought I heard something, what are you doing here?” Darcy asked, standing in the doorway.

“Hey, just needed somewhere to clear my head. That’s okay, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, why does your head need clearing? You wanna talk about it?”

“I had lunch with Dallas Easton.”

“The swimsuit model with the crush on you? Did she just get engaged?”

I gaped at her for a long moment. Dallas did not have a crush on me.

“Don’t try and deny it, Jem,” she continued, “there is a definite platonic lady crush vibe with that one.”

I opened my mouth to respond but had no idea what to say. Dallas absolutely did not have any kind of crush on me, platonic or otherwise. Why would she? That was complete madness. I shook my head. “She wants me to plan her wedding.”

Darcy tripped over her own feet as she crossed to me. “She what now?”

“Oh yes, and it gets better.” She motioned at me to continue, judging by the look on her face I was sure she didn’t think it could be that bad. Oh baby, she was in for a surprise.

“Not only does she want me to plan it—in four weeks—but she wants me to do it with her brother. And before you ask why he is relevant, the brother happens to be the man I went home with last week. Oh, and he might be married.”

She blinked at me, mouth hanging open. “Too much, there’s too much going on in all of that… He’s married? Hot guy who approached you and after one kiss you dragged his ass out of Bucks’. That guy is married? Wait, what do you mean he might be married?”

“Well, Dallas said something about Nadia, his wife, he said they were separated but I don’t know if I buy it.”

As I explained all of the pertinent snippets of the conversation my anger started to wane, leaving me feeling dirty and used. And yes, I suppose I had used him too, especially when one considered the fact, I told him he needed to be gone before morning, but that was entirely different. I wasn’t married, or potentially married.

“Okay… he sounds like he could be an asshole, or he could be single. Maybe they only recently broke up?”

“Maybe,” I agreed, because I really didn’t want him to be an arsehole. He definitely hadn’t seemed like one when he was worshiping my body and calling me ‘sweet thing’. I shivered. He had been so sexy, and so attentive, and so fucking good. I really hoped that I wasn’t wrong, again. Not that it mattered, I reminded myself. I was not in the market to get my heart ripped out again. No. Thank. You.

“Married or not, it doesn’t actually matter because I’m not planning the wedding with him. He can go back to LA and his model wife, and I will plan his sister's wedding, and it will be incredible.” I swallowed against the rising bile at the thought of seeing Nash and Nadia together at the wedding. I couldn't think about it.

I marched to the fridge and started looking at produce, but all I could see was tomatoes and avocados and eggs—not the meals they would become. I couldn’t stop my mind from straying toward Nash, which was ridiculous and infuriating because he might be a liar and a cheater.

He didn’t feel like one though, not when we were together. Not that it meant anything, he might just be a really good actor. I needed to stop thinking about it, I needed to stop thinking about him. It was just that he was the first guy I’d had any kind of zing with in way too long. Granted we hadn’t actually spoken that much but there was still something there, or I thought there was. Maybe I was just imagining it all.

I huffed.

“You okay over there?” Darcy asked, she was still leaning against the bench when I shut the fridge door.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh… you wanna keep talking?”

“Nope. I’ll get all of the prep done and then head home and start getting my head around planning this wedding.” Despite the complete overwhelm that was hitting me somewhere between my stomach and my lungs, the possibilities this opportunity could open up were insane. This would put me on the map. If I got it right.

Darcy nodded. “Everything will be fine, Jem. Call me if you need me, yes?”

“Yep, thanks for listening to me lose my shit.”

“You were nowhere near losing your shit and we both know it. Love your face.”

“Love yours more.”

She waved and slipped out through the swinging doors and a second later I heard the bell go before she locked up.

I forced down the spike of anxiety and got to work. I just had to keep moving and there was nothing like the sound of a Kitchenaid and the smell of cinnamon to soothe my frayed nerves, the combination was second to none. All I needed to do was focus on what was in front of me, and work through my mental list, which needed to become an actual list pretty soon or I was definitely going to start forgetting things.

With all of Monday’s prep done and the kitchen clean enough to perform surgery in, I locked up and headed home. I was about ready to eat an egg on toast for dinner and drop into bed, but I knew I needed to try and make some kind of start on this wedding thing.

I was on the couch, cradling a mug of soup with a side of grilled cheese (because I was out of eggs) when a new email popped up. Dallas. I hesitated, was she telling me that she’d found an actual wedding planner? I wouldn’t blame her, obviously, and it would probably make my life easier—I wouldn’t have to see Nash again at the very least—but now that I’d had the chance to do a little research, I was starting to think that I really could pull this thing off. I wanted a chance to be able to do that. I clicked on the email and let out a snort of laughter at the opening line.

HEY DREAM TEAM!

Duke suggested that I might need to give you a tad more detail if I can expect you to actually pull this thing off.

I guess you’re both probably wondering why it needs to be in four weeks… Well, my incredibly talented fiancé is jetting off for A YEAR to film the action trilogy you’ve probably read about in the news.

I’ll be accompanying him for a good portion of that between my shoots. So it’s the last chance in over a year that we’ll have time in both our schedules to make this thing happen. There is no wiggle room.

Attached is the proposed guest list and rough budget. We want a cocktail style reception, but there needs to be a lot of food. I don’t want it to be one of those things where there’s like one blini and a tray of over-cooked chicken skewers for an hour. I know neither of you will let that happen! ;)

As I mentioned at lunch, I will take care of both my dress and Duke’s suit. There isn’t going to be a wedding party. Honestly I just want something pretty low key but really ‘us’.

Jemma, I know you haven’t met Duke, but Nash will be able to fill in any blanks for you (right big brother?)

Anyway, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with.

I guess that’s it for the moment. Don’t hesitate to call or text or whatever if you need something.

D x

I DRUMMED my fingers on the laptop. The wedding was still happening, and she still wanted me, and Nash, to plan it. Now all I needed to do was plan the thing and not let her know that he wasn’t doing anything. No sweat. How hard could that be?

EIGHT

NASH

IT WAS seven-thirty on Monday morning and my mother was sitting at the breakfast bar cradling a large iced coffee. I didn’t realize we had an appointment to see one another, and yet she glanced down at the diamond encrusted watch on her slim wrist as I entered the kitchen.

“What time do you call this?” She asked, dark eyes trailing from my head to my feet, taking in my disheveled appearance as only my mother could. She paused briefly on the newest tattoo that wrapped around the left side of my ribs.

“I call it early,” I said, scratching my bare stomach. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there, hopefully not long enough to hear me jerking off. I tried not to think of Jemma, but it had proved futile, so I went with it, a couple of times.

“Well, let’s get a move on!” Mom popped up and swiped her coffee off the counter. “We need to be uptown by eight.”

“Have I missed something?”

“We’re going to find you an apartment,” she said as if I should have been aware. I wasn’t. And I certainly wasn’t going apartment shopping with my mother.

“We are? Today?”

“God willing, sweetheart, God willing. Your baby sister is engaged, and you are squatting in your parents apartment.”

“Squatting, really?” Was it bad that I was tempted to strangle the woman? “Last I checked, you railroaded me into staying here. I was more than happy to go to a hotel.”

She tsked, a stern look transforming her features. “For God’s sake, Nash, you cannot stay in a hotel. Now, I know that you and Nadia don’t plan on living here full time but—” And here we go.

“I don’t know about Nadia, Mom, but I do plan on living here full time.” I poured myself a large cup of black coffee, knowing I was going to need it for this conversation.

“Well, I hardly see how you’re going to have a successful marriage if you’re living on the other side of the country to your wife for half the year,” she said with a delicate snort and I couldn’t stop my eye roll.

“And here I was thinking the fact that my wife is living with another man would be the issue...”

She made a face, like she was humoring a child who was being difficult. “It’s a blip. You’ll work things out. She’s a good girl Nash, and you two are good together.” For fuck’s sake. She just didn’t want to listen. And I could not keep having this same conversation over and over.

“Mom, Nadia met someone else. She moved out. It’s not a blip and I really don’t think there is anything for us to work out. She’s done. We’re both done.”

Her eyes narrowed, I could practically see the internal struggle to push this further or accept defeat. Not that Eva Easton was one to accept defeat, in anything.

“And I can’t go apartment shopping with you today because I have a wedding to plan. Dallas has asked me to help out,” I added seeing the heavy skepticism on her face.

“Is that right?” She was positive I was lying. Joke’s on you, Mom.

“It is. And considering Dallas has decided she needs to get married in a month, I should probably get to work.”

After a further ten minutes of convincing she finally left, promising to send me all the links for the apartments that Trisha, her realtor, had found. I could imagine the kinds of places that Trisha would be putting forward, and I had zero interest in looking at any of them.

With my mother out it was time to turn my attention to Dallas’ wedding. I hadn’t been lying, I did intend on helping. Helping her to not get married in a month.

But first I needed to learn more about Jemma. It wasn’t about the fact that I’d seen her tits. Or our chemistry from that night. No, none of that. I was looking her up in a professional capacity only. I dropped onto the couch, checked the contact details that Dallas sent yesterday and typed Jemma West into Google.

Huh, not what I was expecting.

I didn’t want to make a snap judgment based solely on recent reviews, I knew better than to do it, but it didn’t look good. Did Dallas know about this?

“Hey Nash,” she answered on the first ring because she always had her phone in her hand. “You’ve got an update already? This is amazing. I knew that you and Jemma were the right team for the job!”

“About that, Dallas.”

“If you are calling with anything but sunshine and rainbows, I don’t want to hear it.”

“How much do you know about Jemma?”

“Plenty. She’s brilliant, and we hit it off as soon as we met.”

“That doesn’t sound like enough of a reason to hire someone to plan your wedding, Dal.”

“It’s my wedding, Nash, and I will hire whomever I choose to plan it.” I was all too aware of the look she was probably giving me through the phone.

“There is almost nothing about her online.” Nothing good anyway.

“Been looking her up, have you?” She asked. “And why should her online presence, or lack thereof, bother me?”

“As someone who practically lives online, I would have thought it would be a bit of a red flag for you…” Also, she might have been slack enough to give a bunch of people food poisoning.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here or why, but I’m not changing my mind about Jemma. And I would really like you to help her.” There was something in her tone that made me suspicious.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer, Dallas.”

“It’s the only one I need to give you, Nash. I’ve gotta go.” The line went dead before I could say another word. She was up to something; I just wasn’t sure what it was. Did she know about me and Jemma? No, she couldn’t. There was no way Jemma would have told her that. There must be something else. Something that I did not have time to think about because I had a wedding to stop.

I was going to have to call Jemma. My stomach churned at the thought with, was that nerves? Why was I nervous? I forced myself to dial.

Like Dallas she answered on the first ring. “Jemma West.”

Heat and awareness skittered over my skin as her voice met my ear, and I had to clear my spontaneously dry throat before I could speak. “Jemma, hey—hi, it’s Nash.”

Silence.

“Nash,” I repeated. “Dallas’ brother?” I wasn’t sure why it came out like a question, or why I assumed she’d forgotten who I was. I checked the screen to make sure she hadn’t hung up.

“I know who you are,” she said eventually. “What I don’t understand is why you’re calling me. Was I not clear yesterday?” Man, her tone was acidic.

“No, you were, crystal.”

“Well then I don’t have anything else to say.”

“I do.” Didn’t I? Not that I really knew what it was, right at the moment.

“You do what?”

“Have more to say.”

More silence, then, “Well?” She prompted. “What is it that you just had to say to me?” Wow, acidic may have been an understatement, she could strip skin off with that tone.

“I’d rather speak to you in person, actually.”

“Why?”

I blew out a breath. I didn’t have an answer, but I didn’t want to do this over the phone. “Can we just clear the air over coffee or something?”

A long beat of silence stretched thin before she spoke again. “Cream and Sugar, in Greenpoint. I’ll be here until three.” She hung up. Leaving me two for two.

BY THE TIME I made it to Greenpoint I had some low-level anger simmering. Dallas was being shifty, and Jemma was being a bitch. Yes, hearing that I was married would have been bad for her, I got that, but I had tried to explain that I wasn’t, and she didn’t want to accept it. That was not my problem. Or it shouldn’t be, and yet she was making it my problem.

Also, what business did Jemma have accepting this gig? She was a caterer, with a newfound reputation for making her clients sick. Did Dallas know that? It seemed unlikely that Jemma would have let her know. So not only was she stepping out of her scope she was doing it under false pretenses. This was clearly her way of getting her business back on track. She was using Dallas and I was not okay with it.

Cream and Sugar sat on a corner, with a handful of small timber tables spilling out onto the sidewalk and the front window open, dispensing to-go coffees. The door had the name scrawled across the glass and sat under an awning that was striped in a deep navy blue and white. If this was the cafe Jemma mentioned working part-time at, I had to wonder if all of the people milling around outside knew she had made a whole bunch of people sick.

The bell over the door rang as I walked in, I spotted Jemma immediately and felt like I had been punched in the chest. Her blonde hair was collected in a haphazard pile on top of her head and she was cradling a large mug between her hands, staring intently at the laptop on the table in front of her. I had no idea why the sight of her like this made me lose my breath, and yet I couldn’t deny the reaction.

It rankled that my first reaction to her was interest and awareness and hers seemed to be the intention to peel the flesh from my bones. Or at least it had been on the phone.

She glanced up as I crossed the space, her eyes going owlish.

“So does my sister know you poisoned a whole bunch of people last week?” It was not what I intended to open with, and yet the words bubbled up of their own accord all the same. And now Jemma was staring at me like she wanted to rip my head off. I didn’t really blame her.

Before I had a chance to say anything else—some kind of apology might have been a good idea—she launched up from her table, grabbed a handful of my shirt and dragged me into the kitchen. I was thrown back against the stainless-steel counter.

“How dare you,” she growled, her eyes glowing and fierce. My attention darted from those electric eyes to the finger in my face, her nails were short, neat and unpolished. Professional. She had really nice hands, not that I should be thinking about that right at the moment.

“How dare you come in here yelling about poisoning people! What is the matter with you? And not that it is any of your fucking business but—I. Did. Not. Poison. Anyone.” That slim finger prodded my chest to punctuate each word. I tried not to flinch.

“And how do you know that?” I crossed my arms, knocking her hand away, she was convincing, I’d give her that, but it didn’t mean she was right. Plenty of good chefs made mistakes.

“Because I ate everything I sent out.” Her chin pushed up in defense. “Whatever made those women sick did not come from my kitchen. Now if that is all you came to say, feel free to let the door hit your arse on the way out. I have work to do.” She went to push me back out the door, but I snagged her wrist.

“Hold up. I’m sorry.”

“Let go of me.” She hissed, breaking my grip and glaring.

I raised my hands and tried my best to look genuinely apologetic, because I was, mostly. “I’m sorry that I came barreling in here yelling about poisoning people. But, in my defense there is an awful lot about it online.”

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware. Is that all?” I should not have found it so hot having her this pissed at me. But I did.

“Does Dallas know?”

Her gaze darted to her feet then back to my face. “Yes, she does. I told her yesterday, right after I agreed to be her wedding planner. Not my brightest move, granted. And I didn’t intend to tell her, but in hindsight I think it’s definitely better that she knows.”

“Agreed. And she still wanted you to plan the wedding, after you told her that?” Most people would be a little apprehensive, but not Dallas, apparently.

“I was as surprised as you are. Now, if that was all…” She gestured to the door again.

“I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.” Could I confide in Jemma that I thought Dallas was making a mistake? Probably not right at the moment, when she still looked like she wanted to beat me to death with the nearest skillet.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m planning the wedding, it’s going to be wonderful. So you can head on back to LA and your wife.”

“How do you know I live in LA?” I asked, watching her closely.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Dallas mentioned it.” Sure she did. I took a moment to let her sweat and looked around the kitchen. It was small, but well organized and functional. Mismatched plates of all sizes sat on a shelf below bowls and various other dishes. Pots, pans and skillets hung from hooks along one wall. All of the benches were spotless, with the exception of one that was loaded with prep. My fingers twitched against my biceps. I could see myself cooking in this kitchen, which was unsettling after not wanting to cook at all for months. I turned my attention back to Jemma and her deep scowl.

“I’m not going back to LA. I’ve moved back to the city, after my marriage ended.” I paused, letting that sink in. If she cared, she didn’t show it. “And my sister has asked that I help you. I intend on doing that, for her.”

“I’m telling you I don’t need your help.”

“It’s not up to you.”

She blew out a huff of air. “How is it not up to me? I’m the one you're supposed to be helping and I do not want your help.” Her words said one thing, but the way her eyes darted to my mouth as she spoke said something else entirely.

“Bad luck, you’ve got it.”

“So now you’re volunteering to be my assistant?” She arched an eyebrow, and I couldn’t help but think of all the other ways I could assist her. “What happened to, and I quote, I’m a chef, not a fucking wedding planner?”

I palmed the back of my neck. I needed Jemma to believe that I wanted to help plan the thing. There was no way I was going to be able to slow this train down if I didn’t at least appear to be helping. Yesterday she wanted me to apologize, maybe that would be enough to get me over the line.

“Look, Jemma, I’m sorry about yesterday, I was a dick. I was caught off guard. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and then you were there, and with my sister.” I blew out a breath, it still made my head spin to think about it. “And then Dallas springing the whole wedding planning thing on both of us. I just—it was a lot.”

“Yeah, it was, for me too.”

“Right, of course, so I’m sorry.” I scratched my beard. Before I could suggest that we head out front and grab a coffee, the redhead from last week appeared at the saloon doors and thrust a slip of paper at Jemma. She snatched it up and without another glance at me started cooking. I watched, in no hurry to leave the kitchen and still curious about her, even though I knew I shouldn’t be. And I wanted to cook. Why did I want to cook here? Was it about the kitchen, or was it the woman in the kitchen?

Jemma moved with smooth efficiency around the kitchen. I couldn’t stop myself from tracking her. Bacon here. Eggs there. She looked good, effortless and well-practiced. Her messy blonde bun bounced as she moved, and I found myself drawn to the curve of her hips in the black jeans that cut off a little above her ankle. Red and white striped socks poked out the bottom and she was wearing a pair of chefs’ clogs. She was dressed for practicality, down to the loose, cropped, white shirt that was pushed up to her elbows; it was almost sexier than the tight dress she’d been wearing last week. In under ten minutes she delivered two impressive looking plates with a sharp whistle. The red head appeared, took both and was gone again.

“I need more tea if we are going to continue to speak,” Jemma said, leading the way back to the front of the cafe. It wasn’t a huge place but felt surprisingly spacious thanks to not overcrowding the tables. There was a counter running the length of one wall, with a coffee machine closest to the front and a selection of pastries.

Jemma dropped down at the table she’d been at when I walked in. I hovered, waiting for the green light to sit. The moment stretched until she shifted over on the bench seat, and I lowered myself down beside her.

“Coffee?”

“Black.”

She nodded and signaled the woman behind the coffee machine who had a wild head of dark curls and was watching me like a hawk—the third woman from Buck’s, I realized. A couple of minutes later a fresh pot of tea and a steaming cup of black coffee hit our table.

“I appreciate you coming here to apologize.” I braced for the inevitable but. “But I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together.”

“You’re wrong. And I’m going to prove it.”

Her eyes drilled into me. “Why?”

“Because my sister asked me to help plan her wedding.”

“And I’ll be happy to tell her that you’re helping.”

“That’s not my style.”

“What’s not your style? Lying?” God she was stubborn, and argumentative. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so fucking frustrating.

“I haven't lied to you. I am no longer married.” Well, technically I was, but that wasn’t the point.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and glanced away from me to the laptop sitting on the table, her eyes roaming the screen, fingers tapping. I sipped my coffee and waited.

“If you’re serious about wanting to help then I trust you have not come here empty handed...” One eyebrow was arched. What was she talking about? “Ideas. Do you have any ideas?” She added.

I had plenty, mainly about how Dallas was rushing into this thing and making a huge mistake. But I was pretty sure that wasn’t what she meant.

“Right yes…” I said, scrambling for anything I could give her. “Ah—I was thinking venue wise we could try this bar in Williamsburg, it’s called Rudi Blue, a couple of my friends own it.” Yes, this was good, I could let her believe that I was on top of everything and then pull the pin when Dallas came to her senses.

“I’ve heard of it but haven’t been. And if you’ve got a contact there it would definitely help.” She tapped away on the laptop again.

“You don’t want to see it?” I had this woman pegged as a bit of a control freak, maybe I was wrong.

“I trust you,” she said then tensed. She didn’t trust me. I found myself wanting to earn it. “What I mean is, she’s your sister. You wouldn’t suggest something that she’d hate. I’m sure if you think it’ll work then it’ll be great. And I will see it, just not yet, because there is a lot of other stuff to do right now.” More tapping, I assumed she was bringing up their website or Instagram page. “They could do the ceremony on the rooftop,” she said, letting her thoughts spill out. They could definitely do that, and it would be epic, the Rudi Blue rooftop was incredible. But Dallas still wasn’t getting married in the next month.

“I thought the same thing,” I said and tried a smile. “What’s this?” I asked, glancing over her shoulder. She turned the screen to face me, it meant I didn’t have to be leaning right into her space. I stayed there all the same and watched her nostrils flare, a slight blush crawling up her neck.

“This is my spreadsheet.” There was a note of pride in her tone that made me smile. Her eyelids fluttered. Maybe she was right, and us working together was a bad idea. There was no way that I was going to be able to work with her and not want to suck on those perfect tits or dream about the feel of her tongue on my cock. I shifted in my seat, we had a good time, a great fucking time, but it was done. And I should not be thinking about it now. We needed to talk about the spreadsheet. Spreadsheets were not sexy.

Jemma cleared her throat. “We have an overview/budget tab to keep everything on track and then another tab for each individual item. You are now responsible for the venue.”

“Great.” And the more I was responsible for, the more I could slow this down. “You can put me down for food, too.”

Her eyes flashed as they came up to mine, lighting over the ocean. “And why should you be responsible for the food? Last time I checked, we were both chefs.”

“I’m pulling rank, it’s my sister’s wedding.”

“You can’t pull rank. You’re my assistant, remember?”

I leaned in, the smell of her soaked my senses. God, she smelled really fucking good; like tea, cinnamon and a hot oven, that was the other scent under there. “If we can’t decide, I guess we could always do it together?”

One eyebrow arched, it said, nice try. “We’ll each put together a menu, and go from there,” she replied, like the air between us wasn’t crackling. “And I’ll arrange the cake. Our two main issues right now are the photographer and the celebrant, and maybe the florist.”

“Why’s that?”

“The timeline. I’ve called a bunch this morning and no one who seems any good has a vacancy. And they’re just the ones who have bothered to respond.” She picked up her tea and took a sip, then set it aside with a pout.

I picked up the pot and took it to the counter for a refill. The barista who had been flirting with every guy who walked in shot me a stare that made my balls retreat. I guess Jemma had been telling the Nash-was-married story.

“You need a refill too?” The barista asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So, what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Word has it you’re married.” She paused, eyes narrowed. “I don’t buy it though.”

“Excuse me?” Who was this woman?

“You’re looking at my girl like you want to catalog her curves with your tongue.” I had no response to that. She dropped the tea and coffee on the counter and went to the next customer in line. I picked up our drinks and returned to the table.

“This might sound kind of crazy,” I started as I sat and placed the fresh pot of tea down. Jemma swirled it and sent a stream of steaming liquid into her cup. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. You’re looking at my girl like you want to catalog her curves with your tongue.

Her eyes bounced up to mine. “What?”

“Ah—nothing, sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Could I be the celebrant?”

“Seriously?”

Fuck no. “Seriously.”

“I’m not really sure what’s involved, to be honest, but…” She did a little more tapping “If you really want to do it you might have to fast track it or something—which seems to be the theme for this whole wedding. But it’s probably doable.”

I nodded. “Alright, put me down for celebrant, too.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.” I had no intention of actually becoming a celebrant, so why did I make a point of remembering the site she’d just been looking at?

NINE

JEMMA

I COULDN’T WORK Nash out and it was annoying the hell out of me. So was the fact that despite him walking in yelling about food poisoning—dick!—I had basically swooned in my seat at the sight of him. Embarrassing, and inappropriate, given the fact he might be married, and I was planning his sister’s wedding.

His long, denim clad legs were stretched out in front of him, a pair of beaten-up trainers on his feet. He had on a simple gray tee that was hugging his muscular chest and shoulders so lovingly it bordered on pornographic. I had to physically force my gaze away from his biceps that jumped and flexed as he sipped his tea. The sexiest man I had ever laid eyes on had traded in his coffee and was drinking tea. I was a hot second away from throwing myself into his lap and sucking on his tongue.

Clearly, I was losing my mind.

It was easier when he was being a bit of a knob and I thought he was married. He still might be. And if he wasn’t, then I guess that made me the rebound. Well, perhaps a rebound would be more accurate. Something told me Nash wasn’t the kind of man to have an empty bed for very long, so to think I was the anything to him was a little egotistical on my part.

It didn’t change anything; I still wasn’t going to sleep with him again. Maybe I needed to keep thinking he was married as extra incentive to keep my underwear on. Also, I was a woman of resolve if nothing else. Something told me I was going to need it now. Especially since he had decided that he did want to help with Dallas’ wedding, and I was no longer adrift and alone in a sea of wedding planning insanity. No, now we could be adrift together (but apart, because I couldn’t think of myself as together with him). It was both a good thing and a bad thing.

So we were working together now, that wasn’t a recipe for disaster or anything. As much as I did not want to invite this complication into my life, even I could recognize that accepting Nash’s help was the smart thing to do. Having said that, I was not a fool, and had worked on enough group projects where I had done the lion’s share of the work (and at the last minute) to blindly trust that he was going to hold up his end. I couldn’t trust him.

All of this meant that, unfortunately, my career was tied to Nash. Did I really want my future tied to a man I felt somewhat unhinged around? No way, not again. I did not want to feel like I was at his mercy, like he held my life in his hands. There was nothing to suggest that he actually thought he did. I was able to admit that Nash was not Jonah, but still, there were enough similarities that the situation was unnerving.

I cleared my throat, took a sip of tea and refocused on the task at hand. We had been bouncing between the tabs of my spreadsheet, allocating all of the items on my lengthy list. Nash was taking charge of the venue, entertainment and potentially becoming a celebrant. I had the photographer, the florist, invitations, the cake and wedding rings. I had taken a little more because he was talking about becoming a celebrant (also I was a bit of a control freak and some glutton for punishment part of me enjoyed having an overly full plate). And then, of course, we were both coming to the proverbial table with our menus. Of course, the arrogant (gorgeous) prat thought I’d just hand over the food to him. Ha! I had agreed to this whole thing because it was a chance for me to show that I could make brilliant food that didn’t make people sick. I was not about to give up that opportunity just to pander to his ego.

“You know you’re pretty good at this,” he said, before draining his cup of tea, and with a baffled look on his face, added, “and I think I like tea now.”

“Thank you. And of course you do, tea is wonderful.” I finished my cup and chewed on my lip, debating whether or not to tell him I had so far enjoyed working with him. No, that was too personal. “You’re proving relatively capable in the wedding planning arena yourself, thus far.” Better.

He laughed, and the sound made my insides warm and tight. “I never thought I’d hear it, but thanks. So what are our next steps?”

I flicked open the email that was destined for Nash’s inbox. “You need to speak to the Rudi Blue people...” Whose names I hadn’t yet managed to commit to memory.

“Chase and Mack,” he supplied.

“Right, yes, Chase and Mack. You need to speak to them about dates. We have zero wiggle room, it’s the first Saturday of November or bust. And find out how much they‘ll charge—we’ll double it so we can have unlimited access for at least the day before, maybe two. We need that locked down first, once we have a venue and date all the other pieces will fall into place easily enough.” At least that was what I was going to continue to tell myself. I glanced at Nash and noticed a flash of something pass over his eyes. Something that made my scalp prickle. He wouldn’t try to stop the wedding, would he? I discarded the thought immediately; it was his sister’s wedding. He would have to be a supreme dick-bag to want to get in the way of his own sister’s wedding.

“Yes boss.” He gave me a quick salute. “And I’ll look into that celebrant stuff, too.”

I nodded, deciding to test the waters of his dedication, for my own piece of mind. “Actually, if you’re serious about being the celebrant then maybe you could take on MC duties, too.”

“MC? You mean like on the day of the wedding? What does the MC do exactly?” His eyes were wide, their green more vibrant in his panic.

“The Master of Ceremonies keeps the whole thing on track,” I said with a smile and his focus darted to my mouth. I resolutely ignored it.

“Well, when you call it Master of Ceremonies like that, how can I say no?” He tipped toward me and my heart gave one heavy thump. Ignore it, Jemma, you are a woman of resolve. He smelled really good though, mint and coffee and clean. I swallowed. What the hell was I doing? No matter how heady I found the man, nothing could happen. I needed to establish some personal boundaries, stat.

I snapped backward and returned my attention to the laptop. “Alright then.”

I sent off Nash’s email and went over my own to-do list. Both the photographer and the florist required a date, but I could at least get a quote of invitations before we had more details. So that was where I’d start. And find the right baker for the cake. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting a whole lot of cake.

Now all I needed to do was keep my focus on the wedding and not the man sitting beside me, nibbling on the last crusts of our shared toast and tapping away on his phone. I peeked sideways. Busted.

He let a slow smile pull at corners of his lips like he assumed I was thinking about him naked. I hadn’t been. Now I was. My eyes darted to his crotch. No! God, I really was losing it.

“Everything alright there, sweet thing?”

I swallowed in an effort to get some moisture down my dry throat. “Fine. And don’t call me ‘sweet thing’.” Heat was rolling up from my collar bones as Nash’s attention roamed over my face. Boundaries. I needed some serious boundaries. Immediately.

I WAS four official days into life as a wedding planner and I genuinely did not understand how people did this full time. My brain was melting. I had never made so many phone calls in such a short period and was constantly amazed at how rude people were.

But it hadn’t been entirely disastrous. The florist was locked in and after giving some thought to the invitations I’d settled on an e-vite because there was no way I was going to be able to post them and expect the RSVPs back with enough time to finalize everything. The save-the-date had already been sent out and I was hoping that the actual invite would be off in the next couple of days (once Nash had confirmed the venue).

The photographer was proving to be my most stressful vendor to nail down. With every call I was becoming more and more frustrated. I had been laughed at, and told I was crazy, and laughed at again. It was time to think outside the box. And maybe name drop. Just a little. I drummed my fingers on the trackpad of my laptop. A photographer did not need a website and huge portfolio to be great. They just needed a good eye.

Photography school New York.

I hit search. NYU. Perfect. Did I call and ask to speak to their best students? Could I do that? Calling a member of the faculty was probably a better idea. I scrolled until I found a contact us link and clicked.

PHILLIPE DUBOIS, the senior faculty member of the photography program, looked like a lollipop. He was rake thin with narrow shoulders that tapered down to narrower hips. He wore all black, including a lofty black beret perched on top of his head, and the whole look was completed with a thin mustache, which was curled at the ends. I did my best to remain straight faced as he greeted me with all the seriousness of a funeral director.

“Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr. Dubois.”

“Professor,” he said with a sniff.

“Sorry?”

“Professor Dubois.”

“Oh, of course, thank you for seeing me, Professor Dubois.” I fidgeted under his assessing gaze, which was aimed at me down the length of his sharp nose.

“And what can I do for you this morning?”

This was where it got kind of tricky. I couldn’t tell him I was here because every half decent photographer in the city was booked solid for the next three to six months. I’d need to be more creative than that.

“Well, Professor, I have a client who has an important event on the first weekend in November. We require a photographer—”

“And let me guess… no one is available?” He drawled. Patronizing arsehole.

“Actually, after consulting with a number of people my client was interested in speaking with some up and comers.” Looking at the haughty slant to his mouth I was starting to wish that I’d just done an Instagram deep dive.

“What’s the event?” He asked admiring his well-manicured nails rather than looking at me.

“A wedding. It’s going to be a small, intimate affair. We need someone who will be able to capture candids as well as provide direction where required.”

He twirled his mustache as he considered this. I waited with waning patience. Honestly, if he didn’t want to give me names then he just needed to say so and I’d try something else.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I cannot pimp out my students to every air-headed celebrity who needs a shotgun wedding,” he said with a smug smile. I was now pleased that I didn’t name drop. But it still didn’t mean I needed to accept his behavior without pushing back.

“Don’t you think that should be their decision to make?”

“You came to me. That makes it my decision.”

I swallowed the snippy retort and plastered a smile on my face, he’d obviously made up his mind and I wasn’t going to change it.

“Thank you for your time.” I really wanted to slap him but refrained.

“And, Miss West, if I discover you have approached any of my students without my permission there will be consequences,” the pompous prick called after me.

I didn’t bother responding, just worked my way through the labyrinth of corridors until I was back outside. I blew out a frustrated breath. Why did he even bother to meet with me? It was clear that he had zero interest in giving the opportunity to any of his students. What the hell was I going to do now? I didn’t relish the idea of an afternoon spent scouring Instagram for a half decent photographer who was New York based and available, but it seemed inevitable.

And where the fuck was Nash in all of this? I had shared my spreadsheet with him and as far as I could tell he hadn’t looked at it. Not once. In three days. Granted three days wasn’t a long time, but when dealing with our seriously condensed timeline, it was. What the hell was he doing? We were half a week down. I needed a confirmation on the venue. I needed to know that he was actually looking into the celebrant stuff. I needed something. Despite being prepared to keep an eye on his items too, now that I was in it I really didn’t want to. At least if I was doing it alone, then I knew it was all up to me. Instead, we had divided up all the tasks and I was doing my bit but I had no idea if he was doing his. I suspected not. But why the hell wouldn’t he? It was his sister’s wedding for God’s sake. This was exactly why I didn’t want to work with him. Well, this and the whole ‘we had outstanding sex but he might be married’ thing.

He had given me the impression that he was invested. And now what? Four days in he’d decided it was too hard? What other explanation could there be for his radio silence and lack of action on the spreadsheet?

I nibbled my lip. I needed to speak to him. I couldn’t just wait around for him to call. Not when it was starting to feel like he was dodging me. Or was I being paranoid?

Paranoid or not, I was going to speak to Nash.

My heart felt like it was in my throat as the phone rang. There was no reason for me to be feeling so nervous. We were working together. Getting a status report was part of that, especially when he wasn’t forthcoming with the information.

“Nash Easton.”

“Nash, hey, it’s Jemma.”

“What can I do for you?” He sounded weird, distracted, and not at all the purring semi-flirtatious man I’d been with on Monday. I reminded myself that I didn’t actually know him and didn’t want to. Liar.

“I just wanted to touch base, we’re half a week down and I hadn’t heard from you. How’s it all going?”

“All good. Sorry, now isn’t really the best time, can I call you back?”

“Of course.” He hung up without saying goodbye and I was left staring at my phone. What the hell was that? I got that we weren’t friends, we weren’t even acquaintances. We were involuntary colleagues. Yes, we had been forced together, but that didn’t mean he needed to be so rude.

My foot tapped out an uneven rhythm on the pavement. Something wasn’t right. I might not know Nash well, or at all, but I knew when I was being blown off. And that was exactly what had just happened.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt and waited two hours for a call back. Unsurprisingly, none came. I could feel my anger bubbling low in my stomach. If he messed this fucking thing up for me I was going to kill him, slowly and painfully. I didn’t care if he didn’t want to plan the wedding, I’d given him an out for God’s sake. But if he was bailing, I needed to know, now.

Rudi Blue was easy enough to find. And even with my suspicions barely in check, as I approached from across the street, I already knew that it would make a brilliant venue. Nash might be up to something, but I could admit that he had decent taste.

It was a narrow red brick warehouse with old timber doors, above which a black sign with the name Rudi Blue had been carved.

Inside was perfect, original fittings and fixtures adorned the walls and the whole place had the most incredible vibe. I wandered through and followed the signs for the rooftop and when I got out there my mind immediately started buzzing. This was it. Some of the tension in my shoulders eased. Everything was going to be fine.

I weaved toward the bar between patrons enjoying a Thursday afternoon drink and scanned the staff, trying to decide if any of them looked like Mack and/or Chase. I realized as I took in the faces I didn’t even know if they were male or female—an oversight on my part. A bartender sauntered over to me; he was tall, lean and appallingly hot. His blond hair was artfully disheveled like someone’s hands had been in it moments before he approached me. He had turquoise, smiling eyes, a straight nose, and full lips that were currently stretched into a crooked grin. Wow.

“What can I getcha, darlin’?” Oh, and a hint of a southern accent. Hello there, cowboy.

I blinked to clear the spontaneous lust haze. “Hi—hello, I’m Jemma. I was hoping to speak to one of the owners. Are either Mack or Chase around?”

“You’re in luck Jemma, I’m Mack.” His grin went ever so slightly wolfish as he extended a hand across the bar. God, I needed to get my professional face on because right now I was in danger of, I didn’t even know what, spontaneous ovulation maybe.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, what is it I can help you with?” He asked, as his large hand engulfed around mine.

“Great to meet you too. I guess I just needed to have a look around. I hadn’t had a chance to come by since Nash mentioned the place on Monday.”

His brow bent in confusion and fresh rage swept out the last wisps of lust. This guy had no idea what the bloody hell I was talking about. At this rate, I had to wonder if he even knew Nash. My blood began to bubble and fizz in my veins.

“Nash. Easton. Do you know him?”

“I do…” He sounded confused and a little suspicious but at least he knew Nash, that was a good start. I took in a deep breath and let it out slow as my brain processed.

“I’m guessing that he hasn’t spoken to you about the possibility of holding his sister’s wedding here in three weeks?”

Mack’s jaw went slack.

“I’ll take that as a no. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

A stunning woman with shrewd hazel eyes sidled up beside Mack and pinned me with a look. “Everything okay here?”

“All good Chase,” he said, recovering with an easy smile. “This is Jemma.” Did I imagine the southern accent from a moment ago? Not important. I forced myself to take slow breaths, keeping the impending panic attack in check.

“Jemma.” She knew who I was, so Nash had mentioned something. “The same Jemma who’s planning Dallas’ wedding?”

“That’s the one. And you’re Chase?” She nodded. “I spoke with Nash on Monday. He’s helping me with the planning and said he’d speak to both of you regarding the venue. But judging by the looks on your faces I’m going to guess that didn’t happen.” They both shook their heads. “Okay. Well then, is there any chance you’d be willing to have the wedding here on the first Saturday of November? I understand if this is too short notice but we’re willing to pay whatever is required, more if we can have the whole place for at least the day before as well. Do you have a kitchen?”

“We do.”

“Can I see it?” I was vaguely aware that I was probably being rude, but I had gone into survival mode. I didn’t have a plan b for the venue, and I didn’t really want one now that I was here and already in love with the place.

Chase shot a look at Mack then gestured for me to follow her. She was a few inches taller than me with hair the color of liquorice hanging in a sheet just past her shoulder blades. Her muscular legs were on show in a pair of denim cutoffs, which she had paired with an oversized, striped sweater that was hanging off one shoulder. I was already sure that she was one of those people who looked effortlessly cool without actually trying.

An apology for springing all of this on them was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it because it was not my place to make that apology. It was Nash’s. And, if Mack and Chase had no idea about the wedding, it was a safe bet that he probably hadn’t started looking into any of the other things he needed to either. Fuck this was bad. Pulling the whole thing off in four weeks with two people was going to be hard enough. Doing all the work in three made me feel both nauseous and lightheaded. I took a deep breath. Then another. And a third. I could still do this. I needed to do this.

“It’s not much because we don’t really use it but I’m sure that someone who knows what they’re doing could work a little magic,” Chase said, pulling me out of my own head. I looked around the space, it was a little bigger than my kitchen at Cream and Sugar but very clearly unused.

“I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you. And I’m sorry about charging in here like this. I was under the false impression that you would both know what I was talking about…” I blew out another breath feeling dangerously close to crying. “Did I imagine your partner having a southern accent out there?”

She laughed. “No, you didn’t imagine it, it’s his favorite party trick. He thinks it helps when he’s hitting on someone.”

I should probably be flattered that he was trying to hit on me. If I wasn’t freaking out, I might be.

Chase gave my arm a squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay, I’d be freaking out if I was trying to plan a wedding in under a month too.”

I barked out a laugh. “Freaking out is probably putting it mildly.”

“I don’t think there should be an issue with the date, by the way.”

“Great, that’s something. It’s brilliant actually, thank you for being so accommodating.”

“No problem. Did you need anything else?”

“Aside from ripping off Nash’s arm and beating him to death with it? No, I think I’m good.”

She laughed.

“Thank you, again. I’ll be in touch with updates.”

“Sounds good, and hey, if you're selling tickets to that Nash smackdown, I’ll take one in the front row.”

After saying a quick goodbye to Mack and Chase I went out onto the street and kicked a pole so hard I was pretty sure I broke a toe. Fucking Nash. I pulled out my phone and dialed. No answer. I dialed again. Still nothing. If he thought he was going to be able to continue to avoid me and blow me off, he was seriously mistaken.

TEN

NASH

I GLANCED AT MY PHONE, which was sitting among the debris on the coffee table, there were another three missed calls from Jemma. When was the woman going to give it up? Was I not rude enough earlier? I hadn’t relished speaking to her like an asshole, but I’d only need to hold things off for a couple more days and then it would be too late to pull everything together. Even for Jemma. And maybe Dallas would come to her senses and say that she and Duke were going to wait. Jemma could still plan the thing; she’d just be doing it next year.

Despite staying away from her for the last few days, I still found myself thinking of Jemma more than I should. It was frustrating, I didn’t want to be thinking of her. And yet there she was, in my head, cooking, scowling, smiling. It was driving me fucking crazy, especially considering I was not trying to get into anything with anyone right now. I didn’t want that. It was too soon. But thinking of her was at least a break from obsessing over Nadia and what she was doing with the other guy. Trent. I sure as hell didn’t want to think of them.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my head. Who was knocking when I hadn’t heard anything from the doorman? I waited, maybe whoever it was had the wrong door.

Another knock. Guess not.

I dragged myself up off the couch and to the door. The very last person I expected to find when I opened it was Jemma.

“So, I was at Rudi Blue earlier”—she started with the kind of tone that froze me in place— “and I’m sure you can imagine what Chase and Mack had to say when I started asking about the wedding...”

I swallowed, palms sweating as she barreled past me into the apartment.

“They didn’t know a bloody thing about it! But you know that already because you never mentioned it to them.” She rounded on me. “What. The. Fuck. Nash. I tell you I don’t want to work with you, then you all but beg to help me, and now, what? You’ve decided you’re too busy? What is your problem? You need to start talking.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “Actually, you don’t. I don’t give a shit what you have to say! I just wanted you to know that despite your subterfuge I will still be pulling this thing off.” For a second, I seriously thought she was going to slap me, I braced for it, but instead she just growled and then stormed back out.

Fuck.

It took a second for my body to catch up with my brain but then I was out the door. The elevator closed as I skidded to a stop in front of it. Shit. I took the stairs two at a time and burst out the side door and onto the street. Jemma was striding down the block.

“Jemma, wait!” Her steps stuttered but she kept walking, not fast enough to get away though. “Will you wait a second, please?”

She stopped but didn’t wait for me to speak before she was railing at me again. “The thing I can’t work out is whether this is about me or Dallas. I don’t think it could be about me—how could it be? I’m just a rebound shag you hardly know—so that means it’s about Dallas, and the wedding. I just don’t get why you’d want to stand in the way of her happiness. If it’s about your own failing marriage, then put on your big boy pants and deal with it. Don’t take your shit out on Dallas. Her wedding is not about you, you egotistical man-child!” She blew an errant wisp of hair out of her face. Did she just call herself a rebound shag? And told me to put on my big boy pants? And called me an egotistical man-child? Really?

She was still talking. “Why did you even call on Monday? Why come and see me? Did you only say you wanted to help so that you could intentionally sabotage the whole thing?”

“I—no, it wasn’t like that.” And if I wasn’t feeling enough like an asshole, the way she was currently looking at me was really driving it home. The worst part was, I knew I deserved it. So much for trying to do the right thing.

“Oh my god! That is what you were doing!” She wailed, throwing her arms in the air. “You were trying to fuck this up for me—for her!” I didn’t miss the fact she put herself before Dallas, someone wasn’t quite as selfless as she was trying to make out.

“Look, my sister is notorious for jumping into shit without thinking—”

Jemma scoffed. “And let me guess, you thought you knew better?” The sarcasm was strong with this one.

“Yeah, I did, I do. She’s rushing into it. Also, she’s only twenty-five. There is literally no reason for her to get married in three weeks.” Nadia was younger than that when we got married and look how that turned out. I was doing Dallas a favor.

“Except that she and her fiancé want to. Have you actually spoken to her about your concerns?” The way she said concerns made me think she was using quotation marks in her head.

“Not yet, no. I also know that she’s stubborn and unlikely to listen.”

“So, you decided to manipulate her and throw me under the bus while you were at it?” Despite our height difference she was glaring at me like she wanted to beat me with my own limbs. It was surprisingly hot.

“I’m not manipulating anyone—fuck.” I blew out a breath and raked my fingers through my hair. “Can we talk about this inside, rather than you just chewing me out on the street?”

With eyes narrowed and lips pursed she watched me, considering. “Is there alcohol in there?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” She marched past me, tea and cinnamon in the air. I trailed behind, my heart hammering. Despite the fact that she was pissed and yelling at me, and thought that I was a deplorable asshole, there was still that zing of chemistry. Like we could go from screaming at each other to naked in two seconds flat, which would be a bad idea and was not going to happen, obviously. I didn’t want that to happen.

Jemma’s foot tapped against the marble floor as we waited for the elevator. She wasn't looking at me, her eyes trained straight ahead, and her arms crossed over her chest. The action made her cleavage really hard to ignore and it was a feat of will to tear my eyes away.

The ride up was thick with tension and as soon as I opened the door to the apartment, Jemma pushed past me and went directly to the kitchen. I followed her in and used her moment of distraction, her head in the refrigerator, to admire the shape of her ass in the skinny jeans she had on. She spun around with two beers in hand, swiftly uncapped both on the edge of the kitchen counter—which was disturbingly sexy—and handed one to me.

“I need crisps,” she said after a long pull of her own, then added, “potato chips.”

“Top cabinet on your left.” The bag was just out of her reach, even as she pushed up onto her toes, arms stretched overhead pulling up the edge of her shirt revealing a slice of smooth skin. Without thinking I stepped up behind her and pinned her between me and the counter as I reached overhead. It was a bad idea, that tea and cinnamon smell of hers coated my senses, and the press of her juicy ass against my thighs had my brain scrambled. What the fuck was I doing?

“Are you done?” She asked, looking back over her shoulder. I dropped the bag onto the counter in front of her and stepped back to lean against the island. She ripped the bag open and dove in, crunching two mouthfuls before she spoke.

“So…”

“So…” I echoed.

She arched a honeyed brow and took another long swig of her beer. I was starting to wonder why I insisted we come in here, being in close proximity was giving me too many ideas. Not new ones, granted, but they were a whole lot easier to act on when we were alone.

“You’re being a prat, you get that, right?”

“How’s that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know exactly how that is. Look, I get that you’re concerned about your little sister. I have two older brothers who would probably do the same, if not more, for me. But it’s not just about Dallas, it’s about control and you projecting your feelings, and that’s not fair.”

“And if it’s a mistake? If I’m trying to save her from getting hurt?” I could hear my own defensiveness.

“Then it’s a mistake.” She shrugged. “But it’s one she needs to make for herself. And you’re not saving her from getting hurt, you’re hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her, I’m just putting the fucking breaks on, she and Duke can still get married. And you can still plan it. Next year.”

“Jesus, Nash. That is not your decision.” She drained her beer. “If you’re serious about wanting to protect her, or however you’re justifying this rubbish, then actually speak to her.” The bottle came down on the counter with a thunk, ending the conversation before she added, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a wedding to plan, until I’m told otherwise.” She left without a backward glance, and I stayed leaning against the island, sipping my beer.

I probably would have been able to shake off the conversation, if Jemma hadn’t been right. And the way she looked at me, disappointed, like she expected more—it threw me. I pushed off the island and started pacing. I still believed that Dallas was rushing it, and I also knew that there was no way she’d listen if I tried to talk to her. So where did that leave me? Could I really just let her go ahead with it, even if I thought it was going to end badly for her? I rubbed a hand over the center of my chest. I had a decision to make.

TWO HOURS later I was pacing, like a stalker, across the street from Jemma’s house. At least, I thought it was Jemma’s house. I’d been kind of preoccupied that last time I was here, what with trying to get her naked and all. Even still, I was pretty sure I had the right place. I hadn’t bothered trying to call her because I figured she wouldn’t answer, and I’d gone past Cream and Sugar, but it was locked up. So, here I was staring at a row of brownstones with my palms sweating.

I needed to knock and get it over with; if Jemma was going to kick me in the junk and push me off the stoop, then so be it. Obviously, I’d rather she didn’t, but if it had to happen, I’d take one for the team. Just as I raised my fist to the door it opened, and I stumbled back half a step. I shot a glance right and left, I must have the wrong house.

“I wondered how long it was going to take you to knock.” Sharp gray eyes, which were magnified by huge glasses, were peering up at me with barely contained glee.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think I must have the wrong house.”

The old woman edged the door open a little wider.

“No, I don’t think you do,” she said, flashing me what could only be described as a calculating grin. “Come in, come in.” She reached forward and, with surprising strength given her size, yanked me inside before bumping the door closed with her hip.

The entry was no more familiar than the outside. The ceiling was high, the hardwoods polished to a shine and there was a wide staircase along one wall. I had vague memories of stumbling up a set of stairs. Maybe I was in the right place?

I was ushered through a second door and into a long, open room with lush rugs covering the floor and artwork lining the walls. It was incredible, but this definitely wasn’t Jemma’s apartment, so I wasn’t sure why the old woman was inviting me in. A spike of panic hit my chest; did she think I was someone else? Was she waiting on someone?

“Oh honey, I know you’re not here for me, as disappointing as that is…” Her predatory look had me scooting back a step only to come up against a wall. I swallowed, feeling trapped by a woman who probably weighed about as much as my left leg. Her small frame was draped in a peach-colored silk robe that pooled on the floor around her feet. Underneath, she had on a pair of simple cream pants and shirt. They were like sweats, but not. This woman reeked of money; I knew the scent well from my mother’s friends.

“I’m Marion.” She extended a hand, which I took, still unsure of what was going on and why I was in her home.

“Nash. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marion, but have I missed something?” I shot a glance back toward the door.

“What do you do, Nash?” She asked, ignoring my question.

“I’m a chef.”

“Is that right?” She beamed. “Well, I do love a man who knows his way around a kitchen. Ronnie, my husband—God rest his soul—he was a wonderful cook. And are you from New York?”

“Born and raised.” There was a surprising hit of pride as I said it. “But I’ve been in LA for a little over a decade, working.”

She hummed. “And what brings you back?”

“I sold up a restaurant, figured it was time to come home.”

“And ten years is long enough to be away from this city.” Her smile was warm, but still held a hint of something sneaky and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I was about to ask, again, if I’d missed something but the sound of the front door slamming shut had me stopping short. Marion’s grin grew even wider.

She all but skipped past me back to the door and pulled it open. “There you are… I thought you decided to drink margaritas without me.”

“I can’t lie to you, Mrs. S, I seriously considered it,” Jemma said, and all my nerves tightened in anticipation. That accent of hers did things to my brain. “It’s a disaster, a full-blown disaster! And I want to kill him—”

“Well, you would, if you didn’t want to fu—”

“Do not finish that sentence. I do not want to—what the fuck?” Jemma was gaping at me from across the room, a brown bag cradled against her chest. Her eyes were wide and wild. “What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck is he doing here?” She directed the second question at Marion who was watching the two of us like we were her favorite day-time soap.

“So, he is your man,” she said, giving a small clap. “I really hoped that I was right when I saw him loitering outside for a good twenty minutes.”

“Not my man, Mrs. S,” Jemma hissed, and the two of them had some kind of silent conversation. The facial expressions were really something. Eventually Jemma said, “No margs for you.” Then turned to me. “You. Upstairs.”

“That sounds like my cue,” I said to Marion, who looked downright giddy.

“It was a pleasure, Nash, I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

“Don’t count on it, Snyder,” Jemma growled as she left and started stomping up the stairs. I followed, not bothering to fight the fact that my eyes were glued to her ass. I did, however, resist the urge to touch it because I was sure it would earn me a black eye.

As soon as I stepped into her apartment I was swamped with memories. Pinning her to the door with her nipple in my mouth. The feel of her thighs clamping my ears as she came. Watching her ride me, her hands tangled in her hair. Maybe being here wasn’t such a great idea. How the hell was I supposed to have a conversation when all I could think about was her naked and under me? Or over me.

I hadn’t realized the first time I was here that it was quite so small. As previously noted, the naked female had held ninety-nine percent of my attention. Even clothed Jemma held a solid seventy-five percent. With the other twenty-five I took in the space. It was little more than one room, her bed was tucked into one corner, obscured largely by a curtain that hung from the ceiling. Everything was neat and functional and, despite not knowing her well, it all screamed Jemma.

There were a few photos on the walls, some plants atop piles of cookbooks. The small television sat on a half pallet that also held more cookbooks and plants. Everything was neutral shades and yet nothing quite matched, the couch looked like it had been found at a thrift store, the small dining table and chairs did too.

Jemma was in the kitchen, a generous name for the corner of the room with an oven, a pink refrigerator and a sink, unloading the contents of her bag. She slammed a lime onto the counter and rolled it under one palm. I had no idea why that was so sexy and yet my pants were feeling uncomfortably tight all the same.

While I was impersonating a stalker outside, I’d had a whole plan on what I was going to say to her. Now that I was inside, I could barely remember a word.

“What are you doing here, Nash?” She didn't turn to look at me, or even pause what she was doing. A handful of mint went into a large mortar, and she pounded with some serious force. Was she imagining my face? Maybe. Probably. Almost certainly. The scent of fresh mint filled the air, and I found my mouth watering. I pulled my attention back to the task at hand.

“You were right.”

Nothing.

I cleared my throat and repeated, “You were right.”

Still nothing.

“I was a dick, trying to manipulate the situation without speaking to Dallas first. And I shouldn’t have agreed to help when I had no intention of actually doing anything. If it makes a difference, I did actually look at the celebrant stuff.” Her hand paused for a fraction of a second and I took a couple of steps toward her. “I’m sorry I lied, Jemma. I was—I guess I don’t have an excuse, but I was trying to do the right thing by Dallas—I can see that wasn’t the case,” I rushed to add as she turned, poised to argue. “I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you.”

Her eyebrow arched. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it,” I said, surprising myself by how much I wanted to make this up to her.

“Not good enough.” she said going back to her task. “And if I hadn’t already made it clear, I don’t trust you. I didn’t want your help in the first place, I’m even less inclined to accept it now.”

“That’s fair. I guess I’ll just have to earn your trust and show you I can help.”

She gave a small snort, but I would not be deterred. Now that I had made the decision, I was going to follow through and give Dallas the best fucking wedding that anyone had ever seen, whether Jemma wanted my help or not.

ELEVEN

JEMMA

I STILL DIDN’T HAVE a photographer. And it was starting to stress me the hell out. Was I considering going back to NYU and speaking to that arrogant prick Professor Stickuphisass? No, okay, yes, maybe a little. I had sent query after query but so far less than half had responded and when they did it was with a ‘thanks for your inquiry, but… ha-ha-ha, are you crazy!?’

I put two fresh plates on the pass and whistled for Harley, going over my mental list for the umpteenth time today. I had a florist and I’d had some luck sourcing rings, an appointment later on today would show how successful that had actually been. And my menu was coming together. The problem was, despite Nash’s confessional last night, I was no closer to trusting him to hold up his end. He certainly seemed intent on proving himself, but only time would tell if he was serious. Part of me wanted him to stuff up again, it was safer that way, not trusting him. I rubbed a hand over my chest in an effort to ease the strange sensation growing there.

My phone chimed on the bench. Nash.

Nash: I’ve got a proposition

I didn’t want to smile, but I still did. Before I had managed to tell him to go fuck himself (because that’s what I should be doing), or that it was inappropriate to proposition me another text appeared.

Nash: Not that kind of proposition, keep your mind out of my pants, sweet thing, I’m pretty sure that’s sexual harassment.

Jemma: So is calling me sweet thing.

Nash: Noted.

Jemma: Your proposition?

I bit my lip. Was I flirting? I should not be flirting. And he should not be calling me ‘sweet thing’. It conjured far too many memories of nudity. My thighs squeezed involuntarily, and I slammed the mental door on naked Nash. I was maintaining professional distance, mostly. I may have put a tiny toe over the line of professional distance last night when I googled him, again.

I had an itch to find out more about his relationship with Nadia. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find, dirt maybe, which was stupid because people only put the highlight reel online. And boy, did Nash and Nadia have a serious highlight reel. Seeing it had made my insides squirmy and dredged up a whole slew of other memories that were not so fun to relive. It had been good though, I suppose, a timely reminder of why I wasn’t going down that road again. Even though my brain was quite insistent that this new road wasn’t quite the same as the old one.

I watched as the three little dots danced on the screen, then disappeared.

“Hey there.”

My head snapped up to find Nash leaning on the pass with a grin spread across his gorgeous face. His teeth were really bloody white, and his eyes were particularly green and sparkly today. My heart stuttered, my cheeks warming. Was he getting better looking? I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my smile in check. I would not be smiling at him because I was still mad. And I needed to maintain an aloof facade, or I really was going to flirt my face off, which was highly inappropriate. Also, I didn’t want to flirt with him—much.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he invited himself into the kitchen, the presumptuous arse.

“I went by your place, Marion said you’d be here.”

Unease bubbled in my chest; God only knew what Mrs. Snyder would tell him. The woman was clearly a double agent and had zero interest in the sisterhood. “You went to my flat? Why did you go to my flat?”

“Because I wanted to present my proposition in person.”

I resolutely ignored my stiffening nipples as he said ‘proposition’. I was still mad for God’s sake. Nash was not trustworthy. I could not trust him. I could not trust myself around him—and that was the real problem.

He was leaning against the bench looking all casual and cool in a way I would never be able to achieve. Black jeans with rips at the knees. White shirt hugging his muscular chest. Red trainers, a little scuffed. His hair was pulled up. When did I become such an enthusiastic fan of man-buns? Was he intentionally pushing his biceps out as he crossed his arms? I shouldn’t be looking. I had work to do. Eggs to poach. Avocados to mash. Brunches to make. A wedding to plan.

“Get to it then, I’m a busy woman.” I looked away just as his grin changed and I felt the hot track of his gaze as it made a leisurely path down to my feet and back up again.

“I was wondering…” He all but purred, and I kept my attention focused squarely on the sourdough I was sawing through.

“Yes?” The word was a little breathy. I gave myself a mental slap.

“Have you given any thought to your menu yet?”

“Of course.” Although not much as I should have. I needed to schedule a solid block of time to work on it. “And you?”

“I’ll show you mine…”

“Oh my god!” I said on a laugh. “Is this how you used to seduce unsuspecting girls into doing your homework?”

He snorted out a ‘no’ that absolutely meant ‘yes’.

“I was just thinking that maybe we should work together on it.” What was his angle here? Was the big bad LA chef trying to ask little old me for help?

“It’s okay if you think mine’s going to be better, Nash, you can say it, I won’t think any less of you. Plus, there is a reason that Dallas asked me to do this, and you’re the assistant.”

He laughed, the sound was rumbling and low and may have caused a short circuit in my brain. “Bold words, little chef.”

And, just like that, any warm and fuzzy feelings were resolutely doused. My lungs squeezed, my breath leaving me in a rush as my heartbeat went wild and my knuckles turned white as I gripped the bench. Nash was still speaking, but he was at the end of a very long tunnel, his voice thin and distant. Why would he call me that? He couldn’t call me that. I wasn’t that person anymore. My ribs pressed in. I couldn't breathe.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” He took a step toward me, I backed up, all of my senses straining and tight.

“Don’t call me that.” The waver in my voice made me sick. I worked hard with a therapist to come to terms with what happened with Jonah, to not let thoughts spiral out of control when he popped into my head. And usually, I was okay. But right now, it was too much. The memories reared up in a wave and I was drowned. Oh, little chef, don’t you remember, we don’t stop until I say so. His voice was so clear I had to swallow against the bile that climbed my throat.

Nash’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Hey, Jemma, I’m sorry—I—I didn’t mean anything by it. Are you okay?” I barely heard him over the thunder in my ears.

“I just—you can’t call me that. I’m not—” My skin was too tight. Too hot. Too cold. Black spots flickered around the edges of my vision, and I swayed. Dying, I was dying. No, it’s just a panic attack.

“I won’t. I won’t say it again. Jesus. Tell me what you need.”

“Go. I need you to go.”

“No fucking way, I’m not leaving you.” An arm curled around my back, holding me steady and, despite the fact I needed air and space, I pitched into his chest.

“Come on, let’s sit you down.”

I didn’t have it in me to fight him and let myself be led and eased onto a milk crate in the corner. Nash rubbed my back and bent me forward until my head was between my knees. I needed him to go so I could break down alone. I didn’t relish the idea of Darcy or Harley seeing me like this, but it was better than Nash. A brown paper bag was shoved under my nose.

“Breathe into that.”

“Just go, Nash.”

“No. Take it. Breathe.”

With a growl I took the bag, and I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. I didn’t want to look at him and see pity clouding his eyes. I hated pity; it made my skin crawl. This was why I didn’t talk about what happened, why Mrs. Snyder was the only one who really knew anything, and that was because she’d seen me when the damage was still fresh and raw, when I was still that broken shell. I thought I’d put myself back together, evidently, I had some more work to do.

My breathing grew deeper as my heart slowed and I started to focus on the sounds of the kitchen rather than the blood rushing in my ears. A plate on the bench. A skillet on the hob. The squeak of shoes on the tiled floor. A whistle.

“What the fuck are you doing? Where’s—”

My eyes snapped open.

“Jemma, babe, are you okay?” Darcy rushed over and knelt down in front of me. I looked past her to where Nash was standing by the oven, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m okay, just a little lightheaded.”

“Are you sure? Was it him?” She cast a dark look across the room then back at me. “You look pale, is it low blood sugar or something… do you want a donut?”

I forced myself to smile. “No, it wasn’t Nash. And no, I don’t need a donut. I’m okay, I promise. Just spaced out.”

She clearly didn’t want to leave me, but there were two plates on the pass that needed to go to their table. “I’ll tell everyone the kitchen is closed.”

“There’s no need to do that, Darc, really, I’m fine. Go.” I nudged her shoulder and she stood, giving me one last assessing look before picking up the plates and leaving.

I sat on my crate, gathering the strength to look at Nash. Not only did he see me well and truly lose my shit but cooked the meals when I couldn’t. So, I was both embarrassed and indebted to him. Wonderful. I just needed to get him out of the kitchen, and I’d finish out my shift alone, doing the breathing exercises my therapist taught me. Then I would go home, shower, and regroup.

The sound of water running drew my head up. “What are you doing?” What I meant was why are you helping me? But I couldn’t ask that. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

“Cleaning up,” he replied as he squirted some dish liquid into the rapidly filling sink. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“Nope.” I stood and took the skillet from him, hoping he would take it as his cue to leave, or at least move away from the sink. He didn’t. “And you don’t need to wash up. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own kitchen.”

“You weren’t a few minutes ago. You could barely stand up or breathe on your own.” He was standing too close, but I couldn't back up without sacrificing more of my dignity, so I stayed where I was.

“Yes, well, as you can see, I’m fine now. So, you can be on your way.” I was well aware that I could be handling this situation differently—like maybe saying thank you—but I was still in self-preservation mode. It made me want to get back to normal as soon as possible, and that meant getting Nash out of my kitchen.

“Yes, well, as I said, I’m not leaving you.” We stared at each other, a silent war of stubbornness playing out over the bloody washing up. Why wouldn't he just leave for God’s sake? What did he have to gain by being here? It wasn’t like we were doing anything even vaguely wedding related. He didn’t need to be here. And yet he wouldn’t leave.

Our staring contest broke as Darcy blew into the kitchen. She deposited a tower of plates beside the sink. “I’ve got three more orders, I told them I’d check if the kitchen was still open.”

“It is.” I took tickets as Darcy looked between Nash and I.

“Okay then…” She backed out, not taking her eyes off us until the door swung closed in front of her. How did we look to her?

I swallowed what little pride I had left and accepted that if I wanted Nash to leave, I was going to have to thank him. “Thank you, for saving my arse. I do appreciate it. But I’m all good now, really, so you don’t need to hang around.”

His eyes swept over my face, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. “You want to cook or clean?”

My brow pinched. “What are you talking ab—” The sentence ended abruptly as he snatched the orders from my hand. I snatched them back. “If I am doing anything in my own kitchen, it will be cooking. You’re still the assistant, remember?”

“Better get to it then, Chef.” He bumped me out of the way with his hip and pushed his sleeves up a little higher; I couldn't stop my eyes darting to his forearms. Why was he helping? Was it pity? Concern? And why, when I usually couldn’t stomach another person in the kitchen with me, did Nash’s presence not make me nauseous? It was unsettling, certainly, but not in the way that I expected. I wasn’t sure that I was brave enough to look deep enough to find the answer.

I kept my back to him, listening to him work and focusing on the Spanish baked eggs and vegan shakshuka in front of me. I could tell myself that I was going to maintain my professional distance all day long, but it was difficult to deny the crackle of tension that was building in the kitchen. We weren’t speaking. We weren’t even looking at one another. And yet it was still there. Making the air around me warm and tangible.

What the hell was happening to my carefully constructed walls? What was it about Nash that made them feel flimsy?

“So, what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day? Anything wedding related?” Nash asked an hour or so later, after the small rush was over.

I’d like to say that I had forgotten he was there, but it would be a lie. I was far too aware of him at all times and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I’d also like to say that, no, there was nothing remotely wedding related. However, that would also be a lie, because as much as I had wanted to go home and curl up alone, the hour of cooking therapy had done its job and cleared my head, for the most part.

“Once I’ve cleaned up here I have to go and check out a jeweler I found online for the rings. I need to finalize the invites—”

“Genius idea on the e-vite thing by the way. They looked amazing,” he said, folding his thick arms over his chest.

I blinked, distracted by forearms and biceps. “Thanks. Um...” What was I talking about? “Yes, finalizing the invites and then hopefully finding a photographer. Although, at this point I am not feeling optimistic about that.” At his questioning look I told him about the pompous asshat from NYU.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh yes, he was a joy. It’s fine though. I’ll find someone. I also need to follow up with a couple of bakeries and hope like hell that one of them will agree to do the cake.” The claw of anxiety sunk itself back into my chest. Could I really do this? Could I really pull it off and have it be what I wanted it to be? What Dallas wanted it to be?

Nash’s hands came down on my shoulders, the heat of them radiating down my arms as he gave a squeeze. Not too hard, but enough to anchor me in my body and make my temperature jump a couple of degrees.

“Hey, I get that you might not really want me around and all, but I’m still here. You’re not doing all of it alone, Jemma. It’s not just on you.”

I nearly laughed; it would be a whole lot easier if I didn’t actually want him around. “Thank you,” I said, rather than any of the other things that were swarming in my head.

“Let’s get this kitchen cleaned up and get going then, what do you say?”

That would be a bad idea. That’s what I should have said.

“You want to help clean my kitchen and choose your sister’s wedding rings?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for the last hour, anyway, and I am still your assistant, aren’t I?”

I twisted my lips, considering. More time with Nash wasn’t the best idea. “Don’t you have anything else you should be doing?”

“It’s all going in the background. My menu is percolating—despite what you might think. You secured the venue. The celebrant and MC are all in the bag—”

“You’re not a celebrant yet,” I reminded him, but he was not going to be deterred.

“Everything is in progress. I don’t even know why people need a year to plan these things. We’re going to nail it, probably before our deadline. I guess it helps that we’re a good team.”

“Now that you’re not actively working against me, you mean?”

He hung his head and looked up at me through his ridiculous lashes. Danger. God that look was like the sun, I couldn't face it head on or my corneas, and potentially my brain, would melt.

“Okay, fine. Get to work.” I lifted my chin at the sink, and he winked and did just that.

TWELVE

NASH

MURCHISON JEWELERS WAS TUCKED AWAY in a narrow back street on the Lower East Side. It had a plain storefront that I would have walked straight past had Jemma not nudged my elbow.

The bell over the door chimed, announcing our arrival. Inside it was dimly lit with long cabinets that ran the length of three walls and lights set above them to illuminate all of the twinkling jewelry. It felt a little like stepping back in time.

I cast a sideways glance at Jemma, wondering what was going on in her head. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about whatever happened back in the kitchen, and I wasn’t going to ask, even if I was itching to know. Mainly so I could do everything in my power to stop it happening again. One second, she was fine, and the next all the color drained out of her cheeks and her breathing went low and wheezy. Scary. As. Shit. I thought she was going to pass out and I was going to have to call 911. And she expected me to just leave her there, hyperventilating? I got that she didn’t trust me, but what kind of a dick did she think I was?

Then I’d cooked, properly cooked, for the first time in over a month. I was trying to tell myself I had just been helping Jemma, but I knew it wasn’t just about that. The minute I walked into that kitchen I felt the itch again, that need. The more time I spent with Jemma, the more I felt myself getting excited about food again. It was probably just the fact she was also a chef. Someone else to talk food with.

Not that we were talking much right now. We’d barely spoken since we left Cream and Sugar. Things weren’t tense exactly, but she was guarded. I could practically feel the wall around her. It was thick and tall and had no discernable soft spots. Back to square one. Not that I was trying to get past that wall. She didn’t want to let me in, fine. I didn’t want in her head. Fuck, even I knew I was liar. I shouldn’t have come. I should have left Jemma to check out rings alone. And yet I couldn’t get the words out to tell her I was leaving or make my feet move to the door.

An old guy appeared from the back, his gray hair perfectly parted, and I was pretty sure I could see the outline of a pocket protector underneath his woolen sweater vest. Not exactly what I had been expecting.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted us. “Are you shopping for an engagement ring?”

“No,” Jemma said at the same moment I said, “yes.” Why the hell did I say that? She jabbed the sharp point of her elbow into my ribs and smiled wide at the old guy.

“Actually,” she started, nudging me further away from her. “I’m Jemma, we spoke earlier about a few of your items. I’m sorry about my assistant.”

I barked out a laugh. “Nash.” He shook my hand, an inscrutable look in his eyes.

“John.” He turned his attention back to Jemma. “I’ve got a selection I think you’ll be interested in,” he said before disappearing into the back again.

“You just love to remind me of my place, huh?” I said once he was out of ear shot.

She shrugged, shooting me a sideways glance, her blue eyes dancing; maybe there was a soft spot in the wall after all. “If you didn’t seem to forget it all the time, I wouldn’t have to keep reminding you...”

I surveyed the cabinets with a smile as we waited. John reappeared with a tray of rings.

Jemma stepped up to the counter and pulled out her phone. I recognized Dallas’ Pinterest board as she scrolled before tapping on an image of a ring that was sitting on a moss-covered rock. Pinterest was fucking weird.

“Is that what we’re looking for?” I asked, peering over her shoulder. She bit her lip and I had to resist the urge to pull it free from her teeth.

“Something along these lines, yes, there are a bunch on here but this one shows the detail the best.” Her attention swung away from me. “Are they all platinum?”

“These three are platinum. The others are white gold,” John said, sweeping his hand over the tray. Jemma narrowed her eyes like she’d just watched him spit in her coffee. I swallowed a laugh.

“I was quite clear on the phone that I was only interested in seeing platinum.”

He nodded. “One moment.”

“None of them are right.” She sighed.

“This one looks okay…”

“It’s the closest,” she conceded, taking the ring from my palm. A shot of heat ran up my arm as her fingers brushed my skin. “But still not right.”

“What would you choose?”

“For what?” She looked up at me, eyes wide.

“For yourself?”

A carousel of memories spun in my head. Choosing Nadia’s ring. Proposing in bed. The first moment I saw her in her dress. We’d been happy then. When did we stop? When did she start needing more than I could give her?

I pushed the thoughts away and returned my attention to Jemma. I probably shouldn’t care what kind of ring she’d choose, and yet I was genuinely curious.

“Um…” Her cheeks went pink. “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t given it much thought.” The fact she was actively avoiding eye contact told me it was probably bullshit, and I wondered why she’d lie. Before I could press the subject John reappeared with a second collection of rings.

“And these are all platinum?” Jemma asked, looking more relaxed now the focus was off her. He nodded and she ran a hyper critical eye over the offerings while looking at the photo here and there.

We may have only been working together for a few days, but I understood why Dallas asked Jemma to do it. Her attention to detail; her focus; she was all in. And the fact she was still willing to do it all in only a few weeks without any help—the woman was a force of nature.

“What do you think?” She asked, those wide blue eyes staring up at me like I might know all the secrets of the universe. A look like that could get a man in trouble.

I brought my attention to the two rings nestled in her palm. They looked more like they were made of fine rope twined together, rather than metal.

“Will this go with the abomination my sister is currently carting around on her hand?”

Jemma laughed and the sound hit me right in the cock. “It may be large, monumental even, but it’s still pretty simple. And the detail on these gives off a little twinkle without it being more diamonds.” She picked up the smaller of the two rings and flicked it between her thumb and index finger. She was right, the thing caught the light.

“You see it?”

“I do.”

She shot me a wry smile; it took me a beat to realize why it was amusing. I do. I wasn’t sure I’d ever walk down that particular aisle again.

“We’ll take these two. Actually, can you try on Duke’s?” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed my left hand in hers and slid the ring over my knuckle. I swallowed heavily as she looked up, and something started to unfurl in my chest. I ignored it or tried to at least.

“How does it feel?” She was all business, and I was fucking swooning. Get it together, Easton.

“Feels good.” I all but grunted. With a nod she took up my hand again—Jesus her skin was really fucking soft—her fingers curled around the ring and my finger, and I fought the thought of what her mouth would feel like instead. Bad idea. I cleared my throat, and she cocked her head to one side like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

“We’ll take these two.”

“Very good.” As John packaged them up, Jemma opened the spreadsheet on her phone and tapped in some details; organization had never looked so sexy.

“Now what?” A light drizzle had started, and Jemma and I were huddled under the Murchison Jeweler’s awning.

“Now I go home, finalize the invites and try to find a photographer before I decide I’m just going to do it myself.” She groaned.

“You will not need to be taking the photos.” I rubbed a clammy palm on my thigh. “Mind if I join you?”

She burrowed deeper into her coat and flicked the collar up. For a second, I was sure she was about to shut me down, hard, but then the corner of her lip turned up and my pulse scattered.

“It’s against my better judgment, but sure, why not.”

“Should I be offended that spending time with me is against your better judgment?” I should not be flirting with this woman. I should not be flirting with any woman. And yet, with Jemma, I found I couldn’t help myself.

“Probably,” she said with a slow smile. Fuck, I would happily die on that hill. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, boss.”

We darted from awning to awning, avoiding the increasing rain, until we made it to the subway. I was going to suggest a cab, but the subway meant I had an excuse to press myself against Jemma as we sat side by side in the narrow seats. Apparently, I wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass. I told myself that I was just helping, that all of this was just me doing my bit to help with Dallas’ wedding. I wondered how long that was going to hold up.

“So...” She cleared her throat. “Are you still staying in Chelsea?”

“You angling to get an invite to my place, Jemma?” I wiggled my eyebrows as she rolled her eyes at the window.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just trying to make conversation.”

“You mean break the unbearable tension?” Jesus, why was I talking about that, neither of us needed to be reminded of it. I sifted my fingers through my beard. “To answer your question, yes, I’m still at my parents’ apartment in Chelsea.”

“And you’re moving back permanently?” She had totally googled me, a fact that gave me a huge sense of satisfaction.

“That’s the plan.” I nodded and knocked her knee with mine. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, that accent of yours suggests that this is not your mother country.”

She smiled. “So observant…” Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, like she was deciding if she wanted to tell me anything or not.

“I’m originally from Surrey, in England, obviously. My parents are still there. My father was transferred to New York for work when I was about twelve; we stayed for a few years and then moved home. As soon as I finished my A levels, I came back and started culinary school.”

So, she’d been here for almost as long as I was in LA. I looked at our legs pressed together and tried to work out what it was about her that made me want to know more. I’d never really felt a burning need to know about Nadia, I guess I felt like I knew everything there was to know, seeing as we’d known each other forever. But I had never had this need to know what was going on in her head at any given time. I’d kill to know what was going on in Jemma’s head right now. I shouldn’t care though, should I? I shouldn’t want to get into her head.

“Have you ever thought about going back?”

Once again, I could see her chewing on the answer before she voiced it. What are you thinking?

“A couple of times… when things weren’t going great.”

“What made you stay?”

“Well, the second time was only a couple of weeks ago. And then Dallas flew in like a fairy godmother in need of a wedding planner.”

My stomach twisted. She’d been considering leaving the country, and I came into that cafe yelling about food poisoning? Didn’t that make me feel like a dick.

“And the first time?”

She swallowed, fidgeted with her hair, wrung her fingers together. “It was years ago. I wasn’t in a good place. But then Mrs. S—Marion—took me in. I would probably be cooking steaks in a pub without that woman. If I was cooking at all.” It had to have something to do with whatever happened earlier, and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask her more. But she turned her attention to the window.

“Do you miss your family?”

“Yes and no. But New York is home now. I can’t imagine living back in England again.” She paused for a beat. “Didn’t you miss your family when you were on the other side of the country?”

“Yes and no.” Her lips twitched. “It wasn’t that I didn’t miss them, I did. It was more that I knew I needed my own space if I was going to make anything of myself. I needed to get out from under their suffocating expectations. And moving across the country seemed like the easiest way to do that.”

“That makes sense.”

The rain had eased off by the time we came up at Nassau Avenue and it was only a couple of blocks to Jemma’s building.

Even though it wasn’t the first time I’d been back in her apartment since the night we met, the memory of her undressed three steps inside the door still slapped me across the face as I walked in. I swallowed a groan.

This time, in a dramatic contrast, she shrugged off her coat and hung it behind the door. I tossed mine over one of the chairs by the kitchen table.

“Drink?” She asked, and I wondered if she could feel the crackle in the air too.

“Sure.”

“Beer?”

“Beer sounds good, thanks.”

THIRTEEN

JEMMA

BEER. I was getting beer.

I was getting beer and Nash was in my kitchen. Again. It wasn’t awkward (which was, frankly, a concern), but my small flat felt like a closet with him inside it. He was just so big. And not just his body, although that certainly was something; his presence took up space too. Too much of it. And then there was the fact I was just aware of him, constantly.

He’d been watching me here and there since we left Cream and Sugar, I could feel it every time his gaze landed. He was doing it now. His eyes cutting a track across my shoulders and down my back. Why could I feel his eyes? That was weird, wasn’t it? You couldn’t normally feel it when someone was looking at you. And yet with Nash, I could. I could feel his curiosity and concern nudging against my shoulder blades, ghosting over my hair. Why was he still looking at me? Had he not seen enough today already?

I peeked at him over my shoulder and swallowed a groan. I should have said goodbye at Murchison’s. Better yet I should have left him at Cream and Sugar. And yet, every time he asked to come with me (why did he keep asking to come with me?) I said yes. Why did I keep doing that, when it was just making me more discombobulated? Why did I have this need to be near him? It was irritating. I needed to shore up some professional boundaries that did not include wanting to be around him all the time.

I took two beers from the fridge and uncapped them on the edge of the bench, still feeling him watching. I was not denying that Nash and I had chemistry, to do so would be ridiculous, and a lie, but I was not giving in to that kind of chemistry anymore. It left me exposed, and vulnerable, and in danger of losing more than I could afford to. I wasn’t doing that again. I wasn’t losing my head—or my heart. I handed Nash one of the bottles and opened my laptop.

“Is she denying me a ‘cheers’?” He asked. I smiled over the top of the computer and extended my beer toward him.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.” He held my gaze as he took a sip and a shot of heat went through me remembering the way he tasted when I kissed him that first time. His eyes twinkled, turning them more green than gray, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Lord, he really was like staring at the bloody sun sometimes. Professional boundaries! I cleared my throat and pushed away from the table to grab something to eat.

“Crisps?”

“Sure.”

When I returned to the table I sat across from him, putting the most distance between us as possible. It wasn’t enough, but I certainly wasn’t going to sit next to him like we had been on the subway. I took a sip of my beer. I should have made tea. Tea could fix pretty much anything. Well, aside from a raging case of lust—it didn’t do much for that. I gulped down a few more mouthfuls of IPA and willed myself to calm down.

We were adults. We could be in the same room as one another and not rip our clothes off. The fact that we were in the same place where clothes had been removed not too long ago wasn’t helping, but all I needed to do was a little compartmentalizing. I might not know what he was doing here, or what he hoped might happen between us (probably nothing, I was getting well ahead of myself), but I needed to get some work done.

First up: invitations.

Before I could even pull up the draft I’d saved, my phone started dancing across the kitchen table.

“Jemma West.” I answered, noticing the way Nash watched me as he sipped his beer. I snapped my attention back to the phone, away from Nash’s smirking mouth. My professional boundaries might as well be made of tissue paper.

“Jemma, hi, this is Juliet from Honey and Crumb, I’m returning your call.”

“Yes!” I squealed into the phone, my gaze shooting up to meet Nash’s, the smile I received melting my insides. “Yes, thank you so much for getting back to me. I am hoping that the fact you’re calling is a good sign…”

She hesitated, not such a good sign then. But I was not going to take no for an answer. Honey and Crumb was my first and only bakery preference. No one else in the city did a swisse meringue buttercream like they did. Just the thought of it was enough to get my mouth watering.

“I understand that you probably have a longer lead time for this kind of order but—”

“Claire mentioned that it’s a wedding cake you need—in three weeks.”

“That’s right.” I bit my lip. Please let her say yes. My eyes bounced up to Nash and then down to my beer. “I know it’s cutting it fine, but you are my first and only choice.”

“It’s your wedding?”

“No, not mine, I’m planning it for a client.”

A knock on the table drew my eyes up.

“Just tell them who it’s for,” Nash whispered. He was right. It was time to name drop. I blew out a breath, for some reason it felt like I was cheating on a test. But I wanted Honey and Crumb and if this was the way to get it, then so be it.

“You might know them, actually, Dallas Easton and Duke Prince…” Nash snorted before taking a sip. I really wish he’d stop watching me like that, like he was recalling the way I looked naked. Great, now I was thinking about him naked. He smirked, one eyebrow arching in an unashamedly sexy way. When did eyebrows become so sexy? I forced my eyes to my laptop screen.

There was only silence in my ear. This was not what I had been expecting. I opened my mouth to check if Juliet was still online when there was a rustle and what sounded like a muffled squeal. Name dropping for the win, it would seem.

“Juliet? Hello?”

“Yes! Sorry, yes, I’m here. I was just—ah—getting my colleague’s opinion and we think we’ll be able to squeeze you in. Will you be needing a tasting?” I could tell that she was hoping one, or both, of the happy couple would be attending.

“Absolutely.” There was no harm in making her think they might be there, right?

“How does…Tuesday at three sound?”

I pulled up my calendar, but who was I kidding? I would do whatever I needed to be there. “Tuesday at three is perfect. Thank you so much, Juliet.”

“It’s my pleasure! We’ll see you all then.” A twinge of guilt slapped me at the ‘you all’. I ignored it and hung up with a triumphant flourish.

“We have a cake! Or a baker for said cake.”

Nash held his hand up for a high five. “Good news, who is it?”

“Honey and Crumb. They’re only small, but completely brilliant. Everything I’ve had from them has been to die for. I’ve got a tasting on Tuesday.” I bounced in my seat and couldn’t stop the squeal of delight.

“And as your assistant, I am obviously invited to that, right?”

I tapped a finger against my lip as I deliberated.

“Are you really going to deny me a chance to eat amazing cake?” He asked, looking genuinely concerned about the fact I might not include him.

The very last thing I needed was to eat cake with this man. The potential for it to be a disaster was astronomically high. Already my traitorous mind was conjuring images of his broad, tattooed chest covered in swisse meringue buttercream. My mouth watered and Nash cleared his throat.

“Eyes are up here, Jemma.” His voice was so low and husky my thighs clenched involuntarily. I hadn’t even realized I’d been staring at his chest. Oh yes, those professional boundaries were going great. I shook myself out of the lusty daze.

“Of course you’ll be there. I am not about to deny anyone, least of all my assistant, the chance to taste the cake from Honey and Crumb. Tuesday at three.”

“I’ll be there.”

I nodded, needing to change the subject if I was going to keep my mind off Nash covered in frosting. He was still smirking at me. I looked away, holding eye contact with him was dangerous. In truth, everything about Nash felt kind of dangerous. Like no matter how much I fought it I was careening headlong toward a fiery end. I bet he had a motorcycle. And all the black leather gear to go along with it. He probably rode it upstate on the weekends looking hotter than anyone had any right to. How did I go from cake to Nash riding a motorcycle?

“Thank you, for today—”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to kick me out?” He asked, then took a long gulp of beer.

“Because I am.” There was no way I was going to be able to get anything even remotely productive done with him in my flat. It just wasn’t going to happen.

His smirk turned into a grin. “Well, I know when I’ve out-stayed my welcome.”

I hummed. “If that were true…”

“Ouch!” He laughed. “Message received, welcome officially overstayed.” If only that were actually true.

I led the way to the door, Nash following too closely behind. My heart rate spiked, and I forced myself to take a slow breath. I was not going to be a slave to my physical reaction. I was not an animal.

“Thanks again, for your help today,” I said.

“It was a pleasure.” The way the word pleasure rolled off that tongue of his should be illegal. “And you don’t need to thank me. If you need any help with the invitations let me know.”

I yanked the door open and stepped out of his tractor beam. “I’m confident that I’ve got it under control, but if for some reason I require your help, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I will see you on Tuesday.”

“It’s a date.” He said with a wink and left.

It’s a date.

Oh no, it bloody well was not. I should have corrected him, rather than just standing there mute fighting the overwhelming urge to pull his mouth down on mine. But yelling after him that it was absolutely not a date probably would have made it worse. Like he’d somehow think I wanted it to be a date. Which I did not, obviously. I was losing my mind.

A knock had my attention snapping back to the door and in my head, I saw a scene unfold.

I open the door to find Nash in the hall and without pausing for breath he takes my face in his hands and kisses the absolute hell out of me. We stumble back into my flat, he pins me to the wall, his tongue exploring my mouth in a slow lick that sets a fire in my veins.

Another knock rattled me out of the fantasy, and I let out a low whimper. None of that was actually happening because I was not kissing him again.

I marched back to the door. “What happened to—”

“Expecting someone else, were we?” Mrs. Snyder asked with a wicked glint in her steely eyes. I ignored the stab of disappointment at seeing her.

“No—I—” I blew out a breath. “What can I do for you, Mrs. S?”

“I wanted to check that you were alright…” she said, following me inside. I heard the door close and went to grab another beer.

“Everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?” I offered one to her but was waved off.

“Because you walked in here twenty-seven minutes ago with someone else, and now you’re alone…”

I raised a brow. “What were you expecting? Another show like you got the first time?”

“That is precisely what I was hoping for, yes, set myself up right underneath your bedroom and all.” She wasn’t lying. The old woman was a total perv. “So, imagine my disappointment when less than thirty minutes after he arrived I hear him on the stairs. I had to run to the front of the house to get a good look at him before he left.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why did you need a good look at him? I thought you got that when you invited him into your home the other day...”

She grinned. “And why would I not want to see all of that again? You think I’d miss that kind of an opportunity?” She shook her head, and her shoulders gave a little shiver. Total perv. She took up Nash’s seat. “Why are you offering me beer and not naked with that god-like specimen right now?”

I laughed and dropped back down into my chair. “Because that’s not happening again, Snyder.” I stopped short of saying it probably shouldn’t have happened the first time. Her laugh was low and husky.

“Why deny yourself the pleasure, girl?”

I took another sip and shook my head. “He’s a chef.” The statement was out before I realized I was going to say it, before I realized I was thinking it.

“Mmm… I know. Means the two of you have something in common besides sexual chemistry.”

I choked on my mouthful. “Can we please not talk about sexual chemistry.” I did not need the reminder. Also Mrs. Snyder was not bringing me onto her perv level.

“At least you’re not denying it’s there.”

I shook my head. “Not denying. But not succumbing either.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Marion…”

Her hand reached across the small table and landed on mine. “Honey, you can’t tar him with the same brush because he happens to be a chef. That boy is nothing like the other one.” We never said his name, well not out loud anyway. I thought it plenty, when it was quiet and dark, and I wondered if maybe he was right about me all along. I shut the train of thought down before it could sink its claws too deep.

“How do you know? You never met him.”

She snorted. “You trying to tell me that Nash is anything like him?”

I let out a sigh. “He’s not.”

“Didn’t think so. And you’re not the same anymore either, Jemma.”

“I know, you’re right. I just—I told myself that I wouldn’t do that again. I won’t, ever, do that again.” The memory of how broken I was sent a fresh crack through my chest. And after today, it was more raw than it had been in a while.

“I know. But this isn’t that.” She paused, her lips flattening. “He’s not married, is he?”

“Actually yes.” At her look of mottled disappointment and confusion I added, “Recently separated, as far as I can tell. But still, another reason to not make things any more complicated than they already are.” I needed the reminder. I didn’t even know how long ago he and Nadia had broken up. And they were separated, not divorced—for all I knew they could see each other at Dallas’ wedding and decide to give it another shot. I wasn’t so naive to think that her name not being on the guest list meant she wouldn’t be there. The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through me.

The point was, I just didn’t know him, not really. And, in the interests of protecting myself, it needed to stay that way. Even if I was in the market for something more, which I was not, I wouldn’t be pursuing it with someone fresh out of a relationship. It was a recipe for heartbreak.

“I know you might not want to hear it, Jemma, but you can’t hold onto this forever. You need to give yourself a chance to heal. I think that’s why he’s been put right under your nose.” She squeezed my hand. Healing sounded nice and all, but I wasn’t sure that was what the universe had in mind. Maybe it was a test. A test I didn’t plan on failing.

“I’m not saying that you need to meet the parents or pick out your kid’s names. I’m saying that you can enjoy yourself with him.” It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but as soon as it did, I usually managed to shut it down.

“Even if I did consider it, we’re working together, so doing any of that again would be highly inappropriate and disrespectful to Dallas.”

“You want to be taken seriously professionally.”

“I do.” I needed to get my career back on track and this wedding was going to make that happen, or it was the start of it anyway. I wasn’t going to let that be threatened by a sexy and highly inconvenient distraction.

“That makes perfect sense, but the wedding is, what, three weeks away? And then you won’t be working together anymore…” She slid a glance at me, eyes dancing. “Allow me to play devil's advocate.”

“Like I could stop you.”

She winked. “You admit to having chemistry.” I nodded. “And you work well together?” I nodded again. Not bothering to voice the fact that both of those things were part of the problem.

“I don’t think you should be writing him off just yet— I don’t think you should write yourself off— that’s all. You’re young, Jemma, you have so much life ahead of you and it’s not just about working, you deserve to be loved, worshiped.” She paused, eyes moving over my face. “And thus concludes today’s unsolicited advice.”

“It may have been unsolicited, but it was still welcome.”

“I’ll remind you of that later.” She stood and went to the door, only stopping to blow me a kiss before she was gone.

I was left staring at my screen but seeing nothing. I understood what she was saying, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept it. Not yet anyway. All the same, the thought was like a worm, burrowing down and refusing to be ignored, no matter how much I tried.

FOURTEEN

NASH

“AS YOU CAN SEE, the entire home has been recently renovated and all of the appliances are top of the range.” Skye, the real estate agent, swept an arm around the space like a game show host before continuing, “The open concept gives you a clean space and the oversized windows make the most of your natural light.” She gestured to said windows and threw me a look that I was pretty sure was supposed to be seductive but came off as something else entirely.

“And there’s a rooftop terrace?” Dallas asked. She'd had her business face on all day, and I had to run a hand over my beard to hide my smile.

“That’s right,” Skye replied, eyeing Dallas with curiosity. The two of them had been doing this weird dance for the last five hours.

Skye came to my side and ran a hand from my shoulder and down my bicep before it came to rest on my forearm. What exactly did she think was going to happen? That I’d fuck her against the top of the range refrigerator? Or on the new black granite countertops, while my sister checked out the master bedroom?

It was nothing against Skye, I just didn’t fuck people in the middle of the day, with my sister in the next room—it was this rule I had. I stepped out of her grip and put as much distance between us as I could. The woman was starting to freak me out. She shot a look at Dallas who was inspecting every cabinet in the kitchen.

After leaving Jemma yesterday, I made the decision that I needed to get out of my parent’s apartment and into my own place. It was time to start accepting that Nadia and I were over and move on.

So, I called a bunch of realtors and here I was. Here we were. It was three in the afternoon, and we’d been at it since ten. I felt a little bad for neglecting my wedding planning duties, but it was a necessary sacrifice. And, like I’d said to Jemma, I was pretty much on top of everything. I’d even managed to get a decent lead on photographers thanks to an early morning visit to NYU, my phone had been going off all day and I’d been shortlisting on the fly before sending things off to Jemma. Some of them were really incredible.

I dragged my attention back into the room. None of the other places we’d seen today had been bad, not by a long shot, but I hadn’t got the vibe I’d been looking for.

Until now.

I had a feeling Skye had been saving this current one for last and for good reason, it was fucking amazing. The minute we walked inside I already knew I was going to take it.

A renovated brownstone with far more space than I needed, but it was perfect. The ceilings were at least twelve feet and the oversized windows she’d mentioned looked out onto the street and also lined the back kitchen wall. The kitchen had white cabinets with pristine black countertops and stainless steel everything. There were built-in bookcases on either side of the large opening that led into the living area. The wide staircase took us up to the master suite and the first of the five other bedrooms, downstairs was something else that Skye called a ‘flex space’ whatever the fuck that was; it could also be a self-contained studio apartment.

It was impressive, and the thing that kept coming back to me was what Jemma would think. I shouldn't be thinking about Jemma’s opinion on it. I shouldn’t care. This was a house I was buying for myself, it wasn’t about Nadia, or Jemma, it was just about me. And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder where Jemma would put a couch. I could almost see her pulling her favorite teapot from a shelf and making us a pot. I was officially losing my fucking mind. Why was I thinking about Jemma making tea? And where she would put the couch?

“Come on, we’ve gotta check out the bedroom,” Dallas said, dragging me up the stairs by the elbow. Skye shot us another one of those confused looks and I threw her what I hoped was an oblivious smile.

“Nash, this place is incredible.” The statement was muffled due to the fact that Dallas was standing in the walk-in wardrobe, which opened onto the ensuite bathroom. I knew I didn’t actually need her opinion, but it was a relief that she felt the good vibes. And I had to agree with her, but I was trying to keep a lid on it in case Skye was eavesdropping.

The room was perfect, large but not obscene, big enough for a king size bed and maybe an armchair. The lush carpet was a pale gray, a shade or two lighter than the drapes. Dallas returned from the walk-in and ensuite and abandoned me to the landing.

“Can we see the terrace?” I heard her ask.

“Of course, it’s just this way.” I met the two women as Skye led us up two more flights of stairs. It was overcast and felt like we were moments away from getting soaked but it was amazing. There were a few raised garden beds around the perimeter and some small trees providing some shelter from the elements. Dallas followed me to the edge and peered over.

“You need to get this place,” she whispered. “She’s asking way too much though, you’ve gotta screw her down.”

“There will be no screwing.”

She let out a snorting laugh and shot a look over her shoulder at Skye. “I can’t believe she’s been giving you the look this whole time when she clearly can’t work out if we’re together or not.”

“How do you know she doesn’t know? She might recognize you.”

“She’s not exactly my demo, Nash.”

“And what exactly is your demo, Dallas? Pre-teens on the brink of an eating disorder?” In response to this I received a withering glare.

“For your information, butt-head, Jameela Jamil said that I was an empowering and refreshing person to follow on social media because I provide an honest look behind the scenes of the Instagram highlight reel.”

“Butt-head? Really?”

“If the shoe fits.” She arched an eyebrow.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, but it sounds important to you, so congratulations, I guess.” I turned away from my sister and toward our realtor. Dallas was right, she was asking too much, and I needed to get the price down. But honestly, bargaining had never been my thing. I shot a look back over the shoulder. Dallas beamed at me before breezing past and hooking an arm through Skye’s.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “You know it. I know it. He knows it.” Skye looked buoyed by this comment, but I knew Dallas was about to lay in.

“But we all also know that you’re asking five hundred too much.”

As expected, Skye stammered in response to this. Honestly, I thought she was going to try and get her down by a million or more, but I knew she wasn’t finished.

“I can speak to the owner—”

“Skye,” Dallas interrupted with an angelic smile on her face. “My brother here is not the brightest, this is the first time he’s buying property in New York and we want to make it easy on him, don’t we?”

“Brother?”

She carried on, “He’s got the money, but he doesn’t want to just throw it away, and we need to remember that we’re not in Manhattan, you know? Let’s lower the bar, what do you say?”

Skye looked like she was still processing the fact that Dallas was my sister and therefore not a threat to whatever she planned on doing to—or with—me.

“And let’s not forget how long it’s been on the market…” Dallas was going in for the kill, I could practically see her canines lengthening. “I’m sure that between the three of us we can expedite this whole process, get your client a nice fat settlement and my dear, homeless brother off the sofa he’s crashing on, by say… this time next week?” She was going hard, but I couldn’t deny it would be nice to be in my own place sooner rather than later, so I wasn’t about to stop her.

My phone started ringing in my pocket. Jemma.

“I need to take this—”

“Nash,” Dallas warned, stepping away from Skye but keeping her smile in place.

“Brat, you absolutely do not need me for this.”

“I know that. But I need her to know that she’s not just working for the commission.”

I leveled her with a deadpan look. “She is just working for the commission, Dallas, you are not my pimp. Besides, it’s Jemma, probably something important about your wedding.”

“Urgh, fine. I’ll wrap this up and see you out front.”

I nodded, gave Skye an apologetic smile and ducked inside.

“Jemma, hey—”

“Why have you been sending me random Instagram pages all day?” Okay, not the response I was hoping for.

“I may have snuck into NYU this morning and put up a few well-placed fliers…”

“What?” Her tone sounded off, but I plowed on, nonetheless.

“That professor guy sounded like a total prick and like you said, his students would have been climbing over one another for the chance to book this wedding, right? So I decided to go around him.” Nailed it.

“Nash, he said that if he found out I was speaking to them without his permission—”

“You’re not speaking to them. I am. And for the record, I think he was probably bluffing.” What kind of a professor would seriously deny his students this kind of opportunity?

“So, you just took it upon yourself to organize a photographer? What if I had found one already?”

“Have you?” This was not going at all the way I thought it would.

“No, but that’s not the point. I was working on it. If you didn’t think I’d be able to do it you could have just said so.”

“What? No, that’s not what I was doing. Of course I think you could find one. That’s not—I just—I was trying to help.”

She let out a sigh. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Jemma wait I—”

The line went dead. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, dropped my head back and stared at the swirling clouds. What the fuck was that? Had I done the wrong thing? I didn’t think so. I hadn’t chosen anyone. I’d put out feelers and was getting responses and I had hoped we’d go through them together. As a team. Why the hell would she assume that I didn’t think she could do it?

“Nash will have the deposit wired to you within the hour.” Dallas and Skye were stepping out onto the sidewalk. “You’ve been such a wonderful help today Skye, honestly, we would have been just lost without you. Right, Nash?”

“Right,” I answered. Skye smiled, her eyes sweeping the length of me. Still not happening lady.

“Do you have a card? My fiancé and I might be looking for some place new when he gets back from filming next year and I’d love to give you a call.”

Skye mutely handed my sister a card before Dallas released her, grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me down the street. She let out a throaty laugh once we turned the first corner.

“Man, I thought her head was going to pop. I think she almost came when I said you were my brother.”

“Dallas! Christ!”

“Relax, honestly Nash, I don’t know when you became such a prude.”

Because of course not wanting to know about the orgasm habits of my realtor made me a prude.

She laughed again and shook her head, then narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s crawled up your ass? It’s not bad news about the wedding, is it?”

“I do not understand women.”

“And you’re just realizing this now? I could have told you that when you were fifteen and tried to give Shelley Whitcomb a PB and J sandwich at that pep rally.”

“I didn’t know she had a severe peanut allergy.”

“I know. And food is your love language so—”

“My what?”

“Your love language, the way you express yourself and your feelings. But it’s still important to check for allergies. And actually, if you love someone you should probably know if they have an anaphylactic allergy to something. So, check allergy advice, then profess undying love.”

Dallas had this tendency to ramble. I was sure that everything coming out of her mouth made sense to her, but something usually got lost in translation. This was one of those times. I had absolutely no idea what the hell she was talking about. She obviously sensed this and took pity on me.

“Okay, come on, what is it you don’t understand about women?”

“I did something that I thought was helpful, but the woman in question—”

“Jemma.” I didn’t bother denying it. “Are you trying to fuck my wedding planner?”

“I’m your wedding planner,” I shot back.

“You're my wedding planner’s assistant,” she corrected.

“I was trying to help and take something off her plate—which is loaded thanks to you wanting this thing to happen in less than a month—but apparently it was the wrong thing to do.”

“Did you tell her you were doing it?”

“No, I was waiting until I saw her next.”

Dallas pursed her lips in thought. “You probably should have given her the heads up. How pissed is she?”

“I don’t know, I’d give it a six, I guess.” But it was difficult to judge considering I didn’t really know the woman. And maybe I shouldn’t want to. We were working together, and only for a few more weeks, after that we’d go our separate ways. Why did that thought make my chest uncomfortably tight?

She was still deliberating on my problem. “Fixable pissed. Maybe you need to cook her something.”

I did not appreciate the sharp left into love language territory. “Dallas...” I growled. But the thought of cooking for her, with her, made my heart beat a little faster.

“Relax. Food isn’t just your love language, it’s kind of your language, period.” She shrugged. “You’re generally better with food than words.” I was sure she hadn’t meant it to be an insult, even though it did kind of sound like one. Was that part of the reason everything had felt so fucked up recently? Yes, it was about Nadia, but it wasn’t just about Nadia, there was something else and until right now I hadn’t known what it was. Food. Of course it was food. Was Jemma my bridge back to it? It would certainly explain why she’d taken up residence in my head and refused to leave.

Dallas adjusted her ponytail, paused to admire her handiwork in a window before yanking me down by the wrist and snapping a barrage of selfies.

“What’s your thing with Jemma?” I understood why she asked her to plan the wedding but there was still something else that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“What do you mean?” She asked, scrolling through the photos she’d just taken.

“I mean, if you weren’t getting married, I’d think you had a thing for her. A thing thing.”

“A thing thing. Are we in junior high?” She laughed; eyes still glued to her phone.

“A crush type thing.” The thought of my sister having a crush on Jemma made my hands ball into fists. And I was not going to examine that response.

“It’s not a crush.” Her ponytail swayed over her shoulder as she shook her head. “I guess it’s just that she’s cool and I want to be her friend.”

“Now who sounds like they’re in junior high. Please do not tag me in that. I don’t need a bunch of your tween followers stalking me.”

She laughed and hit me with another eye roll. “Don’t flatter yourself, you have six photos, my followers want engagement. And don’t even try and tell me you don’t get it, about Jemma— the woman is a goddess. Just please don’t fuck her and scare her off before the wedding.”

I ignored that, because it was too close to discussing my sex life with her. Also, the thought of scaring Jemma away and losing this feeling I had about food again was not something I was willing to risk.

There were also more important things to talk about. I cleared my throat.

“Why are you rushing into this wedding with Duke, Dal?” I was surprised at the waver in my tone. She stopped and pulled me to look at her, her eyes so full of pity it was a resounding gut punch.

“I’m not rushing into anything. I know him. I love him. Like crazy. I don’t see why I should wait to officially be his wife. So I’m not going to.” Jesus, she was practically glowing, and seeing her this happy definitely made me feel more comfortable with the whole thing, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure she really understood what she was getting herself into.

“You haven’t even known him for a year,” I pointed out.

A shrug. “I don’t think it matters.” Of course she didn’t.

“You don’t think it matters, or you don’t want it to matter?”

“If it doesn’t matter to me, why should it matter to you?” It really pissed me off when she was all right and philosophical.

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt, Dallas.”

She smiled. “I get that, Nash, I do, and of course you feel that way because you’re an amazing brother—and you’re currently going through some things—but I love Duke, and he loves me, and we don’t want to wait to start our lives together.”

I wanted to argue with her some more, but the look on her face stopped me. She believed all this, deeply, with everything in her. I could see it. Had I ever felt that way about Nadia? We’d been engaged for a year, and that was after we’d already been dating for almost two. I wasn’t desperate to get married, I thought it was the next logical step. Nothing about Dallas and Duke getting married in three weeks was logical. It was everything but. And yet, this was all she wanted. I couldn’t stand in the way of that.

FIFTEEN

JEMMA

FIFTEEN MINUTES after I’d hung up on Nash, I was still pacing the kitchen like an agitated zoo animal, trying to get my head around what the hell he’d been thinking going to NYU.

You know why he went, the insidious, all too familiar voice whispered. It was closer to the surface thanks to my recent panic attack. The voice told me I was in over my head. The voice told me I couldn’t do this. The voice told me Nash didn’t think I could do it either. Why else would he feel like he needed to step in?

I let out a low growl. How was I supposed to keep working with him, knowing he thought I was incapable? Incapable might be a stretch, I was willing to admit that, but there must be some kind of doubt there or he wouldn’t have felt the need to step in. A different, smaller voice said there might be another reason, I wasn’t ready to listen to it yet.

Right now, the best I could hope for was that our conversation would be enough to stop him from talking to me until the wedding. Did I detect a hint of disappointment at that thought? No, not disappointment. I didn’t have time for disappointment. I also didn’t have time to dwell on the conversation with Nash. And yet my brain was intent on replaying it over and over.

“Yo, Jem-Jem, you wanna drink?” Darcy bumped the saloon door open with one hip while retying her increasingly unruly copper top knot. A drink sounded like an excellent idea, the only problem was that I would probably need a very large one to douse my simmering anger and that would mean getting nothing done tonight.

“You’re not going to get anything done tonight anyway, judging by the look on your face. What happened?”

There would be no convincing her I was fine when steam was about to come out of my ears. “Nash happened.”

One ginger eyebrow rose. “You two didn’t…”

“No!” I said, a little louder than I intended to. “No, absolutely not, that is not happening again.” Today was just another nail in that particular coffin. “We just had a disagreement, that’s all. And a drink sounds great, but maybe after I’ve attempted to get some work done first?”

She watched me for a long moment. “Okay, deal. Can we crash Snyder’s?”

“When has she ever said no to a girl’s night?”

“She is a doll like that. Text me.” Darcy spun and left the kitchen with a flourish. I sagged against the bench and gnawed on my thumbnail. I could not keep thinking about this or I was going to go crazy.

I just needed to head home, shower and clear my head so I could get a little menu planning done before Darcy and Harley arrived. I wondered if I could put them off. I didn’t really feel like being observed and discussed tonight and that was a certainty with Mrs. S, Darcy and Harley all in one room.

AS I EXPECTED, there was no putting them off. Our group chat was an unstoppable roll of speculation over me and Nash. I was seriously regretting my decision to add Mrs. S, she was frighteningly insightful, and she and Harley were like soul mates separated by sixty odd years. I was doing my best to ignore the three of them.

I stomped up the stairs and let myself into the flat with a huff. The remnants of breakfast were still on the island along with a half empty, stone cold cup of tea. I busied myself with tidying up, needing to keep moving so I didn’t think too much. Once the kitchen was clean I reorganized all of my cookbooks, hoovered, and folded the pile of laundry that had been languishing in the corner for almost a week. This wedding planning was making me untidy, and twitchy.

The worst of my anger was burning off, and a slimy feeling had begun to gather in the pit of my stomach. I was hoping it wasn’t the I-have-overreacted-and-gone-off-at-someone-who-did-not-deserve-it feeling, but I was pretty sure it was. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Anger was so much easier than this feeling. I would have been able to maintain my homicidal rage if all of the Instagram profiles Nash had been sending me hadn’t been so good. They were a whole lot better than any of the other ones I’d found, which annoyed me because of course they were. There was one in particular, Sadie something, that I had already been tempted to contact. Her style was incredible.

So perhaps Nash might not have been entirely in the wrong. But I wasn’t either. He could have at least given me a heads up that he was going to NYU, especially considering I was the one Professor Snobbytwirlymustache had basically threatened. It was my neck on the line, not his. What I didn’t understand was why he’d go and do it in the first place? We had a clear division of tasks. And photographer was on my side of the line. Not his. Granted those lines got a little blurry when he came to look at rings with me, but that was an isolated incident. Not to be repeated. Like our being naked together. And I was not thinking about that.

Was he really just trying to help? I wasn’t used to accepting help, mainly because I didn’t like asking for it in the first place. And yet he’d gone and done it without me having to say anything. The man had put up fliers for God’s sake. Fliers! I refused to be charmed by that. Nope, not charmed at all. It did not thaw this frozen heart of mine one teeny, tiny bit.

“Bollocks,” I groaned, as the metaphorical drips from the inevitable thaw slid down my chest.

Did this mean I had to apologize? I really didn’t want to do that. Mainly because it would open me up to even more vulnerability and Nash had got quite enough of that already.

Rather than dwell on this any further because I wanted to ignore that slimy, guilty feeling, I threw myself into the shower.

Shower.

Then tea.

Then work.

It was a simple plan.

It was also useless. Because no matter what I did my mind refused to let up on the you-need-to-apologize-to-Nash thing. I got it; I knew it needed to happen, but I was not going to call him tonight. He probably wouldn’t even answer. So, I would just wait until I saw him, make a brief, but heartfelt, apology about the way I spoke to him, and we’d move on. Hopefully. We needed to move on. I needed to move on.

I definitely wasn’t going to humor the thoughts that came next. The ones that said after I apologized maybe he’d kiss me. He’d kiss me and we’d fall into bed. Naked and panting. No. Nope. I was not thinking about any of that.

Only I was. Too much. Way too much.

The tea and the menu would have to wait because there was no way I was going to be able to get anything done while thinking about Nash on his knees with his head between my legs. I shivered. Actually, I could get a lot done thinking about that, but nothing work related.

Just once. To take the edge off, then a tea and straight into menu planning.

I stepped out of the shower, dried off and let my mind go where it had been so desperately trying to. Nash rose up in vivid high def and so sexy I couldn't stop the little whimper as I fell onto my bed and my hands moved south between my breasts and over my stomach. How was I supposed to expect myself not to think about him when we were spending all this time together? I bit my lip, heat building as my fingers circled and teased. Why would I want to stop thinking about him? My back arched, hips rocking into my hand. Why stop when just being around him made my heart beat a little bit faster and the smell of his skin weakened both my knees, and my resolve.

It wasn’t like I’d been celibate after everything with Jonah, but I hadn’t had much interest in anything or anyone either. Until Nash. What was it about him that left me feeling so turned on and unnervingly exposed, wanting to be seen? It was incredibly inconvenient. And frustrating. And scary.

A low moan rose up my throat as the pressure of my orgasm built. Nash’s voice was in my ear. Husky and raw. And just as I was about to fall over the crest…

My buzzer went.

“No, no, no.” Ten more seconds and I would have been there. Maybe whoever it was would leave. Silence fell. And I relaxed further into the mattress. Just a little longer. One minute tops and I’d be able to focus on all things wedding.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Apparently, the universe didn’t think I needed to come right now.

SIXTEEN

NASH

AS SOON AS I was back at the Chelsea apartment I couldn’t sit still. My skin was too small for my bones and there were too many thoughts racing around in my head. I needed to cook. I needed to cook with Jemma. For Jemma.

Dallas had been right. Food wasn't just a thing that I did to pay the bills, it was more. I wasn’t sure I’d call it my language, exactly, but it was a huge part of me that, until recently, I’d been cut off from. And although it wasn’t specifically about Jemma, I was pretty sure that for whatever reason she was the spark. My spark.

I’d had a glimpse of cooking in her kitchen yesterday and, although at the time I was distracted by the fact I thought she might pass out on me, it was the most at home I’d felt in months. I needed to chase that feeling down again.

The only thing keeping me here and not going directly to Jemma’s apartment was the fact I was waiting on paperwork from Skye. I still couldn’t quite believe Dallas’ performance. In the brief period I stepped out to take the disastrous call, she managed to convince Skye—and her client—that they should sell on the spot for considerably less than the asking price. She justified this by saying the owner would have the money in their account by Monday and I was happy to waive the thirty-day escrow thing. I’d already wired over the deposit, all I needed was the paperwork to get everything else moving.

Now all I could think of was food. The wedding menu had been coming to me on a slow drip, but nothing that had felt good enough. It was part of the reason I tried to talk about it with Jemma yesterday. And despite it ending in a panic attack for her and an almost heart attack because I thought I’d nearly killed her for me, cooking in that kitchen had unlocked something.

I didn’t know what it was about Jemma, it could be as simple as spending time with another chef, but whatever the reason I was going to do everything in my power to spend more time with her. And cook. The question was whether or not she’d even want to see me today. I could wait until tomorrow, let her sleep off the worst of her anger.

Fuck it. Tonight was the night.

AN HOUR and a half later I was sweating bullets as I stood outside Jemma’s apartment—for the second time in a week—with both arms weighed down with bags of groceries. I’d gone overboard. Considerably.

“Well, well, well…” Marion sidled up beside me, a grin on her face and eyes curious behind her huge tortoiseshell frames. “To what do we owe the pleasure, young man?”

“I’m here to see Jemma.”

“Mmm, I guessed as much. And yet you’re not knocking on the door.”

“I’m not sure she’ll be terribly happy to see me.”

“Oh, handsome, I doubt anyone could be anything other than happy to see you.” Her eyes roamed over me. I wanted to be comforted by her words, but she hadn’t heard the phone call Jemma and I had earlier.

“Come on then.” She climbed the stairs and pressed the buzzer. And again.

“Hello.” Jemma’s voice crackled through the speaker and my pulse spiked. I felt like I was ambushing her but the fact that Marion was here would increase my chances of being allowed entry. Well into the building. It didn’t mean Jemma would have to let me into her apartment.

“Hello darling, you sound a little breathless, is everything alright?”

“Fine, Mrs. S, why are you buzzing me?”

“I’ve got a surprise,” Marion replied with a wink at me.

“It better be ice cream or tall and covered in tattoos.”

“Meet me downstairs.” Marion continued to grin as she pushed the door open with one narrow hip and backed inside. I didn’t know what to think. Was Jemma saying she wanted me there? Even after today? The thought it could be someone else made me want to put my fist through a wall.

“My kitchen is bigger for whatever you have planned,” Marion said, eyeing the bags of groceries as she led the way inside. I’d wanted to apologize for pissing Jemma off, or whatever happened earlier, but my palms were clammy at the thought of doing it with an audience—I was already sure that Marion wouldn’t go far.

I was staring at the bags, deciding on whether or not I should unpack them, or just get the fuck out of here, when I heard the door open, and my pulse hammered in my throat.

Marion left me in the kitchen, the train of another robe trailing behind her; today’s was a steel gray, not unlike her eyes.

“You will never guess who I found loitering on the stoop…” She said with a glance back at me before Jemma appeared around the corner and froze. No doubt the sentence ‘it better be ice cream or tall and covered in tattoos’ was running through her head. It was the latter, I did have ice cream too, although it was probably half melted by now.

She was in a pair of patterned yoga pants with an oversized gray sweater slipping off one shoulder. My mouth watered as I thought about biting that shoulder. It was not what I should be thinking about, especially if I wanted to keep seeing her. I had a feeling that crossing that line again would scare her off, just like Dallas said, and I really didn’t want to scare her off. Shoulders, and everything else, were off the menu.

“Hey,” I said lamely as Marion grinned some more, if she didn’t stop her face was going to get stuck like that.

“Hello.” Jemma cleared her throat and shot Marion a look. The older woman found somewhere else to be as Jemma joined me in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was a bitch, and completely out of line. You were trying to help and I threw it back in your face,” she said to her cherry red toenails.

“No, that’s okay, I—”

She held up a hand to stop me and shook her head. “You can admit I was being a bitch, it’s fine.”

“You weren’t a bitch, exactly…”

Tension slid off her shoulders as she laughed, her eyes turning up to me, the sun dancing on the surface of the ocean.

“But I probably should have given you the heads up about what I’d done, so I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” She gestured to the bags on Marion’s counter. “What’s all this?”

“Two things, first an apology.”

“Which we’ve covered, but it wasn’t necessary on your end.”

“And second, a tasting or sorts. Despite you being all cagey about your menu, I thought I’d give you a peak at mine anyway…” But now that I was here, and we weren’t alone, I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. I was about to say so when the front door opened again and two other women arrived. Both of whom I recognized from Cream and Sugar, the red head and the curly haired barista.

“Well, hello…” Curls purred, hazel eyes hungry (and not for the food). “Are you cooking for us?”

Jemma looked between us, reigning in a smile.

“I was—I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You’re not interrupting anything Nash, my kitchen, is your kitchen,” Marion said, reappearing and taking a seat at the table.

“You heard the woman.” Jemma said. “Unless you don’t want an audience?” Was she flirting?

“I’m good with an audience.”

She smirked. “Alright then. This is Darcy and Harley. The latter will say something inappropriate at some point during the evening, I apologize in advance.”

“Great to meet you.”

“And you.” I had a feeling that everything out of Harley’s mouth was meant to seduce.

Darcy and Harley both took seats at the kitchen table with Marion, each with a glass of wine. Jemma took it upon herself to start unpacking the bags and put together a quick cheese plate for the audience. Marion smiled as she popped a cube of vintage cheddar into her mouth.

“So what’s on the menu?” Harley asked, peering at me over the rim of her glass.

Jemma was unloading bags across the counter. “Whatever it is, it looks good.”

“You can tell just by looking at the ingredients?” Harley looked genuinely confused.

“Can’t you?”

“I see cheese and wine. Both good. Beyond that...” She shrugged and took another long sip.

Jemma shook her head and handed me a glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Our glasses rang and I tracked the movement of hers to her mouth. “As far as the food goes… how about I call it chef’s choice and you can provide feedback as we go?” I suggested and received four happily nodding heads in return. “Alright then.”

Marion, Darcy and Harley fell into conversation at the table while Jemma bumped a hip against the counter and watched as I got to work mincing an onion and a few cloves of garlic. Now that all of the food was out of the bags, I knew that I had a bunch of stuff I probably didn’t need, but considering I’d gone from feeding two to feeding five, I decided my over-catering wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No ma’am,” I said with a sharp shake of my head, not bothering to look up. Although part of me definitely wanted to cook with her, right now I was happy cooking for her.

“It’s weird having someone else cook for me,” she confessed, like she’d somehow read my mind. I could see her watching me from the corner of my eye. The thought of her eating my food was doing something to my chest.

“Good weird or bad weird?” I glanced over. Her eyes swept over my face before she blinked back down into her Pinot.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She looked back up at me.

“You’ll have to let me know when you decide.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she said, smiling into her glass. What are you thinking?

“So how goes the wedding planning?” Darcy asked. I could hear the smile in her voice and it made me wonder how much Jemma had said about me, about everything. I glanced at her, but her focus was on the table and there was an odd look on her face. She must have felt my attention because her eyes darted back to me before she spoke.

“It’s going pretty well, right?”

“Right,” I agreed with a glance over my shoulder. The trio perched at the table looked highly amused. Harley popped an olive into her mouth.

“So far we’ve got a venue, a florist, wedding rings, a cake—”

“A top-notch celebrant and MC,” I added.

Jemma laughed. “Yes, those, too.” Jesus if she kept looking at me like that, I wasn’t going to have much luck keeping my hands to myself.

She carried on, her eyes darting from me to them. “I think we’ve done pretty bloody well considering it’s only been a week.”

“I love how English you are sometimes,” Harley said, before turning on a truly terrible English accent and adding, “I think we’ve done pretty bloody well.”

“Good lord, please tell me I do not sound like that?”

“Only a tiny bit,” Darcy assured her, to which she received a cracker thrown at the head.

The conversation remained on all things wedding, Dallas and Duke as the first of my courses started coming together. The cauliflower cakes were in the oven, the sliced chorizo sizzled away in a skillet, and I went to work on the chimichurri.

I was surprised at how easy it was to cook in this kitchen, with four sets of eyes watching me. One set a little more insistent than the others.

“First up, chorizo on cauliflower with chimichurri.” I dropped the plate on the table and Jemma settled herself down with the others. As soon as they each took a mouthful and started chewing a roll of anxiety tightened my gut. What if it’s no good? What if they spit it all over the table? The first groan came from Jemma, and it went straight to my cock.

“Oh my fucking god, dude,” Harley followed. “This is sen-fucking-sational. Why are you just standing there? What’s next?”

Taking that as a good start, I returned my focus to the food littering the counter. Time for round two.

SEVENTEEN

JEMMA

IT SHOULD NOT HAVE COME as a surprise that Nash was outstanding in the kitchen. He sold a chain of highly successful restaurants back in LA, after all. But even knowing that, I still couldn’t quite fathom what was happening in my mouth. We were currently on canapé number three—a falafel slider on a button mushroom—and I honest to God had never experienced chickpeas to be so gloriously flavorsome in all my days. And, as a general rule, I was a fan of chickpeas.

Another thing that shouldn’t have come as a surprise was how ridiculously sexy it was watching the man cook. His hair was tied up high and out of the way, he had on another pair of well worn, but decidedly well fitting, jeans and a simple forest green t-shirt that was doing obscene things to the color of his eyes. There was one dish towel hanging from the back pocket of his jeans and another slung over his shoulder. I was salivating and it was not only about the food.

I was trying, and failing, not to stare when Nash deposited another bowl in the center of the table.

“Herb and Parmesan sweet potato wedges,” he announced.

“I think I just spontaneously ovulated,” Harley said.

The clatter of a knife drew all of our attention to the bench.

“Ignore her,” I told Nash who didn’t look like he quite knew what to do with the announcement—who would? I had warned him she would say something inappropriate. It was a miracle it had taken this long.

“No, I’m serious,” Harley went on, “I honest to god felt it, just a little twinge on the right. You’re lucky you’ve got dibs sister, because otherwise I’d be going to town on all of that.” She cocked a head in Nash’s direction. I glared at her before shooting him an apologetic look but the heat behind his eyes had me choking on my mouthful of sweet potato instead. I felt that look everywhere, but quite specifically, in my pants. Something that I didn’t need after my not-orgasm earlier.

He was looking at me like he was starving, and I was the meal. A heavy throb shook me down to my bones and I was pretty sure I knew what Harley meant about spontaneous ovulation. My ovaries just screamed ‘ladies this is not a drill’.

Holy. Hell.

I forced my eyes down to the table and took a sip of Pinot to clear the lodged food from my throat. Yesterday, after my chat with Mrs. Snyder, I made the decision that I would entertain the idea of something maybe, possibly, happening with Nash, after we’d pulled off this wedding—because I was determined to remain professional.

Then I’d had the monumental PTSD kind of flash back with the photographer thing and feeling controlled and manipulated. But Nash was not Jonah, which he went and proved when he turned up here with his bags full of groceries wanting to cook and apologize, when he didn’t have anything to apologize for. He was good, and sweet, and maybe a little lost, just like me. I was walking a fine line of vulnerability and really wanting to see him naked again.

The only problem with this plan of mine was that if he kept looking at me like he just did, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep Sex Kitten Jemma at bay. I could already feel her stretching behind the scenes, limbering up in anticipation. I hated to burst her lusty bubble, but it was not happening. I needed to get my head out of the bedroom (and Nash’s pants) and back into professional wedding planner mode. Work. I needed to keep my mind on work.

“All of this has been amazing, Nash. I hope you don’t expect me to return the favor…” Oh god, why did I just say that? It sounded way too sexual. I cleared my throat. “I was just planning on giving you a written menu. And we’ll have to keep the dietaries in mind as they come in.” I glanced up and was relieved to see that he had put his strip-me-naked stare away.

“All good.” He nodded. “I’ve got a few vegan options up my sleeve. We had a pretty big selection on the menu by the time we sold. There are too many fucking vegans in LA.”

Harley barked out a laugh. “That is not a problem in this kitchen.”

“Good to know.” His gaze slid over me and, although it wasn’t quite as heated as it had been, there was still a glint of something that was both electrifying and terrifying all at once. I didn’t understand why he had such an effect on me. It took basically nothing for my control to start unraveling whenever we were in the same vicinity. And it had abandoned me entirely as soon as I kissed him at the brewery—even before that if I was completely honest.

Before we’d managed to clean out the bowl of sweet potato wedges—but had easily emptied three bottles of wine—the next plate landed on the table and Nash finally took the time to sit down. His arm brushed mine as he dropped into the chair beside me, and I was engulfed by a wave of heat. I took up an intense interest in the smashed broad bean bruschetta in the middle of the table.

“So, what are your thoughts?” He asked as the four of us chewed thoughtfully. As with every other menu item, my mouth felt like it was dancing. It was crunchy, creamy, sweet, salty and fresh all at once. God, I loved food. I loved Nash’s food.

“There’s only one thing missing…” Harley said, eye-fucking Nash over the rim of her wine glass.

“What’s that?” He asked with a devilish smile.

“Dessert,” Darcy answered for her. And I waited because I could see exactly where they were going with this.

“Unless of course you had other plans for dessert?” Harley purred the word dessert. And just in case this could be considered too subtle she followed it up with a very pointed look between Nash and I. For the love of God, what was wrong with my friends?

“Actually, I do have something in mind for dessert,” Nash said, his eyes lingering on me for a fraction longer than they needed to. “Are there any objections to chocolate?”

Harley groaned into her wine glass. I kicked her under the table.

“I’m sure whatever you’ve got planned will be perfect. And I have some ice cream if you need it.”

“I brought my own.” He said with a wink as he looked at my mouth. Was it possible to ovulate twice in a one-hour period?

I ARRIVED at Honey and Crumb fifteen minutes early and found Nash peering into the front window, with two takeaway coffee cups in his hands. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever ordered a coffee in front of him, so I wondered what he had for me. I really hoped it wasn’t tea, it just didn’t taste right out of a paper cup.

I hadn’t seen him since Saturday night, when he cooked in Marion’s kitchen and I may have ovulated more than once—Google told me it wasn’t possible, but Google had never seen Nash wink or clean down a kitchen. Nash cleaning down a kitchen, as it happened, had officially become one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

If I had been hoping that the break would help to temper my physical reaction to him, I was left disappointed. Acutely turned on and disappointed. Today’s outfit included black jeans, another plain t-shirt (gray) and a beaten-up old jean jacket with the collar popped up. Why did he not look like a complete wanker with that collar popped up? He should. He should look like a wanker. But he didn’t. I wanted to grab him by that collar and taste his mouth.

Nope. That was not happening.

I was a wild swinging pendulum. I wanted to lick his chest like an ice cream and press my skin to his. I also wanted to protect myself. And I didn’t think that those two things could happen in tandem, because the licking and the pressing would leave me inevitably exposed. Whatever I decided, the bottom line was that I would remain professional until the wedding. It was the right thing to do. It was the responsible thing to do. It was the safer thing to do (not the safest, the safest would be to forget I’d ever seen him naked, but that was not physically possible). Even still, I needed to take a few slow breaths and straighten my spine before I darted across Orchard Street to meet him. I hadn’t expected him to be early, I had been hoping to have a little time to settle myself before I saw him. Now that I was seeing him, I could admit that it probably wouldn’t have helped.

“Hey.” I tapped his shoulder and was rewarded with a beaming smile as he turned around. Lord, he needed a warning label for that thing. The autumn sunshine, which picked up the lighter strands of his hair, was doing nothing to help me in the self-preservation stakes.

“Hey yourself.” He handed me a cup.

“You’re early. What’s this?” I took a tentative sip and was met with minty warmth.

“So are you. And it’s peppermint and chamomile tea to cleanse our pallets before we get into this cake extravaganza.”

I attempted to reign in my smile. “I’m not sure extravaganza is the right word but thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He was grinning down at me, and it took all of my strength not to swoon and pitch forward into his broad chest. I imagined nuzzling against him and breathing in his scent. Just the memory of it was enough to make my mouth water and send a tingle through my core. I needed to get a grip. I smiled around the lip of my cup and told Sex Kitten Jemma to take a seat. Professional Jemma was behind the wheel right now.

“Shall we?” He said and I realized that I’d just been standing there staring at him. Oh yes, I was the absolute epitome of professionalism.

“Yes! Yes, let’s go,” I said with far too much enthusiasm then cringed. I was losing my mind.

He chuckled as he opened the door, and with a hand on my lower back, ushered me inside. Sex Kitten Jemma purred at the contact. I ignored her.

A tall, willowy woman with a neat platinum bob greeted us as we made it inside.

“Good afternoon, what can I do for you both?”

“Hello, I’m Jemma, I spoke with Juliet late last week, we’ve got a tasting at three.”

“Of course, Jemma, it’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Juliet.” We shook hands. Juliet’s attention drifted past me to Nash.

“And I’m Jemma’s assistant, Nash.” He said with a wink at me. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s a pleasure.” Juliet appeared to have a Nash induced brain-fart because she stood there unblinking and shaking his hand for close to fifteen seconds. I felt for the woman, and it made me wonder if that was how I had looked out on the street a minute ago. If so, I had to assume my theory about general desensitization to Nash over time was rubbish. Or maybe it was just because I was fighting against the riot playing out in my chest. What would happen if I just went with it? Not the time, I was here for Dallas.

“He’s also the bride’s brother,” I added, hoping it would soften the blow of not having the bride or groom present.

“Oh really?” Her tone was an octave or two higher than it had been a moment ago. She cleared her throat. “That’s wonderful. Come through, we’ve got you set up by the window here.”

Honey and Crumb was everything I wanted in a bakery. Its black and gold logo covered nearly the entire large window that overlooked the street and was set off with a mint green awning complete with a scalloped edge. Inside, there were black and white checkered floors, a long black and glass cabinet filled with ridiculous cakes, and the whole place smelled of butter and sugar and everything sweet and delicious. I wanted to live here. I’d sleep under a table if need be.

Nash and I sat at the table Juliet gestured to and watched her disappear into the kitchen. God, I was looking forward to eating cake. I flicked open the portfolio that sat in the center of the table and pulled out my phone to consult Dallas’ Pinterest board. I had a pretty good idea of what she wanted—single tier, naked frosting with some well-placed greenery— but it couldn’t hurt to have a reference at my fingertips. Every page I turned had more examples of breathtaking cakes. I was now swooning for flour, eggs, butter and sugar and I was very much okay with it.

My right side started to warm and tingle as Nash shifted forward in his seat and peered over my shoulder. He really did smell criminally good. Warm. Spicy. Earthy. Better than cake, and that was saying something.

“My mouth is watering.” He was so close that his breath ruffled my hair and a shiver went down my spine. I half turned but he was close and didn’t move back even a millimeter, our noses nearly touched. I sucked in a breath at our proximity. It was a mistake because his smell, which was already making me feel a little drunk, coated my sinuses entirely. Sex Kitten Jemma lunged for the wheel in my head.

“Mine, too.” The two words came out as a squeak as he leaned back out of my space. Before I could do anything too stupid, like grab him by that popped collar and kiss him into next week, Juliet returned with a large tray covered in cake and frosting options. I glanced at Nash, he licked his lips and a small moan started to bubble its way up my throat. I swallowed thickly to halt its progress and not embarrass myself further. I was here for Dallas, my client, who was getting married in three weeks. I was not here to have pornographic fantasies that involved her brother and buttercream frosting. No matter how good they might be.

“Okay…” Juliet started, settling herself opposite us. “Is there anything the bride and groom don’t like that we can rule out off the bat?” She gestured to the tray. It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized I hadn’t thought to ask Dallas anything about cake preferences. I was a terrible wedding planner.

“They’re both serious sweet tooths, so no, nothing needs to be ruled out.” Nash slung an arm over the back of my chair, and I stiffened, wishing we were across from one another instead.

“Alright then, well let's just dive in, shall we? Do either of you have a favorite you’d like to start with?”

“What’s your bestseller? Could we start there?” I asked in an effort to remain professional and not think about making Nash’s favorite cake and then eating it off his naked abs. Sex Kitten Jemma really needed to sit the fuck down.

Juliet considered my question. “Absolutely. It can depend a little on the season, in summer there’s always a lot of requests for fresh peaches, strawberries and cherries to be involved, as you can probably imagine. But if you’re looking for the all year round crowd pleaser, it’s gotta be the chocolate cake, with our chocolate swisse meringue buttercream.” With a pallet knife she slicked some of that buttercream onto two small squares of chocolate cake and handed them to us.

A slow smile unfolded on Nash’s face. “Cheers,” he purred and the whole piece of cake disappeared into his mouth. A smear of frosting remained on his lip, and a little on his mustache. This was exactly why I’d thought eating cake with him would be a bad idea. I wanted to lick that buttercream right off his mouth. I didn’t get to, he wiped it off with his thumb then sucked it clean. Lord help me that might have been worse, my stomach did a weird swooping flip thing.

“That’s sensational, Juliet.” His voice was all husky and it turned my bones to jelly. I snapped myself out of the frosting fueled daze and ate my own cake. The groan spilled out before I could stop it.

“Oh my god, Juliet, that really is incredible.”

“You’re both too kind.”

“We’re not. That’s the best fucking frosting I’ve ever tasted.”

“He’s right,” I agreed, licking my fingers just in case I’d left any behind. Regrettably, I hadn’t. It was rich and decadently chocolatey, without being too sweet. Perfection.

“Was it that simple?” She asked with a smile. “Do we already have a winner?”

I glanced at Nash.

“I think in the interests of due diligence we should probably sample the whole selection. Wouldn’t you agree, Jemma?” A wicked smile was tugging at his lips.

“I think we owe it to our client to be thorough,” I agreed with mock seriousness.

Over the course of the next twenty or so minutes Nash and I sampled some of the best bloody cake New York had to offer. Admittedly, we had probably started at the top with the chocolate-chocolate combo, but everything Juliet handed over was insanely delicious. And with each new piece of cake, my restraint crumbled just a little more and Sex Kitten Jemma got closer and closer to getting her hands on the wheel.

I was in trouble.

“I’ll leave you both to discuss, can I get either of you a glass of sparkling water?”

“That would be great, thanks Juliet.” I watched her disappear into the kitchen and forced myself to focus.

“The chocolate-chocolate was beyond words, but I think I’m leaning toward the vanilla cake with the chocolate buttercream.”

“I think you’re right,” Nash agreed, and I let myself look at him. He was slouched down in his chair rubbing a hand over his stomach. I watched it complete two full circles before I could drag my eyes back to his face.

“Filling?” I asked.

“That raspberry mousse one was pretty outstanding. But do we really need one with that frosting?”

“I know what you mean.” My mouth watered at the mere memory of the raspberry mousse, but I wasn’t sure how it would all work together. “We might have to get the expert opinion on execution.” I said, more to myself than him, but I still saw him nod from the corner of my eye.

Juliet needed to get her ass back here immediately before I did something stupid.

EIGHTEEN

NASH

I WAS PRETTY sure I’d never, in my life, been so turned on. And by something as seemingly innocent as cake. It was just fucking cake, right? Granted, Honey and Crumb was some outstanding cake, but still, it was cake. It wasn’t a sexy food. Not like strawberries dipped in still warm melted chocolate or the perfectly stuffed zucchini flower, or even simple but elegant pasta in a rich tomato ragu. Cake just didn’t hit me like that.

But there was cake, and then there was Jemma eating cake. The noises she made every time a new piece passed those perfect lips were nothing short of filthy. And every one of them had gone straight to my cock, which I had been talking down from a full salute for the last half hour.

Juliet returned with our water, and I guzzled it, just cold enough to douse a little of the heat in my veins. Jemma took a sip of hers and I found myself mesmerized by her throat as she swallowed and the way her tongue slid along her lower lip to catch a stray drop. Jesus, get it the fuck together, Easton.

I’d been trying to tell myself that no matter how much chemistry we had, I should keep my hands to myself. And I’d outdone myself Saturday night, granted having three other people in the kitchen had helped. And then I hadn’t seen her until today. I was the fucking poster boy for respect and professionalism. But right now I was ready to tell professionalism to go fuck itself because I really wanted to taste that frosting on her tongue. It wasn’t something I was going to act on, because I wasn’t an idiot. Going there with Jemma would invite unnecessary complications and could mean saying goodbye to this renewed connection with food. I wasn’t willing to risk that.

I probably just needed some fresh air, that was all. We’d been stuck next to one another, moaning and groaning and comparing notes on cake, for thirty minutes and the tension was so thick Juliet probably had a contact high just from being near us.

The two women were now talking about the look of the cake. Unsurprisingly, Jemma had pulled up Dallas’ Pinterest board for reference. I was about to excuse myself when my phone rang. Whoever was up top clearly felt my pain and understood the need to get some space from Jemma. I thanked Juliet for her time and her outstanding product and hustled out onto the street.

“This is Nash.”

“Nash, hi, it’s Skye, how are you? I haven’t called at a bad time, have I?”

“Not at all Skye, I just finished up a wedding cake tasting. For Dallas,” I added as an afterthought.

“Well, I was calling to let you know that everything is going smoothly. As per your sister’s request, I will have you into your brownstone as soon as possible, which should be by the end of next week.”

Approaching footsteps called my attention. Jemma was beaming as she closed the distance between us. She really was gorgeous. And even though I knew it was probably a very bad idea, I wanted her in my new place, naked and moaning against the top of the range refrigerator.

She was taking advantage of the still relatively mild weather in a pair of jean shorts that left her legs on display all the way up to the swell of her thigh. Despite that, her white sneakers and navy sweater with a white shirt collar poking out the top made the outfit look preppy, sexy preppy.

“We have a cake!” She squealed, bouncing on her toes. My attention shot up to her face just as she bit her lip and then whispered, “Oh sorry, you’re on the phone.”

“No—ah Skye, sorry, can I call you back?”

“Of course, I’m around this afternoon if you want to catch up.” I made a noncommittal noise and ended the call.

“You didn’t have to rush on my account. You could’ve just told me to bugger off.” Jemma was still smiling but it wasn’t quite reaching her eyes now. Was she jealous? Of Skye, my somewhat unhinged realtor? Granted, she didn’t know that Skye was my somewhat unhinged realtor, or that I wasn’t interested in the least. Even still, there was a definite edge to her words. A fact that should not have pleased me, but absolutely did. It didn’t mean I was going to kiss the hell out of her, even if I wanted to.

“All good, it was my realtor. I bought a new place over the weekend, and she was just giving the upd—”

The sentence came to an abrupt end as Jemma’s fingers curled around the collar of my jacket and she pressed up onto her toes, her lips brushing over mine. A beat of surprise passed; she started to pull away but I wrapped an arm around her back and brought her clean against my chest. Her body, which I’d been fantasizing about for over a week, was flush against me and my dick went rock hard in a breath. She stayed there, our lips a whisper away from one another, eyes wide and searching mine. After another endless moment, the last of the space between us disappeared and our lips crashed. Jemma’s tongue slid along my lower lip then pushed forward. She tasted like that chocolate frosting, only better. I wanted to buy a pint of the stuff and slather her in it so I could lick her clean. I groaned into her mouth as my hands slid down her back, I only just stopped myself from cupping her ass and dry humping her on the street.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails dragging over my scalp, and I stumbled back against the nearest wall, pulling her with me. She managed to leverage herself higher using my shoulders and, onlookers be damned, I slipped my hands under her thighs and lifted her up. Her legs immediately wrapped around my waist. Good girl. Even through our layers of clothing I could feel her heat.

My pulse was pounding. My head swimming with the feel of her tongue. And my knees were threatening to give way as her legs squeezed my waist.

Fucking hell, I was done for.

A chorus of wolf whistles rang out and Jemma pulled back as unexpectedly as she’d pounced. She was panting, her lips were swollen, and her cheeks were pink from the drag of my beard. I’d never seen anything as sexy in my fucking life.

She cleared her throat and unwound her legs from my waist. I set her on her feet, my fingers twitching to hold her, as she took a step back. This was better. Space was better. That got seriously carried away.

“Ah…” she started, looking anywhere but directly at me. “I’m—uh—I’m sorry. About that. I’m not sure what happened. I—”

“There’s no need to apologize, Jemma.” Her eyes snapped up to mine, all dark and needy.

“Thank you,” she said as she tucked her hair behind one ear. “But I still shouldn’t have—um—attacked you, like that. It was—unprofessional, and inappropriate and—actually, I should probably go.” With an almost pained look at me she bolted across the street.

“Jemma!” I called after her, but without a second glance back in my direction she dropped into a passing cab and was gone.

What the fuck was that?

She left.

She kissed me, and then she left.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I made my way back to my parent’s apartment and found Mom inside. Just another reason I needed to get into my own place ASAP. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to speak to her but if it was going to help in distracting me from the hot-as-fuck-middle-of-the-street kiss, then I’d go with it. Although I was sure that not even a conversation with my mother was going to be able to stop me from thinking about Jemma for more than thirty seconds. How was I supposed to not think about that kiss? That fucking kiss. That fucking kiss was something else. We’d been hot together that first night but whatever just happened was more than that. And she was right to put a stop to it, probably, I’d be more inclined to really believe it if I couldn’t still taste her on my tongue.

“There you are darling,” Mom said with a smile. She was so much like Dallas when she smiled, the two of them could be twins.

“Hey, Mom.” I pulled her into a hug. “What’s up?”

“Can’t a mother just drop in and see her son?” I raised an eyebrow and she huffed out a breath. “I heard you bought a home. When were you going to tell me, or your father? Trisha said it wasn’t any of the properties she’d been looking at for you.” Considering I hadn’t seen Dad since I got back, I wasn’t sure when she expected me to tell him. And I’d never opened the email from Trisha.

“When it became official, which it did, about a half hour ago.” It wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t need to know that. I went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and emptied half of it in one long scull. I’d been wrong about Mom being an adequate distraction. My skin was prickling and tight and I needed to get out of here.

She eyed me. “I didn’t realize that my presence required that.”

“Not about you, Mom.” Although if she stayed much longer it might be.

Her face softened. “Darling… I know it must be hard, being away from Nadia—”

“Not about Nadia either.” My tone was sharp, but I was past the point of caring.

Evidently, my mother didn’t believe me; she shook her head. “You’re going through a rough patch. It happens in every relationship, Nash, it makes them stronger, it’s not a reason to call it quits. Now I will say that buying a home without your wife may have been a touch unwise, especially if you’re already having some issues, but I’m sure she’ll be able to put her touch on it when she arrives.”

I stared at her. “Mom, as I’ve said, Nadia left. With. Another. Man.” After a slow breath I added, “It was great seeing you, but I’ve got stuff to do for the new place.”

She knew I was lying. I didn’t care.

“You should come for dinner.” So that she could tell me some more about how Nadia and I just had to work things out? No thanks.

“I’ll see what I can do but I’m pretty swamped with all of the stuff for Dallas’ wedding.”

The growl in the back of her throat told me that she wanted to call bullshit but knew she couldn’t. I tried not to look too smug about it as I walked her to the door.

As soon as I was alone, I immediately thought of Jemma. I wanted to call her, but it probably wasn’t the best idea. Kissing her back probably hadn’t been the best idea, either, but there was no way I was going to regret it. Well, maybe I would if she went and ghosted me. But in that moment, with her so close and her hands gripping my collar, I wouldn’t have pushed her away if someone had paid me.

I had a feeling I was in trouble.

THERE WAS a moment when Chase opened the door that I thought I had the wrong apartment. She looked like a serial killer. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head and her face was obscured by a sheet mask. I knew what it was, and yet, in that moment my heart beat just a little harder because part of me thought I was about to die. And if anyone could take down someone at least one and a half times their size, it was Chase. I would never admit that to her though.

I held up the bag of her favorite fried chicken and she might have smiled behind the mask, I couldn't be sure, before waving me in. I followed down the short hall into her living room, which was quintessentially Chase. Not Chase on the outside, but inside, the girl she didn’t always let people see. The low emerald green couch was littered with cushions, and I noticed a collection of dirty dishes on an end table.

“Not a word,” she said, “it is my day off and this is how I spend it. You want to judge me, you know where the door is—but do not even think that you are leaving with that Dirty Bird.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I took a seat and started unloading the chicken and sides across the coffee table that was topped with a vintage world map. Chase disappeared and I heard the faucet going before she came back looking like herself again.

“So…” she started, dropping down beside me with two beers. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m mad about having a surprise delivery from Dirty Bird.”

“Is that why you let me in?”

“To say the drumsticks had no bearing would be a lie.” She grinned and plucked a drumstick from the bucket between us. I fished out the other and took a bite. I almost groaned as the flavors exploded over my tongue. Spicy, salty and hot. I tried to pick out all the individual elements of the seasoning but knew I was coming up short. It was going to annoy me for days. The bottom line, though—it was damn good chicken.

As I marveled at the elegant simplicity of fried chicken, I considered Chase’s question. I didn’t actually know why I was here. I left the apartment because I was pacing and driving myself crazy. But I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to talk. I definitely didn’t want to talk about whatever the hell had happened with Jemma today.

“Jemma kissed me.” Or maybe I did.

The fork of mashed potatoes and gravy paused halfway to Chase’s mouth and she turned her all too attentive gaze on me.

“When did this happen?”

“Earlier.”

“How did this happen?”

I scratched my cheek through my beard. “We had a cake tasting.”

“Ah,” she hummed, like that explained it all. I guess it kind of did.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t expecting—” I shook my head. “It obviously shouldn’t happen again, right?”

“Right,” she agreed without missing a beat and took the mouthful of potatoes and gravy. Right. I wasn’t in a place to be starting any kind of relationship with anyone. I hadn’t dealt with the end of my marriage. I had spoken to Nadia once in the six weeks since she walked out. Once in six weeks, after over five years of marriage. I didn’t really know how I felt about that. But I did know I wasn’t ready for something else. It didn’t matter that the air felt charged whenever I was around Jemma. It didn’t matter that I was cooking and enjoying food more now than I had in years.

“Unless…” Chase’s smiling voice pulled me out of my head.

“No, I don’t think there is an unless, Chase.”

“You have already been there,” she said in her hear-me-out-don’t-be-a-moron tone.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“She seems cool.”

“She is, but that doesn’t make it a good idea.”

She took another bite of chicken, thoughtful eyes not straying from me. “What happened with Nadia, Nash?”

I should have expected this question was coming and yet hearing it still made me pause.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it yet,” she said before I could answer. “I guess I just want you to know I’m here. I know I’ve been a bitch about things in the past but I love you like a brother, Nashville, and I hate seeing you sad and lost.”

My throat got tight, and I blinked back the moisture that quickly collected at the corners of my eyes. “Thanks Chase.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her sideways, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. I’d missed her.

We sat on her small couch for the rest of the night, eating chicken and potatoes and watching teen dance movies on Netflix. Chase didn’t ask about Nadia or Jemma, and I didn’t say anything else. But just being there with an old friend was enough to settle the swarm of bees in my chest. For a time at least.

TWO DAYS later and I still hadn’t heard from Jemma. I hadn’t called her either, because what the hell would I say? Hey, we kissed the other day and I know it was a bad idea, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Not happening.

Her radio silence sucked and made me want to climb the walls, but I had plenty to distract me.

As it turned out, setting up a new home was a standout way to keep busy. I had a whole apartment of stuff back in LA, but half of it was Nadia’s and we hadn’t really discussed what we’d be doing with it when she left. I was more than happy to forget any of it existed and start fresh.

So, I went shopping.

Dallas, naturally, volunteered to help and dragged me through countless stores. Everything was set to be delivered next Saturday because Skye had confirmed she’d be able to get the keys to me by the Friday.

We’d bought a bed, a dining table and chairs, a sideboard that Dallas insisted was essential in my new entryway, two couches, a new washer and dryer, a huge television and a bunch of other stuff I’d already forgotten about. Dallas assured me that she didn’t forget anything. Considering the dent on my credit card, I believed her.

Now I just had to wait patiently to get the keys. And to hear from Jemma. I really thought she would have called by now. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d been immersed in the wedding planning. At least, that was what I assumed she’d been doing, considering I’d been creeping on her spreadsheet as a way to see what she was up to. I had lowered myself to spreadsheet stalking and I wasn’t even that embarrassed about it.

The more space I got, though, the more I was sure that it was for the best that she stopped things when she did. As much as I wanted to think I had restraint where Jemma was concerned, that kiss proved otherwise. A cold turkey break was exactly what I needed. And I’d still been able to cook. Granted, I’d been thinking about what Jemma would think while I was doing it, but still, progress was progress.

NINETEEN

JEMMA

“SO, when you say you attacked him…” Darcy prompted, handing me a glass of Prosecco.

“I mean I attacked him. On the street. In broad daylight.” I took a long gulp to distract myself from the way my insides liquefied at the thought of the kiss and choked on the onslaught of bubbles down my throat.

“How the hell have you managed to keep that juicy little nugget of information to yourself for two days?”

“What did I miss?” Harley asked as Darcy let her in, took the two pizza boxes from her hands and set them on the coffee table. I took a slice of pepperoni and ate in silence. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Oh nothing, just Jem mauling Nash on Orchard Street on Tuesday.”

“I fucking knew it!” Harley cackled. “I knew there was no way you were going to last until after the wedding. But that’s even quicker than I thought. Yes, Jem. Yes.” She dropped down beside me and took a slice of pizza.

“It was a mistake,” I said around my mouthful.

“A mistake? Why the fuck would it be a mistake?”

“Because we are working together. Because it was unprofessional. And because Dallas is paying me to plan her wedding, not try and shag her brother on Orchard Street.”

“I don’t know Dallas, but I’m pretty sure she’d be okay with it.” Harley shrugged. I did know Dallas and I was pretty sure she’d be okay with it, too. But I was not going to say that to Harley. It had also been a mistake because it reinforced how little control I had over myself when Nash was around. One second, he’d been talking about buying a flat and the next I’d quite literally thrown myself at him. It was mortifying. Or it would have been had he not reciprocated so enthusiastically. Heat tingled down my spine at the memory of his taste on my tongue. I took another bite of pizza.

“How was it?” Darcy asked.

“How was what?”

“The cake.” Harley rolled her eyes. “The kiss. How was the fucking kiss? As our friend, you are duty bound to provide adequate detail.”

“Oh, am I?”

“She’s right,” Darcy said. “It’s part and parcel of the girl code.” Sure it was.

“He tasted like chocolate buttercream frosting.”

Harley moaned. “I just got a little wet.”

“Oh my god, Harley! You are a deviant!” I slapped her shoulder.

“I’m a sweet tooth, so shoot me.”

I took another bite of pizza to stall but it was clear the pair of them would only be put off for so long.

“It was the best kiss of my life. Is that what you both want to hear?” I huffed out a sigh. “He picked me up and I was wrapped around his waist in the middle street. It was… hot.” They both whistled.

“And you’re still maintaining that it was a mistake?” Darcy asked with a slow shake of her head. “What happened afterwards?”

I groaned, reliving the memory in vivid detail. “I legged it.”

“What?” They chorused.

“I left. Ran across the street and jumped into the first taxi that drove past.” Neither of them quite knew what to say to that confession. They didn’t need to say anything, I knew it was ridiculous and had probably made the entire situation even more awkward than it was in the first place. I just kept making an ass of myself with him. First the panic attack. Then the kiss I had zero control over. It wasn’t normal.

“Okay, that was not what I thought you were going to say,” Harley said. “My money was on a quick fuck in the nearest public restroom.”

“Harley! That’s disgusting.”

“When the itch needs scratching.” She shrugged and took another slice of pizza. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Not in a public restroom.” I didn’t even like using public restrooms for their intended use, let alone shagging in one. “My god, it is a miracle you have not contracted some kind of terminal disease.”

“Excuse me, but I am the poster girl for safety first. I’ve never even had a pregnancy scare.”

My chest gave an uncomfortable squeeze as a swarm of feelings rose up. Three years. It didn’t matter that I knew it was the right thing to do. That it was all I could do to save myself. The guilt still ate away at me, nibbling around the edges of organs, leaving me looking fine from the outside but not quite whole underneath. I could still hear all the names those strangers called as Mrs. Snyder escorted me past them and inside the clinic. The smell of bleach and disinfectant that someone had tried to cover with citrus and mint.

Neither Darcy nor Harley knew much of anything about my past with Jonah, let alone the sad result of my mistakes. Why bring up a life that never was? It still hurt too much. Don’t think about it. I stared into my lap, willing my heart to slow down.

“So, you left and haven’t spoken to him since?” Darcy said, perching on the coffee table.

Right, we weren’t talking about that old mistake, we were talking about my brand new one. “That’s correct.”

“Why the freak out?”

“Part of it was because we were on the street. Part of it was just that I was ashamed, I guess, and embarrassed. And I didn’t know what to do.” Two days later and I still didn’t know what to do.

“You take him back to your apartment and have your way with him,” Harley said and threw her hands in the air.

“That’s one option,” Darcy agreed with a laugh. “Or you could just talk to him.”

“And say what?”

She rolled her eyes. “That you’re into him? That you want to plan his sister’s wedding and fuck him senseless at the same time.”

“That’s not happening.” I shook my head. That was absolutely not happening. Absolutely. Not. Happening.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” they said together, before Darcy added, “And it’s clear you’re not going to change your mind about it, so we’re not going to bug you about it.”

“We’re not?” Harley’s eyebrows jumped up her forehead.

“No, we’re not.”

Great, that was great. I didn’t want them to try and change my mind, because I knew I was right. Tuesday was a mistake. One that I did not plan on repeating. And I was going to say that to Nash, as soon as I worked up the courage to speak to him.

I PINNED my phone between my ear and shoulder, hoping it didn’t fall into beans I was stirring, as Fleur, my florist, continued to think out loud. She did it a lot. Half of our conversations required very little from me in the speaking department.

When we first spoke a week ago, I was sorely tempted to crack a joke about a florist named Fleur. The fact that she was one of the only ones to take my call after I told her the date of the wedding made me hold my tongue.

“I’ve got some ideas, but I was wondering if it would be possible to see the venue before I start nailing things down?” She asked.

“Yes, of course, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” I just needed to hope that she wouldn’t want to see it today. It was a Friday, and for some reason I thought the chances of Nash being at Rudi Blue, and me having to see him and talk to him and not die of embarrassment for mauling him in the street, were too high. Definitely not going today. Not that I was avoiding Nash or anything. Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Wonderful, how about this afternoon? Is that too short notice?” Bugger. But she was pulling off a wedding in a matter of weeks, I couldn’t really complain about anything being short notice at this point.

“Not at all. Let me give the venue a call and I’ll confirm with you. Does that sound okay?”

“That’s perfect, Jemma, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Fuckity fuck. Bollocks. I guessed I was going to Rudi Blue today.

I arrived twenty minutes before I was due to meet Fleur. My first visit hadn’t exactly been productive, seeing as I was fantasizing about beating Nash with his own severed arm, so I needed to do a little scouting myself. The photos they had online were good, but didn’t really do the place justice, and it had a vibe about it that no amount of photos was ever going to capture. Old, understated, and full of personality and stories. It even smelled old, but not in a mothball kind of way, more like life. When I had time post-wedding, it might even become my new favorite place.

The open space was filled with the low hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glass. And, despite not knowing exactly what Fleur had in mind, I could already imagine greenery transforming the space into an urban oasis.

“Jemma, good to see you again,” Mack said with a smile over the heads of a few customers as I approached the bar. The man really had nailed the whole hot as hell vagabond thing. He pushed a handful of unruly blond curls off his forehead. “I wasn’t expecting you until four.”

“I haven’t had a chance to come and really get a feel for the space, I figured now was the time.”

He lifted his blond stubbled chin. “Mi Casa, su casa.”

“Thanks.” I pushed away from the bar and went to explore.

As I remembered from my brief visit, the rooftop was nothing short of perfection. A crisp, early autumn breeze ruffled my hair and I stood with my face turned up to the sun, breathing in the scents of the city. The surrounding buildings pressed in on all sides and yet somehow all I could see was sky. All I could feel was space. It was nothing short of magic.

I made my way back downstairs to the kitchen, which was locked up. Weird. I made a mental note to ask Nash about it—when I spoke to him.

“How are things going with the wedding planning?” Mack asked from behind me.

“Pretty well, all things considered.” Or they had been until I went and threw myself at my assistant. The look on his face told me he knew more about Nash and I than I would like him to. Did he know about the kiss? I needed to think about something else.

“How do you know Nash?”

“School. And you?” The left side of his mouth ticked up. Oh, he definitely knew something.

“Dallas. She told me I’d plan her wedding the day we met, and here we are.” I felt the need to add, “I’m not a wedding planner.”

“I guess it’s a good thing the two of you make such a good team then, huh?” He grinned, it was a little lopsided and made his blue eyes dance.

“Yep, we’re great, a great team,” I agreed with a stiff nod. No more talking about Nash, I had work to do. But before I could excuse myself and escape back to the rooftop my body registered that Nash had entered the building, because my body could do that, apparently. A tingle ran down the length of my spine and I was sure it was because he was looking at me. Be unaffected. Oh yes, because that was definitely an option after our kiss the other day.

Nash and Mack shared a hug that included some back slapping and a fist bump. I watched on and tried not to stare. How did Nash get more attractive every time I saw him? It was inhumane. The bro hug ended, and Nash turned his attention on me. I wasn’t ready for it. I was still absorbing the view of his arse in yet another spectacular pair of jeans, he had on a baseball shirt that was stretched lovingly over his chest and shoulders. Stop looking, Jemma, eyes up.

“Hey Jemma.” His greeting was casual enough but the look in his eye was not. Oh Hell. Was he angry? Was it the kiss? Or my hasty exit? Or the fact I had been radio silent since? Who was I kidding, it was probably all of the above. And what did I expect? That I could do all that and then just pick up where we were before, and everything would be okay? I was an idiot.

“Hello.” I cleared my throat. “Hi, how are you?”

He pressed his lips together, like he was trying to keep from laughing—what was funny? Before I could ask, he threw an arm out and gestured around the bar. “So, what are your thoughts, boss?”

Yes, it was for the best to keep things focused on work. “It’s brilliant. I can totally see it,” I said, excited but suspicious about whatever was going on in his head. Also, my stomach was rolling with anxious anticipation. Having some time in the space had made everything else feel a little more real, which was terrifying, if I was being honest. Before I started too far down the stress spiral, the door swung open. The woman who walked in was tall and slim with a fifties blow wave and a bold red lip. Her navy-blue dress had a sweetheart neckline, was cinched at the waist and hit right at her knees. If someone had asked me what Fleur the florist looked like, this was it. “That’ll be Fleur.”

“The florist’s name is Fleur?” One of Nash’s eyebrows arched upwards, and I bit my lip. Do. Not. Smile.

“Don’t,” I said out of the side of my mouth as the two men shared a look. I ushered her over and she started taking in the space immediately, until she clapped eyes on Mack and Nash, at which point she stopped dead and broke into the kind of smile that, even as a straight woman, it took me a second to recover from.

“Nash, Mack, this is Fleur Castillo.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said, holding out a hand to each of them in turn. She was such a lady. I fidgeted with the edge of my cardigan, feeling about as attractive as a sack of potatoes in comparison.

After blinding both men (and me) with her winning smile, Fleur took a swift spin around the venue; she made notes, muttered to herself and snapped photos. Ten minutes later she was gone with promises to send some preliminary ideas in the next few days.

“I’m excited!” She beamed at me, holding both of my hands in hers.

“Me too,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster in the moment. She tinkled her fingers at me and left in a cloud of various floral scents. What was I supposed to do now? I should probably just leave, but doing so without saying goodbye would probably, definitely, be rude. And my grandmother did not stand for rudeness.

Mack and Nash had taken up their positions at the bar. The former looked up as I approached. “Can I get you anything?”

“Uh, no, thank you. I should—um, I’m going to go. I’ll leave you two to it.” I fidgeted.

“No worries. It was good to see you, Jemma. Give me a call if you need anything else.” I shook his outstretched hand, which I noted he held for a second or two longer than was strictly necessary, while darting a look at Nash. What was going on there?

“You too, Mack. And I will, thank you.” Nash wasn’t even looking at me, my insides squirmed. “Okay, well…” The sentence trailed off, what was wrong with me? I just needed to get out of here. I would speak to Nash and clear the air, but it wasn’t going to happen with Mack right there smirking at me. I did not need an audience for that embarrassment.

“What is wrong with you?” I growled under my breath as I marched out onto the street. I was sure there had been a time when I knew how to behave around people in general. I blamed Nash; he scrambled my brain.

“Jemma!” No. No, no, no. I needed to get out of here and not have to speak to Nash about being a monumental loser. Okay, so that might have been a touch melodramatic, but I still didn’t need to have his effortless confidence and grace dangled under my nose when I was feeling my most scrambled. I forced a smile onto my face and turned.

“Hey, what’s up?” It only sounded a tiny bit strangled. He stopped a few steps short of me and there wasn’t a chance for him to respond to my question before my mouth went rogue. “I’m sorry about Tuesday. I wanted to say it in there, but with Mack, it seemed—uh—Anyway, I shouldn’t have—it was—” Stop talking, Jemma. But also, get it together.

“What are you apologizing for? Kissing me? Ditching me in the street? Or ghosting me?” He tipped his head to the right, eyes darting over my face.

“I didn’t ghost you. You didn’t call me either.” My chin pressed up.

“I wasn’t the one who bailed.” He had me there. “So which is it?”

“All of the above?” There was no reason for it to be a question, and yet it still came out that way. I chewed on my lip.

“I don’t want you to apologize for all of the above.” He closed the space between us and my heart rattled madly against my ribs.

“No?” It was more of a breath than a word. Was he about to kiss me? Did I want that to happen? No. Well, yes, of course I did, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea. Despite knowing this, every nerve ending was straining toward him. I swayed ever so slightly.

“No.” That one word, that single rumbled syllable, coated my insides in liquid heat. His eyes swept over my face again before resting on my mouth for three long seconds. “I’m not going to kiss you, Jemma.”

The small gasp that escaped in response made the left corner of his lips kick up and I swallowed. Lord help me. Did this mean that he wanted me to kiss him? Or did he think it was a mistake too? That look didn’t say mistake. It said trouble, and let’s get naked. His smile turned wolfish; he knew exactly how much I wanted his mouth on mine.

Sod it.

In the same moment I grabbed the front of his shirt, one arm curled around my back and the last space between us melted away. The first touch was barely a brush of lips, but it lit a fire that burned down my center. The brush became a press. And then his tongue was teasing the seam of my lips before sinking inside my mouth and I couldn’t have stopped the moan if I tried.

I wasn’t sure if it started on the street outside Honey and Crumb or on our first night together, but I was an addict, needy and desperate for my next hit. I swept my tongue into his mouth and decided beer had never tasted as good as it did on his tongue. My fingers found their way into his hair, nails dragging over his skull, and I earned a satisfying grunt.

Just as I was starting to feel lightheaded Nash broke our kiss and I braced myself against his chest to stop from collapsing into a puddle of lust on the pavement.

“Fuck you taste just as sweet as I remember,” he purred, and my knees came dangerously close to giving way. My only response was a tiny moan as he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. Why were we not kissing anymore?

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Wh— what?” I gaped.

Without another word he turned and marched back inside Rudi Blue, head hanging as he squeezed the back of his neck.

I stood there, staring after him, for what felt like ten minutes, trying to process what just happened. Was it a test? Or payback for Tuesday? Was I supposed to go after him? Did he want me to go after him? He didn’t look like he wanted me to go after him. Did I want to go after him? I straightened my spine. No. I mean yes, obviously, I wanted to go after him. I wanted to kiss him until I couldn’t remember my own name. But I still didn’t think any of this was a good idea. Damn him for tempting me to kiss him. Damn me for not being able to resist.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

TWENTY

NASH

JEMMA KISSED ME AGAIN.

Despite telling myself that nothing else was going to happen—that nothing else could or should happen—because we needed to keep things professional, the second I saw her I knew that was all bullshit. I wanted her, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I’d never felt so fucking conflicted about anything in my life and it was going to drive me mad.

When she bolted from Honey and Crumb on Tuesday, I was shocked, but part of me was also relieved. Until I didn’t think I was going to hear from her. I was worried that was it. I’d lost my food muse. But then I refused to let her go so easily, so when I realized she was going to be at Rudi Blue—because of course she updated the spreadsheet—I followed.

And then, she kissed me.

I hadn’t intended on that happening. I just wanted to clear the air, but her lips were a drug, one I would happily lose myself in entirely. I almost didn’t have the strength to pull away from her, the temptation to stay there kissing her for the rest of the day, for the rest of my life, was very real. But it was still a mistake, wasn’t it?

Pursuing anything with Jemma was not a good idea. We were working together, there had been zero resolution between Nadia and I, and Jemma clearly had baggage that was still fucking with her. On paper it was a recipe for disaster. In reality it might be too. The potential for it to go bad was absolutely there. But as much as my head was telling me to keep my hands to myself, other parts (and not just the ones in my pants) were urging me forward, toward her. She was like a beacon.

She had worked her way well and truly under my skin. I’d be an idiot, and a liar, if I tried to deny it. I was curious about her. Our chemistry had me in a constant state of anticipation. I wanted more, and not just to touch her skin, but discover what made her tick too. But could I trust myself to follow my gut?

“Whoa, what just happened out there?” Mack asked as I walked back inside. I gave him a noncommittal shrug. I’d never been one to kiss and tell, and my head was way too fucked up to really put anything into words.

What was I going to do now? Was it a bad idea to try and get her alone? Almost certainly. Was I still thinking of ways to do it anyway? You bet. Could I ask her to help me study for the celebrant stuff? And then we could end up making out on her couch. I didn’t actually care how it started, so long as it ended with making out on the couch, or in bed, preferably in bed. It already felt like too long since I’d had Jemma laid out in bed. Yeah, there was no way she would agree to help me study. Although maybe I needed to put some effort into that plan because the thought of her all done up like a teacher had my jeans feeling tight for the second time in five minutes.

“When do you get into the new place?” Mack asked, dragging me out of my head.

“End of next week, you angling for an invitation?” I winked.

“I expect a grand tour.”

I snorted into my pint.

“So, what’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” I answered too quickly. “I don’t fucking know, man. I shouldn’t want anything to happen with her, should I? Things are complicated enough.”

“I guess, but there’s obviously something there. Even when you’re both being awkward the tension is still fucking hot.”

I nodded, glad that I wasn’t imagining that crackle between us. “We’re working together, that’s how it should stay. Shit is still raw after Nadia. And she’s got her own stuff.” And we should leave it right there, at kissing, and not let things go any further. Only, I really wanted them to go further. Did she?

“You’re not working together for long though. And everyone has their shit, Nash. You just gotta decide if whatever it is between you is enough to weather it,” he said with an easy shrug.

“That’s very wise of you, Milton.”

He nailed me in the shoulder. “Dude, do not fucking call me Milton. And I’ll have you know I’m wise as shit. But I’ve also got a business to run, so I’m gonna have to leave you to your pining.”

“I’m not pining.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He smirked and held his hand out for me to slap as I stood. Okay, so maybe I was pining, just a little.

I DIDN’T NEED to be at Cream and Sugar bright and early the following morning, and yet here I was. I’d held off for one night and when she was the first thing in my head when I woke up, I figured there was no fighting it. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t capable of keeping my hands to myself. So, as much as I wanted to grab her the minute I walked into the cafe and taste the skin behind her ear, I buried my hands in my pockets and went straight to the counter to order a coffee instead. Harley grinned at me, her wild, dark curls bouncing as she moved.

“Morning, hot stuff, what can I getcha?” I felt bad for any unsuspecting men who walked in here hoping to walk out with a simple coffee. This girl could probably bring most to their knees. Her curls made her look sweet and innocent, but those eyes and lips spelled trouble with a capital T.

I leaned on the counter. “What’s good?”

She dropped her head to one side and her smile curled into something predatory. “It’s all good.”

“Surprise me then.”

“Will do. You headin’ back?” Her chin lifted to the pass, through which I could see Jemma moving around in the kitchen beyond.

“I am.” Whether she wanted me there or not.

“I’ll bring it in.” She winked and turned to the next guy who walked in behind me. He stuttered out an order as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

I pulled my attention away from the vixen behind the coffee machine and went back to the kitchen. It smelled of simmering tomatoes, chilies, bacon, and toasting bread. Jemma moved around the space with her now familiar efficiency, oblivious to the fact I watched from the door until she placed three plates on the pass and whistled.

“Oh, hey.” Her eyes darted over my face and lower. She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

“This seems to be our planning HQ, I thought I’d drop by.”

Harley deposited my mug on the pass as she took the plates. Nerves started tightening my gut.

“Your timing is quite good actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, peeking sideways at me. “I’ve got a couple of photographers coming in today to have a chat.”

“A chat?” I sipped my coffee.

“Well, I didn’t want to call it an ‘interview’, that sounds so formal.”

“And you were just going to pick one without me?” I gripped my chest in mock offense, and she bit her lip, clearly unsure what to say.

“Jemma, I’m kidding. I did the filtering to make your job easier, remember?”

“Uh—Yeah, I remember.” Her cheeks went pink. “And well, I didn’t—” She cleared her throat. ”I mean we haven’t exactly been—it’s been awkward, right?”

I shrugged, I guess it had the potential to be awkward but I sure as hell didn’t feel that when I was around her. I felt pretty much anything but awkward.

“Nothing needs to be awkward…”

A tint of concern was clouding her usually bright blue eyes. It made me want to kiss all those worries away. But I was keeping my hands to myself, for the moment at least.

“It doesn’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised, eyebrows jumping.

“No, Jemma, it doesn’t.”

Her lips twisted, her teeth sinking into the lower one. If she kept doing that I wasn’t going to be able to keep my hands to myself for long. Our conversation didn’t get any further before a few more orders were thrust through the swinging doors.

Without thinking I took them and read out the meals. Jemma watched me with a bemused look on her face.

“Let’s go, Chef,” I said with a wink and took up my position at the sink. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d done dishes in the last, probably, eight years. And yet here, in Jemma’s kitchen, I’d happily wash every last one if it meant she’d keep me around.

Two hours and three ‘chats’ later—squeezed in between brunch orders—we had successfully chosen a photographer. Sadie Hall was a senior at NYU with an incredible eye and would have been my first choice even without speaking to her. I had a feeling she was Jemma’s, too, but she felt the need to carry out some due diligence. And, naturally, I respected her dedication to being thorough.

I was continually amazed at how satisfying planning this thing had been. I was even enjoying the celebrant process. If someone had told me before we sold Bailey Brick Co. that I’d suggest becoming a celebrant for my sister’s wedding I would have laughed in their face. And yet, here I was. Celebrant in the making and semi-pro wedding planner.

It was the exact kind of challenge I hadn’t even realized I needed when I got back to New York.

TWENTY-ONE

JEMMA

IF I DIDN’T GET my hands on Nash’s naked body soon, I was going to spontaneously combust.

It was still a bad idea, a terrible one even. That hadn’t changed. But there was only so much increasing tension a girl could take. I was trying not to daydream about kissing him; however, the fact I had two very recent references was not making that easy. It was driving me to absolute distraction, and I had no idea what to do about it.

Despite spending more and more time together, we had not so much as touched since the kiss outside Rudi Blue. Even still, the phantom feeling of his hands on me lingered.

All of this to say, I was appallingly frustrated, and even my favorite vibrator was doing little to ease the pressure.

“Jemma, earth to Jemma.”

My eyes snapped into focus, the picture in my head evaporating like smoke in the wind.

“Everything okay?”

Not at all. I’ve been fantasizing about the feel of your nipple under my tongue for the last ten minutes. “Of course, why?”

Nash’s eyes narrowed, concern and amusement dancing together in their depths. There was an excellent chance he knew exactly what I was thinking. “You just spaced out for a second there.”

I nodded and told myself not to look at his mouth. It didn’t work. “I was just thinking that we need to get on top of the kitchen at Rudi Blue.” It was believable, kitchens definitely had the power to make me space out.

“Already under control,” he said, a smirk lifting the left corner of his mouth. Not looking at his mouth, again.

“Good. Great. That’s great.”

“You have no idea what I was saying, do you?”

“I—what—yes.”

His smirk stretched into a grin. And I was still looking at his mouth.

“No.”

“I was saying that we should try and finalize the menu.”

“Yes, we should do that.”

“Means you’ll need to show me yours.” He wagged his eyebrows as he said it and I rolled my eyes, playing it off like I was not at all affected by him or a hot second away from throwing myself into his lap.

“Well, you have shown me yours...”

“Exactly.”

“It seems only fair.” My heart had taken off at a gallop the moment he pitched in my direction and my breathing had gone all wispy and shallow. We were leaning close, but not touching, smiling, attention darting from mouths to eyes and back again.

My attraction to this man was driving me batty. I should just tell him I’d email the menu through and go home (alone) before things got out of hand and I acted on any of the things rolling around in my head.

That’s what I should have done. I definitely shouldn’t have said, “How about you show me the progress you’ve made on the kitchen, and I’ll show you my…menu.” And yet I did. Making the word menu sound dirtier than it had any right to.

“That’s—”

“Not a euphemism,” I clarified with a wink and stood from our table, hoping some space would help to clear the lust fog that was permanently clouding my brain.

It had been particularly slow today at Cream and Sugar, even for a Monday, which meant more time to flirt with Nash—work, more time to work with Nash. More time with him (to work or flirt or stare and imagine how his tongue tasted) wasn’t really a good thing at this point, what with all the crackling tension and sidelong glances and aforementioned lust fog.

It had gotten to the point where the two of us ending up in bed together felt utterly inevitable. Would it end badly? Maybe. Almost certainly, especially considering the baggage each of us was carrying. And yet I knew I wouldn’t fight it, because at least it would serve to douse this unbearable tension.

I wouldn't be the one to break though. Nope, that wasn’t happening.

RUDI BLUE WAS STILL and quiet as Nash let us in. I hadn’t seen it completely empty, but it allowed my brain to better visualize how things would look at the wedding. The string lights. The greenery Fleur was putting together. Nervous anticipation bubbled in my stomach. This was all really happening. And soon.

It wasn’t until I watched Nash slip a set of keys into his pocket that something occurred to me.

“Where are Mack and Chase?” I asked, my voice high and reedy.

“Closed on Mondays. They sometimes come in for meetings, but not always. Why? Did you need to talk to them about something?”

“No.” I squeaked then cleared my throat. This was fine. I was alone with Nash, but this was fine. I was definitely not going to do anything stupid and impulsive like pin him to the bar and have my way with him. That wasn’t going to happen. We were on the cock— clock! We were on the clock.

“You okay?” He asked, one eyebrow raised and that infuriating, intoxicating smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I’m great. Let’s see what you’ve done with the place.” I marched across the bar to the barren kitchen.

The formerly barren kitchen.

The center of the space was dominated by a large stainless island with shelves on both sides. The sink and dishwasher were tucked into one corner. A tall, glass-doored fridge stood on one wall. More benches and shelving ran the length of another, perpendicular to the double wide hob that I swear I was going to be dreaming about later.

“Oh my god, Nash...this is incredible.” His chest bowed at the compliment, a pink tint coloring his cheeks, visible even through his beard.

I wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. It was like he’d seen inside my head and brought it to life. I’d done what I could with Cream and Sugar, but the space wasn’t truly mine, I was working within limitations. But this. This was my perfect kitchen.

“How—” I shook my head. “This is amazing, it’s perfect. I honestly didn’t think it would happen.”

“Oh ye, of little faith.”

I laughed. “No, I believed you could do it, obviously, you can do anything. But—”

“I can do anything, huh?”

Heat rushed up my neck and over my cheeks. Of course, Nash could do anything, he was driven and passionate and brilliant. But I hadn’t intended on saying it to him.

“You have truly outdone yourself,” I said, rather than acknowledge the ‘you can do anything’ comment, as I inspected the oven and fryers. “Mack and Chase are going to need to start serving food, so this doesn’t get neglected again.”

“Unlikely.” A voice said from the doorway and we both turned. “Unless either of you want to take up the torch?” Mack added with a wide grin.

“Oooh!” Chase appeared under his arm, which was braced against the doorframe. “Are you two cooking for us? I’m so hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Mack said with a fond smile at her.

“And?” She shot back, jabbing him in the ribs with the point of her elbow. He yelped and danced away from her.

Nash slid me a sidelong glance and bounced his eyebrows. Of course he wanted to cook. I pinned my lip between my teeth. I didn’t not want to cook, but cooking with Nash seemed like a temptation I was unlikely to weather well. Judging by the look on Chase’s face I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves some menu testers.”

“Yeah, we do,” he said with a grin, which hit me squarely in the chest and a little further south. “Although it means that once again you avoid having to show me your…menu.” If I thought I’d managed to make the word menu sound dirty before, I was very, very wrong. Nash’s voice wrapped around it like a caress, and not an entirely gentle one, it was raw and a little rough around the edges, raising goosebumps down my arms.

“You can still see it—I can show you,” I all but purred at him before remembering Mack and Chase were still in the vicinity. “What I mean is, if we’re going to use this as a taste test, we should take dishes from both our proposed menus. We’ll need supplies though.”

AN HOUR later the Rudi Blue kitchen, which until recently had been a sad, under-utilized dumping ground for cocktail napkins and empty beer crates, was a battlefield. Nash and I arrived back to find Chase and Mack trash talking from opposite benches.

“Did we miss something?” I whispered, edging behind Nash because I was not above using his large body as a shield should plates start flying.

“Only that these are two of the most competitive people you will ever meet and can turn literally anything into a competition.”

“You’re back! Welcome to Kitchen Stadium!” Chase hooted from her corner, bouncing on her toes, raven ponytail swinging wildly.

“Chase had a thing for the original Iron Chef during junior year.”

“It is still one of the best TV shows ever made.” She took one of the bags I was juggling and started unloading its contents.

Mack hooked me around the neck, he smelled good, not as good as Nash, but still good. Like the ocean and sunshine and trouble. “I get Jemma. Blonds v brunets.”

“Ha! I don’t think so sir.” Chase shoved at his chest until he was forced to let go and stumble back a couple of steps. “This is ladies v gents, all the way. Prepare your A-game, boys, because we are going to wipe the floor with you.”

“What are the stakes?” Nash asked.

Chase grinned as she hooked her arm through mine. “Five hundred and losers clean the kitchen.”

I opened my mouth to argue, because I wasn’t betting five hundred dollars on anything, but Nash cut me off with a concise, “Done.”

Chase pulled me over to one bench and turned our backs to the competition. “Do not be fooled by Mack, those blond curls hide a devious spirit and he is not above cheating.”

“Don’t trust Mack, got it,” I said looking over our half of the menu. I might not be a competitive person generally, but once challenged I wasn’t about to back down and I had every intention of winning this thing.

“Or Nash,” she continued, “he’ll smolder all your secrets right outta you.”

“He does smolder!”

“Of course he does. It’s his secret weapon and he will not hesitate to use it. But you are stronger than that.”

I nodded, not at all sure that I was in fact stronger than the power of Nash’s smolder. But I could be, if it meant winning.

“Don’t you go talking shit over there, Linden,” Mack said, and a lime came sailing between Chase and I.

“Stop eavesdropping, Kent. And if you throw another piece of food at me, I will end you.”

“Big words.”

“I’m holding a knife.”

The two of them continued back and forth as I shot a look over my shoulder and found Nash watching me, a smile tipping up one corner of his mouth. He winked.

And, before I could do anything else, Chase nudged me in the ribs and hissed, “Do not succumb to the smolder!”

I DID NOT SUCCUMB to the smolder. And it was not without effort.

But something else happened while we cooked. I saw a slice of Nash I hadn’t before. We didn’t know one another all that well, but I had thought I was getting to know him better. Seeing him with Chase and Mack was like peeking behind a door that, until today, I hadn’t even realized was a door. Until today, it was just a bookcase and then I leaned on something and boom!

He was different with Chase and Mack, lighter, younger. I thought I’d seen him smile before. I was wrong. With them, with his friends, those smiles didn’t just curve his lips, they split his face wide open, they brightened his eyes. And his laugh was something else altogether, deep and long, and bordering on hysterical. Twice I was sure he almost cried or was about to pee himself. And it all spelled danger for my poor, already battered, heart that I was trying so hard to protect.

With all of our food spread across the center island, and jugs of frozen margaritas thanks to Chase (she was an excellent multi-tasker), the judging began. It wasn’t so much judging as it was just eating. I had no idea how we were going to decide on a winner and not have Mack or Chase argue about it.

“Did you end up speaking to Jake?” Chase asked between mouthfuls.

“Yeah.” Nash nodded. “Seeing them tomorrow night.”

“Pipsqueaks?”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you going too, Jemma?” Chase was looking at me expectantly as I hurriedly tried to chew my mouthful of steaming potato, parmesan and truffle croquet. I shook my head, hoping it communicated that I didn’t know who Jake was, or Pipsqueaks.

Nash jumped in to clear up the confusion. “Jake is Chase’s cousin, I’m hoping his band will agree to be our entertainment.”

“Oh, that’s great,” I managed to wheeze after burning my esophagus with too-hot potato.

“You should go,” Chase said. “They’re really fun.”

A tingle of awareness traveled the length of my spine. If I said yes to this, to going along with Nash, the night could end only one way. I could see it. Feel it. And I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to keep resisting this pull.

“Sounds like a plan.”

TWENTY-TWO

NASH

PIPSQUEAKS WAS CRAMMED with bodies when Jemma and I arrived on Tuesday night.

I’d decided pretty early on that a full band would smoke a DJ, and for those in between moments—according to Jemma’s increasingly detailed schedule for the day—I would create a killer playlist. Sorted. Finding a band who were available had proved more difficult than I initially anticipated, but I would not be broken.

The Last Ashes found their way onto my radar through Chase. And after speaking to Jake, her cousin and their bassist, we decided to talk more after I’d seen them perform. I’d already watched a bunch of their stuff on YouTube and had been listening to their latest album on Spotify for two days. They were it. I just hoped that Jemma would agree.

She looked fucking incredible. Her black dress was loose but hit somewhere just above mid-thigh and every time she moved, I expected to get more of a view than she probably intended when she put the thing on. Or maybe I was just praying I would. How could I not, when her legs looked like they went on forever and I remembered all too well how they felt wrapped around my waist as she kissed me? Their length was further accentuated by a pair of black ankle boots that looked like they could kill a man. Numerous pairs of eyes followed her as we moved deeper into the club, and I had to stop myself from pulling her into my side and growling ‘mine’ at every last one of them. Not that she was mine, obviously, not even close to it.

“So, what are these guys like?” She asked, her eyes twinkling as she peered at me over the top of her beer. We’d been dancing around one another and putting up a good fight of resisting our increasing electricity, but I didn’t think it would last for much longer. I was wondering if tonight we’d finally wind up back in bed. I might even request she keep the boots on. I cleared my throat, thinking about having my head between her thighs and those boots digging into my back was not a good idea, not if I wanted to keep my hard on to myself anyway. Had she asked me a question? Yes, the band, how was the band?

“They’re great, kind of pop-rock, very danceable.” ‘Super danceable’ had been one of Dallas’ prerequisites for entertainment.

“I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant,” Jemma said with a chuckle. “But I’m sure if you think they’re right, then they’ll be great.”

“Is that so?”

“You were right about Rudi Blue.” She shrugged. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be right about this, too.”

“I appreciate the confidence.”

“Let’s not pretend that you don’t have confidence to spare.” There was something about the way she was looking at me, with that arched eyebrow, that made my chest all warm. Or maybe it was just being around her that was doing that.

The lights went down as The Last Ashes took to the stage and after a moment of wailing feedback their guitarist hit the first chord and the whole place went bananas. Danceable they were.

Jemma grinned at me across the table, drained her beer and slid off her barstool. I followed suit, emptying my beer in one long swig and shadowing her the few steps to the back of the crowd. Her blonde hair was flicking here and there, glowing in the lights from the stage as she bobbed to the music. She spun to face me, and I froze. I wasn’t a bad dancer, not by a long shot, but I didn’t know if this was an invitation to touch her or not.

Her laughter rose over the thrashing guitars. “You have got to loosen up!” She grabbed my hands and started to move, then they were on my hips making me sway.

“There you go!”

“This is terrible dancing.”

“I may not be able to star in Step Up Nine, or whatever they’re up to now, but I can keep a beat.” She could, it was taking all my restraint not to grab her hips and feel them move against me.

“Perhaps you would prefer some bad white girl dancing?” Before I was able to ask what ‘bad white girl dancing’ entailed, exactly, she dropped into a crouch, popped her ass in the air—giving me a tantalizing peak of black lace—and flicked herself back to standing, hands sliding into her hair and then up over her head. The action lifted the edge of her dress so high I was sure I was about to get a glimpse of the heaven between her thighs. Holy fucking shit. Bad white girl dancing looked really fucking good on her. But apparently, she wasn’t done, her hands returned to her hair before sliding south as she swayed her way closer to me in the tight space available. Just as I was sure my brain was going to short circuit, thanks to literally all my blood currently pulsing through my cock, she started laughing.

“Sorry! I didn’t realize it was that bad.” One hand was braced against my chest as she said it, her lips grazing my ear so I could hear over the cacophony.

“Not bad,” I bit out and she tipped her head to the side.

“Then why do you look like you’re in pain?”

Because I was in pain. She was fucking killing me, and she didn’t even know it. I glanced down at her. Maybe she did know it. Her lips curled up into a sly smile and fingers walked higher up my chest.

“I look like I’m in pain because my cock has never been as hard as it got just then watching you dance.” She licked her lips. Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing. My nerves tightened in anticipation as my heart thundered.

“Kiss me then.” Her voice had gone all husky. I hesitated as her fingers slid up the back of my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. There was no fighting this. She smiled against my lips and then I felt the vibration as she moaned into my mouth. Fuck. She tasted like beer and something sweet that was just her. Her flavor was everything. How did it get better every time we kissed? I pulled her flush against my chest, and she moaned again, pressing herself against my straining cock. Jesus I was in danger of blacking out due to sensory overload.

Jemma pulled back just enough to ghost her mouth over mine. “Was this your plan?”

I smiled, “My plan? You’re the one seducing me.”

Her head tipped back as she laughed. I took the opportunity to suck on the skin behind her ear. I’d been fantasizing about that spot for over a week.

“As much as I’d like to drag you out of here immediately, we should probably stick around and make sure these guys aren’t one hit wonders.” Her fingers tunneled into my hair as she said it, holding my head in place at her neck.

And as much as I wanted to disagree with her, I couldn’t. I’d also told Jake that we’d catch up for a beer after the show. So, it looked as though we were sticking around, for the moment at least.

It was difficult to be disappointed about it when Jemma spun in my arms and started dancing again, her perfect ass grazing over my cock every time her hips swayed this way or that. If she kept this up there was no way I would be able to make it to her place. I was going to come in my pants where I stood.

“Another beer?” I asked against her ear, once again taking advantage of her exposed neck and sucking her skin, it wasn’t the spot I wanted to be sucking, but it would do for the time being. She shivered in my arms and nodded.

We weaved through the crowd to the bar and Jemma leaned against the timber within the cage of my arms; I was pretty sure she was arching her back and grinding her ass into me on purpose. The smirk she shot over her shoulder confirmed my suspicion.

“You okay back there, mate?” She asked.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turned to the bar, and I curled myself around her back, one hand drifting down her side until it reached the edge of her dress. My fingers grazed the skin of her thigh and she stiffened. Not so funny now, sweet thing. The bartender was taking her order as my fingers continued their exploration. When they made it to the already soaked lace of her underwear, I swallowed a groan as she bucked backward against me. Maybe this beer wasn’t such a good idea, I’d much prefer to drag her out of here and into a cab. Before I could suggest just that, Jemma thrust a pint into my hand and marched off to the closest empty table. I noticed that her cheeks were a little pink as she sipped her beer.

“You okay over there, sweet thing?”

Her eyes dragged up to meet mine, and I didn’t mistake the heat behind them. She nodded, licking her full, pouting lips.

“Just thinking about how good it’s going to feel with your cock in my mouth later.”

I choked on my mouthful of IPA, unprepared for the statement and the lust in her voice as she said it. She smirked, clearly enjoying undoing whatever small amount of composure I had left. But, now the thought was in my head, all I could think about was the warm, wet slide of her tongue on me. Fuck.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“You bet I do.”

She smiled, a wide, warm, genuine smile and my chest hurt, like physically ached because something I hadn’t known was missing just snapped into place. I’d known this woman for all of two and a half weeks and yet there was a rightness and a comfort and a fire that I hadn’t felt in all those years with Nadia. It scared the absolute shit out of me. But not enough that I wouldn’t take her home and eat her pussy until she coated my beard. That was definitely still happening.

We tumbled into the Lyft and, as soon as the door closed, Jemma’s hands and mouth were on me. All of the tension that had been building since brunch with Dallas was spilling over and it was all I could do to not explode in the back of a Prius. She was all warm and soft and her mouth was driving me crazy. I almost felt sorry for the Lyft driver, the thought of him watching us in the rear-view mirror was enough for me to slow us down. Thankfully, we were only a few blocks from Jemma’s place.

She was out of the car before we’d even come to a complete stop, dragging me along behind her. My mind was little more than a hum of lust and need, I couldn’t think of anything but touching her. Hands and mouths busy, we made it in the front door, and I wasted no time in pressing her against it. Relishing in the feel of her tongue along mine and the tiny sounds she let slip.

With one hand on my chest, she broke our kiss, shoving me back, her chest rising and falling in a pant as she gazed up at me.

I was done for. “So fucking beautiful.”

Her teeth sunk into her plump lower lip. It killed me when she did that. There was too much space between us. I stepped into her, pulling her lip free of her teeth with my thumb. My hand lingered on her cheek and her wide blue eyes searched mine. Now that we were here, I had no intention of rushing. We had all night. And tomorrow morning. And more.

She pressed up onto her toes and I met her halfway. She smelled of beer and her shampoo; my cologne was there, too, but it was so much better when it was mixed with her skin. Her lips met mine in a slow, drugging kiss and a low groan rolled up my throat. My fingers slid into her hair, and she let out a sigh that, if possible, made my cock harder than it already had been.

“As much as I’d like to stay here—”

“We should go upstairs,” I finished for her.

She hummed against my lips. “Unless you’re keen to perform for an audience.” Her eyes darted to Marion’s door.

“She’s not…?”

She smiled that wide open smile at me and I lifted her onto my waist, those perfect fucking legs curled around me.

“Oh yeah, she’s a total perv. Good night Mrs. S…” She called, and although there wasn’t an answer, I was sure I heard a low chuckle behind the door.

I climbed the stairs with Jemma dragging her nails over my scalp and sucking at my neck. I nearly dropped her when she hit the spot at the junction of my neck and shoulder. Her tongue felt insanely good there.

I fumbled with her keys as she continued to mark my neck with her mouth. Finally, we were back inside her apartment and as soon as the door closed behind us her feet were back on the ground and her hands were busy with my jeans. I wanted to take it slow but the heat of her hand as it pushed into my boxers was more than I was able to resist.

We were a tangle of hands and mouths and panting breaths as she pushed down my jeans and did a small shuffle that I realized had been her taking off her panties.

“I need you. Now.” It was more of a growl than actual words and then she jumped back onto my waist. Her thighs squeezed, pressing the raw heat of her against my stomach. She swallowed my groan in a messy kiss.

I’d had every intention of taking things slow, to savor the moment of having Jemma like this again. I had wanted her naked at the very least, but I was not about to deny a woman in need. I spun and pinned her against the wall as her tongue swept deeper into my mouth. And my knees threatened to give way.

By the time I got the condom on she was begging and grinding, and I couldn’t hold off any longer even if I wanted to.

“Yes, Nash,” she cried as I pushed into her and my brain short circuited for a beat because she felt even better than I remembered.

“Fuck, Jem.”

“More,” she moaned against my mouth. And who was I to deny her? As her thighs squeezed me so did her pussy and if she kept doing that, I was going to lose my fucking mind—real quick. I’d thought, dreamed, fantasized about this since that first night but all of those memories were poor imitations of the reality of having Jemma like this again.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails scraping my scalp, and it sent a burst of heat down my spine, tightening my balls.

“Please, Nash, please.” She sucked on my lip.

“Please what?”

“Harder.” Her back hit the wall with a thump as I complied, and she moaned. It wasn’t graceful. Or gentle. But it was so good I nearly blacked out as I came.

I braced myself against the wall, breathing hard and nowhere near done with her. But whatever happened next, I needed her in bed.

Despite the only light coming from the open blinds, I covered the small space with ease. Jemma’s lips came back to mine, slower but no less heated. I lowered her onto the bed and went to deal with the condom. By the time I got back she was kneeling on the bed completely naked and my mouth watered. She pulled me down onto the bed, straddling my thighs and I took one of those tight peaks into my mouth and sucked, hard.

“Yes.” Her skin was hot, and goosebumps broke out as I cupped her ass and squeezed. More, fuck I needed more of her. I needed all of her. But now I was going to take my time.

“Tell me what you want, sweet thing,” I said against her stiff left nipple, bringing a hand up to massage the right. Her hips rocked, grinding against me.

“I want you naked,” she panted, and I ripped my shirt off. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” Her voice was low and husky, a plea, as her hands explored my chest and abs.

I groaned. “Oh, I’ll get there, sweet thing, don’t you worry about that. But where do you want me to start?”

Her hips rolled.

“Everywhere.” She repeated before capturing my mouth in a rough, possessive kiss.

I was a fucking goner.

TWENTY-THREE

JEMMA

MY FIRST THOUGHT when I woke up, before I’d even managed to open my eyes, was: man, I am hungry, quickly followed by: is that Nash’s dick pressed against my bum? I peeked over my shoulder, to confirm that last night hadn’t been some kind of perfect hallucination and found Nash gloriously naked and sleeping soundly beside me. A shiver skittered down my spine as my mind played back a few moments from the night before.

I’d never experienced the kind of raw want and synchronicity that I did with him. It was exhilarating, and kind of scary, that he could play my body the way he did, having only known me for two short weeks. Who was I kidding, though, it was like that on the first night, too. He just seemed to know. We worked. We fit. But I was still hungry, and I needed to pee, so I eased myself out of bed as smoothly as possible and tiptoed to the bathroom.

After relieving myself I brushed my teeth and washed my face, rinsing away the remnants of last night’s make up. I thought of Dallas and my gut twisted. Should I tell her about last night? It probably wasn’t necessary. So, we slept together. Twice. That wasn’t a big deal. Only, was it past tense? I looked in the mirror, there was no way I was going to be able to not sleep with him again now. One orgasm train could be written off as a fluke, a second might be a coincidence, I probably owed it to myself, and my vagina, to see if there was a pattern here. But it wasn’t going to be affecting the wedding planning because I was, above all, a professional, so Dallas really didn’t need to know.

I pulled on a t-shirt and knickers before tip-toeing to the kitchen. It wasn’t long after six—because I was largely incapable of sleeping past dawn—and I was sure that Darcy would understand if I told her I couldn't make it this morning; she knew where I was going last night and with whom, but I couldn’t do it. Plus, a little space probably wasn’t a bad idea. Yes, he and I were electric, but we didn’t know each other, not really. We were still working together. I still wasn’t even sure what I wanted, if anything. And, even if I did, now would not be the time to pursue it. Boundaries were required.

Boundaries and tea.

I threw some bags into my favorite pot—mint green with white polka dots—and boiled the kettle. Get your shit together, Jemma, you still have a wedding to plan and a job to get to. My stomach let out an almighty growl. And I was still hungry.

“Good morning.”

I squealed and spun. For a big guy, Nash was surprisingly stealthy.

“You scared me.” My eyes raked over him, and my mouth went dry. He was in the jeans he’d worn last night and nothing else. Jeans, no shoes, no shirt. Lord was there anything sexier? Focus. He stalked over to me and lifted me onto the closest bench top before kissing me so thoroughly I briefly forgot my name. I licked my lips as he pulled away.

“Good morning.” I rasped and looped my arms around his neck as my thighs squeezed his hips. His hands trailed down my back and settled on my bum, pressing me into his already hard cock. Good morning indeed. I was starting to regret getting out of bed and not just rolling over and indulging in a little more of that before I started my day. There was still time.

“I thought you’d left.” There was a crease of concern between his brows as he said it. I threaded my fingers into his hair and massaged the base of his skull, his forehead softened, and his eyes dropped closed. God he was gorgeous. And probably too good for me. I didn’t want to lead him on. I just needed to keep things light and physical, casual. I could do casual. We could do casual, right?

“We’re in my apartment, remember? So, you’re stuck with me for breakfast,” I said against his mouth.

He smiled, his eyes sliding open. “Just for breakfast?”

I shrugged in an effort to look calm while my heart thundered in my chest. “It’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” he echoed and kissed me again.

“Did you use my toothbrush?” I asked, tasting mint on his tongue.

“Nope, my finger.” His lips trailed over my neck as he sucked and nipped at my skin.

“Next time you can use my toothbrush.”

His head popped up. “Next time?”

Oh god. I was supposed to be keeping this casual and I was already talking about next time? I was not good at this. “I mean—if there is a next time—it’s fine. I think we moved past that particular boundary last night, right? But you don’t need to—ah—I’m going to stop talking now.” Get it together. This was fine. There could be a next time, so long as some boundaries were set down first.

“Listen—” I started at the same moment he said, “We should talk.”

“You go first.”

“No, you,” he said, and nipped my ear, which did nothing to help maintain my focus.

“Okay, last night was—”

“Outstanding.”

“Yes. And there is no reason that it shouldn't happen again.”

“But?” He prompted.

“But we’re working together and I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Nor am I.”

“Great, perfect, so we’re on the same page. We’re keeping it casual?” Why did that sound so utterly ridiculous coming out of my mouth?

“No pressure, just enjoying one another’s company,” he agreed before kissing me thoroughly. I was definitely enjoying that.

“Yes, exactly,” I said once I’d regained the power of speech. “And I suppose we can see how we’re both feeling after the wedding.” Surely this would have burned itself out by then, and we’d be able to part ways civilly.

“Sounds good.” He smirked and sucked on my neck, and as much as I was happy to carry on, the kettle was boiling. I went to jump off the bench, but he held me in place, easily reaching back to fill the teapot. My kitchen really was ridiculously small.

After another kiss that threatened to render me temporarily unconscious, he stepped away and I slipped off the bench, taking the two steps to the fridge. My stomach was seriously close to eating itself.

“And what can I get the lady for breakfast?” One strong arm wrapped around my middle and pulled me flush against his chest. My bum arched into his crotch of its own volition, and I enjoyed the grunt I received in response. Food, I was looking for food.

“I can cook something.”

“I know you can, but I want to cook for you.”

I smiled into the fridge. Someone wanting to cook me breakfast should not be making me all swoony. And yet, here I was, swooning in front of my perishables. “What do you feel like for breakfast then?”

“Nothing that’s in the refrigerator.” His head dropped into the crook of my neck, lips dragging over my skin as one hand roamed down my stomach and under the hem of my t-shirt. I pressed back, my hand tangling in his hair as his fingers slid past the already soaking lace of my underwear.

“Oh god.” Every touch set me on fire.

“So wet already…” His voice was so rough it sent a fresh wave of lust through my core. “You know I woke up with something on my mind.” One finger dipped into my heat and the heel of his hand pressed into my clit. “You wanna know what it is?”

“Yes,” I moaned, then gasped as his fingers left me in an instant. Nash spun me around and we met in a messy, needy kiss as he lifted me up and sat me on the island bench. He tore my underwear clean off, which I wanted to be mad about but couldn’t be because his mouth descended on my clit and all my thoughts scattered past the edges of my consciousness. Breakfast could definitely wait. Everything could wait. I fell back on my elbows, sending cookbooks and pens and various utensils clattering to the floor. My back arched as he sucked, my orgasm already starting to build. Good god, he was absurdly good with this mouth.

“I could do this all day,” he groaned, and my skin broke out in goosebumps.

“Oh god, Nash.” My fingers fisted in his hair as my hips rocked.

“You gonna come for me, sweet thing?” He looked up at me from his position between my legs. I almost spontaneously combusted on the spot.

“I guess that depends on you…”

“Is that right?” His fingers circled my entrance, sliding inside as he covered my clit again.

“Oh fuck, yes, Nash,” I cried, grinding against his face. The vibrations of his groan sent me higher as my insides coiled tighter and tighter. He stroked me inside and out until I exploded, moaning his name.

I was still panting, eyelids fluttering as I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper being ripped open. I sat, keen to watch him roll the latex over his mouth-watering length, something I had never considered particularly sexy before, but Nash doing pretty much anything would be mesmerizing. I pulled my t-shirt up and over my head.

“So fucking sexy,” he growled before sucking a nipple into his mouth and I scooted my bum closer to the edge of the counter, reaching for him.

“Fuck me, Nash,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. I palmed his cock and rubbed it through my arousal. He felt so good I had no words. He thrust into me, and I covered his mouth with mine, swallowing his groan. So good. Too good. I panted into his mouth, my nails biting into his shoulders. I could do this forever. Or I could die now, a very happy woman.

“You like it when I fuck you hard, sweet thing?”

“Yes.” It was more moan than word.

“You want more?” One hand reached between us, and he circled my clit with his thumb.

“Yes—more—oh god, I’m coming.”

“Not gonna last.” I could get drunk on his sounds, on the feel of him filling me, stretching me.

“Come with me.”

He followed me over the edge with a roar and collapsed on top of me on the counter, both of us spent and panting. I let my hands wander over his broad, muscular back and shoulders in slow circles. He was just getting himself comfortable, using my boobs as a pillow, when an earth-shaking rumble came from my stomach.

“I guess it’s time to get you fed…” He lifted his head and rested his chin on my sternum as I pushed up onto my elbows. Why did this all feel so natural? My heart gave a heavy thump against my ribs.

“I’m in no rush to move,” I said, forcing a smile to cover the riot in my chest, but my stomach rang out again. “Okay maybe I am a touch hungry. Oh, and I have to be at Cream and Sugar in an hour.”

THE USUAL CROWD was loitering outside when Nash and I arrived at Cream and Sugar well over an hour later. It was absolutely Nash’s fault. I was just going to have a quick shower, but he invited himself into my tiny tub and proceeded to make me come again, once with his mouth and fingers and then a second time as he fucked me against the white subway tile. I wanted to be annoyed about it—I was never late for work—but it was difficult to be when I was still flush with post-orgasm endorphins.

Both Darcy and Harley eyed me with barely concealed glee as we walked in.

“Good morning,” I said, refusing to make eye contact with either of them as I went directly to the kitchen, my large shadow hot on my heels.

“There better not be any fucking in my kitchen…” Darcy called after us.

“Your kitchen?”

“I don’t care what you call it, just don’t fuck in it.”

I poked my head out the door and hissed, “Can you please stop talking about fucking in the kitchen! I do not fuck in kitchens.”

Nash coughed behind me, and heat raced up the back of my neck. Well, not ones I worked in anyway. Darcy arched an amused eyebrow as I ducked back through the door. I was not talking about it with her while I was on the clock. As soon as I was back in the kitchen Nash hooked me around the waist.

“No shagging,” I growled before his tongue plunged into my mouth. He really was an exceptional kisser. Fierce and possessive, yet tender. I could kiss him for hours, days, weeks.

“I’m not shagging. I’m kissing.” Yes, he was. His lips trailed across my jaw and down my neck, my hips pressed forward.

“At what point in the last day has kissing stopped at kissing?” I asked on a sigh as he sucked at my skin.

“There was that one time when you were so hungry you were going to pass out. But I take your point.” He set me on my feet and buried his hands in his pockets. I missed his heat immediately.

“For the record…” I started, stretching up onto my toes and tugging him down by his beard. “I like that kissing doesn’t stop at kissing.” Our lips met again, and I melted into his chest with a small moan. His hands slid down my back and over my bum because he was incapable of not letting them roam, which, like the kissing not stopping at kissing, I was very much okay with.

After one last squeeze, he broke away from my mouth. “Later.”

“You promise?” I purred and he nodded, heat curled around my hip bones at the dark shade of his eyes.

Stop lusting after the man, you have work to do.

I stood with my face in the fridge, taking a second to breathe in the cool air and calm the bloody hell down as I collected a few things. I needed to get a hold of myself. If I didn’t, I was in serious danger of blowing Nash in the middle of the kitchen and the health inspector would probably frown upon that. Pants needed to stay on, and hands kept busy with food and not body parts (as disappointing as that might be).

Nash was inspecting the produce delivery as I returned. I let my eyes roam over his broad back, enjoying the way his shirt hugged his shoulders.

“Do you miss it?” I asked, desperate for a subject that was not of the naked variety.

“Miss what?” He glanced over his shoulder and the smile tugging at his lips made me think his mind was focused squarely on things of the naked variety. Thankfully, an order arrived, and I snatched it off Darcy, who was still smirking. I shooed her away.

“Do I miss what?” Nash prompted.

“Cooking. The kitchen.” I gestured around our small space.

“Oh that.”

“Yes, that,” I echoed with a laugh.

“I’m in the kitchen right now, with you. What’s there to miss?” He shot me the look that made me feel completely naked and quirked an eyebrow, daring me not to jump him. Health inspector. Health inspector. Health inspector. Pants stay on. Hands stay off.

“Mmm… but I am assuming that my little kitchen is not quite the same as the one you’re used to.”

He sidled up to my bench and bumped a hip against it. How on earth he made such simple things look so appallingly sexy, I had no idea. I busied myself with poaching eggs and getting the ingredients ready for a new batch of tomato ragu.

“I do miss it. The buzz. The pressure. The adrenaline. But we’d done everything we could with Bailey, it was time to move on.” He shrugged. I wondered if there was more to it.

“And what are you going to do now?”

“You mean after we’ve finished playing wedding planner?”

“Yes, after that.”

“Honestly, not a fucking clue.” One hand absently scratched his left cheek through his beard, and I forced myself to focus on not slicing my fingers clean off as I cut two avocados open. “I thought I’d be desperate to get back into a busy kitchen, you know? But I’ve actually really enjoyed doing this wedding stuff.”

“Is that so?” Honestly, I’d been surprised by how much I enjoyed it, too.

“If you tell Dallas I said that, I will deny it. To the grave.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I winked. What was that weird feeling under my ribs? I ignored it, because I didn’t have time for anything else on top of my already full plate.

“I think there’s a hole in the market though.”

“In what market?” I made short work of a couple of onions and smashed a head of garlic. I glanced up when I realized Nash had fallen silent. His eyes were all glazed as he stared at me. Was my nipple hanging out or something? A quick check told me no, both were still contained behind both bra and shirt.

“What?”

“Is it weird that you dicing onions looked really fucking sexy?” The huskiness of his voice made me shudder.

I swallowed to bring some moisture to my spontaneously dry throat and replied, “Probably.” My cheeks warming at the unexpected (and somewhat strange) compliment. “What were you saying, before that?” I asked, trying to bring back the threads of conversation that had fled in the face of Nash’s lust.

“My plans post-wedding.” As I glanced up at him, I thought he looked almost nervous. “You know, if you pull this thing off as well as I think you’re going to, you’ll be setting the wedding planning community ablaze. You’ll be the most in demand wedding planner in the city.”

I let out the most unladylike, strangled snorting laugh. “Setting the industry ablaze might be a slight exaggeration. And I’m still not a wedding planner.” But maybe I wanted to be one? No, that was mad. I was a chef. I couldn’t plan weddings full time. I didn’t want to do that, right?

“Also, it’s not me. It’s us.” I turned to face him, my throat thick with unexpected emotion. “This is going to sound incredibly cheesy, but I don’t think I would have been able to do it without you.” It wasn’t entirely true, I was a determined and resourceful woman after all, but I would have been a great deal more stressed if I’d been doing it alone.

He tsked. “Of course you would. I’m just the assistant, remember.”

“I’m quite sure we both know that’s rubbish.” I shot him a smile and got snagged on the depth in his eyes. What was he thinking? I dropped my head to one side. He looked like he was about to jump off a cliff.

“Would you be interested in doing it? Full time?”

“Wedding planning?” I clarified. Had he developed the ability to mind read during the course of this conversation?

“Yeah.” He scratched his beard again, in what I was learning was a nervous twitch.

I blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s been fun, but maybe that’s been more about the company…” I reached out for him and was rewarded as he grabbed my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. What was I doing?

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about wedding planning?”

He nodded, his attention locked on our interlaced fingers. This conversation suddenly felt like it had weight and significance. This was just about the polar opposite of casual. And yet I wanted him to keep going.

“Not just planning though, like hosting. I saw this huge place for sale upstate and I could see it, you know? Weddings in the garden, working in the kitchen…” His eyes lifted to mine, searching, silently asking a question I wasn’t sure I knew the answer to. Holy shit. He’d been looking at property upstate. Property for us? Was he asking…? Anxiety curled around my chest and squeezed. No. no, no. He wasn’t asking me. He was talking about things for him. Not me. Not us.

The idea wasn’t a bad one. In fact, it sounded brilliant, like a dream even. But he couldn’t be talking about us doing it. We barely knew each other. We couldn’t jump into something like that. He didn’t want to do that with me, he couldn’t. Perhaps he was high on sex, and it was clouding his brain.

“I was just spit-balling, I guess.” He dropped my hand and stepped back, disappointment heavy in his features. Shit. I didn’t want him to be disappointed, but I also didn’t want to entertain something that obviously wasn’t going to happen. And it wasn’t going to happen.

“I—It’s—” I cleared my throat to dislodge the words that were jammed in there. It didn’t really help. “It sounds amazing.”

He watched me, eyes scanning my face, trying to see through the growing cracks in my once strong wall. I couldn’t let him in like that, could I? Outstanding sex was one thing, but what he was talking about was something else altogether. And we’d only just established our enjoying one another’s company with no pressure thing. And now what? We were talking about business ideas? It was more than I could have dreamed of having for myself, let alone with another person, let alone with him.

I stepped into his space, needing the feel of skin under my fingertips to ground myself in this moment and not think about the future. Not think about anything. We only had until the wedding. A week and a half and then—I didn’t know exactly, but I had a feeling there wasn’t any closure between Nash and Nadia. That was going to have to happen eventually.

My fingers slipped up under the edge of his shirt, meeting smooth, warm skin. His muscles jumped under my touch.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a brilliant idea.” I pressed a kiss against the center of his chest, then I remembered I was in the middle of making three plates of brunch.

“You—you like the idea…?” He asked and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly did me in.

“Of course, I’d be mad not to like the idea.” But not for me. Not for us.

The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out and he nodded. “I—I just—the last time I got really fired up and inspired about something, it was with Kieran, and it turned into Bailey Brick Co.”

“You’re likening our adventures in planning your sister’s wedding to your uber successful restaurant chain?” I said to the avocado toast in front of me. That couldn’t be what he was saying. My heart started to beat uncomfortably fast.

“Inspiration is inspiration. You can’t plan where it’s gonna come from, or when it’s gonna hit.”

As much as I agreed with him about that point, I wasn’t sure I could let myself think about what he was suggesting. Was he seriously proposing that he and I do this? As a business? Full time? Together? We’d only known one another for two and a half weeks. We couldn’t be talking about these kinds of things now. It was too soon. It was mad. The wedding was next Saturday and then this thing would have run its course, wouldn’t it?

TWENTY-FOUR

NASH

“YOU’VE BEEN WEARING that same shirt for two days,” Jemma said, her narrowed eyes aimed at my chest. I removed the offending item, which I might have been wearing for three days, not two, and thoroughly enjoyed the way those eyes darted and darkened. We’d had an astounding amount of sex over the last four and a half days and yet one look at my naked chest and Jemma was ready to go again. I widened my stance, making room for my growing hard on.

“Nope. No.” She shook her head. “We need to leave my flat.”

“You need to stop looking at me like that then, sweet thing.”

“You need to put your shirt back on.”

“No, you’re right, I’ve been wearing this one for days…” I stalked toward her, and her hand shot out, landing between my ribs. She whimpered. The sound tightened my balls.

“You need to put some clothes on.” It was strangled, desperate, and, because I was feeling generous, I pulled the shirt back on. It smelled almost as much of her as it did of me. I may never wash it. Jemma’s breath left her in what I assumed was a relieved huff, even while she looked just a little disappointed.

We’d been in each other’s pockets since Pipsqueaks and I did not see myself getting sick of enjoying her company in a hurry, so it was comforting to know she was on the same page.

I knew I shouldn't want more. I knew it wasn’t the right time. But that didn’t stop me thinking of it. And comparing things to what I’d had with Nadia. I thought things had been working for us, I’d thought I was happy.

Things with Jemma were different. I was different. It would be easy to put it down to her, but it wasn’t just her. I was having ideas. So. Many. Ideas. In what little down time I had between trying to finalize the celebrant stuff and worshiping Jemma’s naked body whenever she’d let me, I’d taken to browsing property. I’d never had an interest in it before and yet now I was looking at dilapidated farmhouses upstate like it was my job. It was unsettling, but not enough to make me stop.

“Where do you want me ma’am?” I asked Jemma. “And, before you say on the bed, let me remind you that we need to leave your flat.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe you need to go to your flat so you can change into some clean clothing.”

I didn’t miss the ‘you’, not ‘we’.

“You trying to get rid of me, Jemma?” I hooked her around the waist as she unsuccessfully tried to put more distance between us. Her hands landed on my pecs, fingers curling ever so slightly against me.

“No,” she said. The slight growl in her tone made me smile. “But we have spent an awful lot of time together over the last few days and I just thought that maybe some space wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. We both have things to do—”

“I don’t have anything to do that would require you to be more than an arm’s length away from me.” I squeezed her a little tighter, thoroughly enjoying the way her tits pressed against me.

“Clinger.”

“You bet. I am not afraid to admit that I want you around.” I was going to make the most of being in her company for as long as she’d let me.

Her cheeks went a mouth-watering shade similar to that of a ripe raspberry before her forehead came down on my chest.

“What’s up, Jemma? If you want me to fuck off, you only need to say it. I might not be able to get enough of you, but I’m still more than capable of accepting boundaries if you need to lay some down.”

Her eyes swung up to me, there were secrets in those eyes, secrets I shouldn’t want to get to the bottom of. But I did.

“You can talk to me.”

“It would be a lot easier if you were not being so reasonable and sensitive.”

“Would you prefer it if I was a distant, uncommunicative prick?”

She laughed. “I’m not sure I would have used those words, but yes, perhaps. It would make me feel less emotionally stunted.”

“You are not emotionally stunted.”

“How do you know?” One eyebrow arched.

I shrugged, letting my hands move over her back. “I guess I don’t.” But I want to know. I want to know everything. I dropped my arms taking a step away from her. She followed, closing the distance between us in a breath. Satisfaction burned hot in my chest.

“I just—” She started before taking a breath and toying with a loose thread on my shirt. “We’re—things are moving quickly, and I know we—I don’t have the best exp—” She blew out a breath. “I don’t need space, not right now.”

“Okay then, just let me know if you do.” I squeezed her hip and she looked at me again. I could swear that she was begging me to understand something, something she wasn’t brave enough to say just yet. And I wanted to. I wanted to understand everything there was to understand about this woman.

My hands came up and cupped her face, her cheeks fit so perfectly in my palms I wasn’t sure how I’d gone thirty-two years without touching her, holding her. Just enjoying her company, no pressure. She pushed up onto her toes as I dropped my head and we met in a slow but desperate kiss. She wanted to be ready, I could feel it, but she wasn’t. I wanted to take all that fear for her. I wanted to beat the living shit out of whoever put it there in the first place. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not so soon. Not for someone that wasn’t my wife—but she wasn’t my wife anymore. Maybe she hadn’t been for longer than I realized. And now there was this light in front of me, one I didn’t realize I’d been missing all this time.

We parted as Jemma’s stomach growled. She sucked her plump lower lip into her mouth as a smile lit her eyes. It made my heart beat just a little bit harder, faster. I’d do pretty much anything to make sure she always smiled.

“Food first. Then I’ll get some clean clothes.”

“Agreed.”

ALTHOUGH I WAS sure that almost anything Jemma did was sexy, there was something about watching her eat that scrambled my brain. Part of it was the noises she made (unwittingly filthy). Part of it was the running commentary of what worked and what she’d do differently. And then there was something about her and food and the fact she loved it as much as I did. That commonality wasn’t something I’d ever gone looking for in a woman, and yet it had found its way to me all the same, just like the feel of her face in my hands I wasn't sure how I’d gone so long without it.

“This is it.” I pulled Jemma up as she went to walk past my building. “Did you forget which one it was?”

“I’ll be honest, I was suffering from rage related tunnel vision last time I was here, and I have absolutely no recollection of the place.”

I laughed, leading her inside and to the elevator. As soon as we were closed in, Jemma pulled me down by my collar and kissed me with a fever that came close to knocking me on my ass.

“What was that for?” I asked as she released me.

“It should be illegal for you to eat waffles with maple syrup,” she said, her breath hot on my neck. I made a mental note to make waffles at least once a day from now until eternity. Or the wedding, at the very least.

“Is that right?”

“Mmm-hmm…” She sucked on my ear lobe, and I faltered. It had been a solid two hours since I’d last had her naked, and as much as I wanted to change that as soon as possible, doing so in my parents’ apartment wasn’t the best idea. What if Mom walked in, as she had done numerous times since I’d been back? As much as I was enjoying my time with Jemma, and very much wanted it to continue, I wasn’t sure I was ready for her to meet my mother. Certainly not when I knew she’d no doubt drop some bullshit about me and Nadia.

Jemma, evidently, did not share my hesitation.

We were only two steps inside the apartment when her nimble fingers were working my belt undone as she stretched to suck on my neck.

“Jem—” I groaned, collapsing back against the door as her hand pushed past the waistband of my boxer briefs and fingers wrapped around my already hard cock. She squeezed. Fuck. This would be a lot easier if she wasn’t quite so skilled, or enthusiastic. As one hand worked me over the other once again pulled me down by the collar and she moaned as our lips met. I should probably stop this. But fuck it felt too good. Her hand. Her tongue. Her lips.

She pulled back and I had a moment of clarity, this shouldn’t be happening here, but then Jemma was on her knees, and she forced my jeans and boxers down enough to free my hard on and before the words we should stop left my mouth my cock was in hers and—

“Oh fuuuuck.” My fingers threaded into her hair, and she gazed up, eyes burning bright with heat and lust. Jesus, she was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. She drew back, tongue swirling around the head before plunging forward again and the hot, wet suction of her mouth had electricity racing down my spine. Back. Swirl. Forward. Back. Swirl. Forward. Over and over. Her mouth was perfect. She was fucking perfect.

“Fuck Jem—so good—I—”

She moaned, working her hand over what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. So. Fucking. Good. The hand that wasn’t already occupied slipped up under the edge of my shirt, her nails dragging over my skin before she made it to my nipple and my knees nearly buckled. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She was everything. She scraped her way back down my torso and, with some maneuvering of clothing, she took my sac and gave a tug. My hips bucked forward; I couldn’t stop them. Jemma moaned louder, sucked harder, cheeks hollowing.

“C—com—Oh fuck I’m gonna come.”

She didn’t stop until I was spent, then pushed my shirt up, kissing her way over my abs and to my chest. I pulled her up, lifting her onto my waist and capturing her mouth. I swallowed her cry of surprise and spun us to press her against the door. I wanted her so much I couldn’t think.

A knock. Jemma paused but didn’t pull away. Another knock. She pulled back.

“Is that? What is that?” She whispered, her fingers still toying with the hair at the base of my skull.

A cold chill swept up my spine. “It’s—”

“Nash! Darling, what’s wrong with the door? Why won’t it open?” My mother called from the hallway. Of course she was here now. I dropped my head onto Jemma's shoulder. But then she was shoving at my shoulders with a hard glint in her eyes.

“Let me down,” she hissed, and I backed up, setting her on her feet then shoving my dick back into my pants.

“Na-ash!” Mom sing-songed and more color leached from Jemma’s cheeks, she was mumbling something too low for me to hear.

“Jemma—”

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice was a harsh whisper as she pushed me away. I got that my mother turning up now wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like I could help when she arrived at one of her own houses.

“Je—” I tried again, only to be cut off from the other side of the door.

“Nash. I can hear you speaking to someone in there. You either let me in immediately, or I will—” A pause. “This is my apartment.” Yeah, she was pissed.

Jemma stilled, her eyes going wide, lit with confusion then shock. “Oh god,” she whispered. “That’s your—”

“Mother, yeah, who did you think it was?” Who else could it be? “Wait. You didn’t th—”

Jemma poked a finger into my chest. “It’s a woman at the door calling you darling. My first thought wasn’t your mother.”

Now that we were no longer barricading the door closed, I watched the handle turn and, one agonizingly long moment later, Eva Easton entered her apartment in a cloud of Yves Saint Laurent and cashmere. Caramel eyes darting around, they landed on me, then Jemma, and narrowed into slits.

“Ah, well I see why you wouldn't want me in here, for this...” she drawled, crossing her slim arms over her chest.

“Mom—”

“Mrs. Easton,” Jemma cut in, her shoulders pushed back and her chin high. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, I’m Jemma West, Dallas’ wedding planner. I just stopped by to check on Nash’s progress—he’s been assisting me—but I’ll get out of your way.” She extended a hand to my mother, who looked down at it like Jemma was offering a live cockroach.

“The wedding planner…” Mom’s eyes swept over Jemma, her face unreadable. “How did you come to be planning my daughter’s wedding, Miss West?”

Jemma’s eyes darted to me before she replied, “We met at an event I catered, and she asked me to.”

“And how did you come to be sleeping with my son? I doubt she asked you to do that too.”

“Okay, Mom, that’s enough.”

“Yes, I agree. I’ve had quite enough of you and this behavior.”

“My behavior?”

“Yes, your behavior. You are married, Nash. Not that you would know it from how you’ve been acting recently. You’ve been away from your Nadia for weeks. You’ve bought a house without her input and now you’ve started screwing the help. Honestly, I thought I raised you better. You’ll be lucky if Nadia will even look at you after all of this.” Her eyes went hard and a little smug before she turned her attention to Jemma. “I think it’s time you left.”

“No.” I went to put myself between Jemma and my delusional mother, but she side-stepped.

“It’s fine.” Her tone froze me in place and all I could do was watch her leave. When the door slammed shut behind her, Mom dusted her hands and wandered further into the apartment, like she was going to settle in for a coffee. That was not happening.

“You need to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. Need. To. Leave.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nash, you are in my apartment.”

“Fine, then I’ll leave.”

“You will do no such thing. We need to talk.” She had officially gone too far.

“I have nothing to say to you, Mom, why would I bother when you don’t listen?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Nash, stop being so dramatic.”

“Fuck Mom!” I roared. “I’m done. I’m not married. Nadia and I are fucking over.”

“We’ve discussed this.”

“You’re right, we have. And I’m not discussing it again.”

TWENTY-FIVE

JEMMA

I STUMBLED OUTSIDE, the autumn wind whipping my hair around my face and biting through my thin sweater. I made it just around the corner before the contents of my stomach came raging up my throat. My eyes watered. My nose burned and dripped. My hands shook. My brain was a kicked beehive; all I could hear was static.

What the fuck just happened?

You are married, Nash.

Married. Nash. Married.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He lied to me.

Did he lie to me?

Was I really that much of an idiot?

Another roll of my stomach sent the rest of my garlic and thyme mushrooms surging upwards and into the rubbish bin I was hunched over. Was I dreaming? I had to be, didn’t I? Nash could not actually be married. Not after—not after what we’d—

I wretched, but there was little left but air and bile.

Nash. Married. Nash.

My head swam as I straightened, and I gripped the bin to stay upright. Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the nose. I was not going to have a panic attack in the middle of the street over some arsehole who was not deserving of my time. But that wasn’t Nash.

I shivered as another gust of wind chilled the sweat that was beaded across my forehead. How did I let everything get so out of control? I’d known, hadn’t I? Deep down, I’d known that all of this was far too good to be true. That Nash was too good to be true. All of his shit this morning about boundaries and you can talk to me. Bullshit. Utter. Fucking. Bullshit.

And if I had been hoping to make a good impression on Nash’s mother, well that ship had well and truly sailed. Not that it was really about his mother, as horrid as she’d been. I could try and blame everyone else, Nash, Dallas, his mother, but it all came down to me. All I had to do was not have sex with Nash again, that was it. And I couldn't control myself, even when I knew it had the potential to blow up in my face—again. I hadn’t changed at all. I was still that girl. But this could be salvaged. It had to be salvaged. I had managed to remain professional in trying, soul crushing circumstances before, I could do it again. I would do it again.

The rehearsal was in four days. I had four days to pull myself together. I could do that. And then it would all be over in a week.

One week. I could get through one week. And hopefully I’d have a bright and busy career to keep me well and truly distracted after.

“Jemma!” Nash’s voice found me, but he hadn’t yet. It was the motivation I needed to move. I was not going to stick around and listen to his bullshit anymore. Especially not when I wanted so desperately for him to tell me it wasn't true.

“Jemma!” He was closer but I kept moving. “Jemma, wait! Please!”

Before I could break out into a sprint, which I was not above doing, one large hand wrapped around my wrist, and I was turned to face him. I refused to be softened by the broken look in his eyes, gray and desolate. He didn’t get to be the hurt one here.

“Let go of me!” I growled, breaking his grip. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. You—”

“It’s not true, Jemma, I'm not married—not divorced yet, but—”

I laughed; it was a high, manic sound. “Really? You’re still towing that line after everything your mother just said in there?”

“My mother is delusional. She wants Nadia and I together, but I swear to you it is done. Nadia and I are done.”

“And so are we.”

“Jemma, no, please—”

“This was a mistake, Nash, clearly. Even if you’re not married—”

“I’m not.”

“It doesn't matter,” I wailed. And it didn’t. This had been a bad idea from the beginning. And I was too stubborn to see it, too stubborn to believe it. But it was done now. The sooner he accepted it, too, the better.

“How can the fact that I am not married not matter. Of course it matters. It makes all the difference.” His eyes begged, saying more than his words, but I couldn’t let myself hear it. If I did, I’d let him back in. And that would be yet another mistake, one I was not going to make.

“It doesn't make a difference because I’m done, Nash. I can’t do this. Not again.” I needed to get out of here, away from him, because no amount of words were going to help if he tried to touch me, hug me, kiss me. I knew he still had the power to unravel me and that was exactly what I couldn’t let happen. This conversation needed to be over.

“What do you mean, not again?”

“Look, Nash, I’m sorry, but—”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, bullshit.” He bent, putting his face in line with mine, eyes fierce and bright. “You want to end this, then you need to tell me what’s really going on.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” I turned on my heel and started down the street. Unsurprisingly, Nash kept coming.

“You really want to know? You really want to know why I didn’t want to work with you in the first place? The reason I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length?”

“Yeah, Jemma, I really want to know.”

My insides crawled. But I steeled my spine and squared my shoulders. I had told two people about what happened with Jonah. One was Mrs. Snyder. The other was my therapist. Just do it. Do it and send Nash away. I didn’t know if I could look at him as I spilled my guts, but I forced my eyes to his.

“Because I’ve been in this position before, where I blurred the lines of professionalism. Where my career rested in the hands of a man I thought I could trust, but couldn’t.” I didn’t even know where to start. How could I make him understand what Jonah took from me?

I’d taken the job as a waitress because it was the only way to get into Jonah Evans’ restaurant. He was notoriously savage to work for and accepted nothing but perfection. I didn’t care. I wanted to work under him, I needed to work under him, to prove to my family that moving to New York alone at nineteen had been the right decision. When he approached me to offer up a kitchen position I nearly fainted.

“You have one month to show me you are not completely useless, or you’re back to front of house.”

I squealed and hugged him and ran out of his office like my pants were on fire. This was it, finally the opportunity I’d been waiting for.

He was just as exacting to work for as everyone said. For months I diced onions and peeled potatoes, silently seething as I attempted to earn my place in his kitchen. The day I was fed up and ready to quit was the one when everything changed. He called me into his office, and rather than keep my mouth shut, I all but told him he could shove his job and go fuck himself.

I could still remember his smell and the tingle of awareness as he stepped closer. Then his finger hooked under my chin, tipping my face up.

“Brave, little chef,” he’d whispered, and I knew I’d do just about anything to hear him call me that again.

“Or stupid.”

“Perhaps both...” He kissed me then, commanding my mouth, bending my body and will to his. And I took everything he gave gladly, greedily.

Three years later and my entire world revolved around Jonah. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted him. All of him.

“You know I can’t do that...” he purred against my neck, laying me back on his desk.

“It’s been almost three years, Jonah, I need—”

“What do you need, I’ll give it to you.”

“I need more than this.”

“My greedy girl.”

Frustration straightened my spine and I sat, pushing him upright. “I’m serious. I don’t want to be the other woman anymore. I love you, Jonah, I want you.”

“And have I not proven how much I want you?”

“Yes—”

“But it’s not enough? You have a job because of me. You have a home because of me. You have love because of me. And that’s not enough?” His tone was lethal, low and hard. But I wasn’t backing down. Not this time.

“But I don’t have you. And…” I swallowed. “And I won’t keep doing this unless I have you.”

He laughed. “Oh, little chef, don’t you remember, we don’t stop until I say so.” Had there been a time when I’d loved that nickname? Now it was used as a weapon to make me feel small and keep me under his control.

“No. I’m telling you I want you.” I slid off the desk. “And I won’t be doing anything else until I have you.”

“Jemma, you know why that can’t happen.”

“She already knows, Jonah.”

“I am not leaving my wife.” He’d never actually said it before, and yet I think I’d always known.

I set my jaw. “Then we’re done.”

His hand shot out and clamped my throat. Fear exploded in my chest, making my skin burn hot and cold. “We are done when I say so. Not you.”

“I’m done.” I choked out.

“You can’t leave me, Jemma. I made you. Do you really think I will let you walk out and into another man’s kitchen, another man’s bed?” His grip tightened as he pulled me in closer. “You are mine.”

God I was an idiot. Did I really think he’d leave her, to be with me? He never loved me. He used me. And yet I’d offered my heart to him on a silver fucking platter. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I couldn’t do this anymore. I didn’t want to be a dirty little secret.

“I’ll tell Kelly.”

He threw me against the desk. “You won’t say a fucking word.” He was seething but even still he forced his hand into my pants.

“No. Stop. I’ll scream.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His fingers shoved into me. “Still wet I see. So much for your threats, little chef. Your pussy is mine. Will always be mine. You belong to me.”

Later, when I sat in the bottom of my shower and cried, I told myself it wasn’t rape because I didn’t stop him, didn’t fight him. And like he said I was wet. That wasn’t rape. Was it?

The next day Jonah was colder, almost abusive as he berated me over a sauce and the cut of a steak. But he still let himself into my apartment at two in the morning and came into my bed. There was no apology for his behavior, not in words or actions. That night felt like more punishment for trying to leave, and again I didn’t stop him.

It went on like that for a couple of months—Jonah treating me like a dog in the kitchen and then coming into my bed at night. Never staying, he had to get home to his wife after all.

“Jesus, Jemma.”

My attention snapped back into the present at Nash’s voice. We were sitting on a stoop. I didn’t remember moving. And I had no idea how much I’d said, judging by the look on his face, enough.

“What—what happened? How did it end?”

“I got pregnant, not intentionally, although you’d think he wanted to, considering he refused to use protection. I had a termination,” I added, anticipating Nash’s next question. “That was the day I met Mrs. Snyder. She was there, at the clinic, she helped me walk past the line of pro-life protesters. The following day, I moved into my flat. She saved me.” I brushed a rogue tear off my cheek.

Was it only three years ago? Time had stretched and bent in the strangest of ways those first few days in Mrs. Snyder’s home. I lost track of night and day. I lost track of everything. I lost myself. I was nothing but a broken shell of the girl I used to be.

“I’m not saying that you are like him. I’m not saying that you would ever treat me that way. But since then, I have protected myself. It’s why I don’t date. It’s why my work is everything. It’s why I don’t let people in. It’s why I’m comfortable alone. I lost everything because I was stupid and unprofessional and trusted the wrong person. And I protect myself because I can’t do that again.”

“And I’m the one who can’t be trusted?” He didn’t sound hurt exactly, just curious.

“Would you risk it, if you were me?” I asked, eyes darting up to him. He was sitting close, but not touching. It made my heart ache just a little, thinking that this was it. That I wouldn’t get to touch him again.

“I’d like to be able to say yes, but…I don’t know if I would.” At least he was honest. Part of me would have preferred he lie, and tell me that yes, he would risk it, because there was something here between us.

“That doesn't mean I don’t want you to take a chance on me...” He paused, inching his pinky toward mine along the step. “I understand why you wouldn't, though.” Another pause. “How did you get back into cooking?”

“Mrs. Snyder dragged me to Cream and Sugar. She made it seem all casual, but I think she knew they needed a chef and by the time we left I had a job. And then the catering kept me out of Jonah’s orbit.”

“Do you know—is he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t let myself look.”

He nodded. “I want to beat the shit out of him.”

It was my turn to nod. “I did for a long time too. But he’s not worth it. I’ve also thought that maybe I should have said something, y’know, to stop him doing it again. But it would have been his word against mine and I’d already lost so much, I didn’t have it in me to go up against him like that. I was a coward.”

“You are so very far from a coward, Jemma.” Silence stretched between us; I wasn’t in a hurry to fill it. “You want me to take you home?”

I was tempted to tell him no, that I would be fine to get home, but I’d probably scare people on the subway with hysterical sobbing and I didn’t want to be alone in a taxi either.

“Yes, please,” I said eventually.

NASH HOVERED on the street as I walked up my short stoop. Neither of us had spoken. And now that we were here, I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn't want to say it out loud either. I’d said enough today already.

The wind, which was still ruffling my hair and spinning the fallen leaves on the pavement, whistled through my hollow chest and I wrapped my arms around myself. There was a time I thought I’d be able to put myself back together. I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I can come in. Just to—so you’re not alone. If you want me to, I don’t—I don’t have to.”

I nodded, my throat too thick to force words past.

He followed me inside and up to my door, waiting patiently as I fumbled with the keys. On my third attempt, he took them from me and let us in. The weight of the day came crashing down on top of me, and without letting myself think too much about it I stepped forward and pressed my cheek against his back. I let the steady rhythm of his heart bring my own down and I breathed him in. How, in such a short time, had the smell of him become so comforting?

I curled my arms around him, and his hands came over mine, not squeezing, just there.

Then the tears fell.

I cried for the girl I was when I first walked into Jonah’s restaurant, so eager and ready to prove herself.

I cried for the girl who kissed him back, thinking that she was the most important and desired person in his world.

I cried for the girl who sat in the shower and told herself she hadn’t been raped, even though she knew she had.

I cried for the girl who said goodbye to the life she carried because she couldn’t give it what it needed.

I cried for the time I’d wasted thinking I was the problem.

I didn’t want to be that girl who Jonah broke. I wanted to be the woman who put herself back together. Who learned to trust and love and be light again. I’d already spent too long hiding from life. I didn’t want to do it anymore.

Nash turned as my arms loosened and we stood there, staring at each other. It could have been seconds or hours, but it didn’t matter which. My blood started to hum as something I thought I’d lost unfurled in my chest.

“What can I do? What do you need?” The question was rough with concern and longing. I felt it too.

For now. “You.” It was more of a breath than a word. And at the crease between his brows, I said it again. “You.” I tugged him down, my lips brushing over his in a slow exploration, like I needed to learn his mouth again.

I forced down the voice that told me I couldn't have this again. That this kind of comfort and happiness wasn't for me.

Nash lifted me and walked us to the bed, lowering me down like I was the most delicate thing in the world. He kissed over my face, taking my fresh tears and my worry with him and replacing it with something else. Something new.

THE AUTUMN SUN pulled me from sleep along with the scent of sautéing tomatoes, garlic and onion, and for a long moment I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Processing. For the most part, yesterday felt like a disturbing dream; but, having told Nash everything, it was as if the weight of that time in my life had lifted clean off my shoulders. My chest still ached with the memory of it all, but it was no longer suffocating me, no longer pushing me into the ground.

I had cried a couple more times and Nash held me against his strong chest, one hand in my hair and the other rubbing slow circles over my back. No empty words of reassurance, just quiet physical comfort. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt quite so safe.

At some point, we’d wiggled under the covers, still mostly clothed, and he pulled me tight into his side, with my head against his shoulder, and just started talking. About nothing in particular. Meeting Mack and Chase and the trouble they got into when they were in high school. Moving to LA and starting culinary school. Opening the first restaurant with Keiran. Those snippets of his life had filled in the spaces of the man I’d been getting to know over the last couple of weeks.

The rumble of his voice against my cheek eventually lulled me off to sleep and when I’d woken at one point during the night, I was curled into his chest with our legs tangled together. Sleeping next to him was fast becoming one of my favorite things. I really wished I could keep him.

I leaned over the edge of the bed and caught sight of him in the kitchen, a heather gray shirt stretched across his back and shoulders, jeans hanging low on his hips and feet bare. For whatever reason, even after everything, there was something strangely intimate about those bare feet on my kitchen floor.

Despite feeling relatively calm about the spilling of my guts and all the tears, I wasn’t entirely sure where it left Nash and I. We were both clear about what this thing between us was and wasn't. We were casually enjoying one another’s company and I didn’t want that to have to change. All I really knew was that I wanted to keep spending time with him for as long as I could. And I suppose that was enough.

TWENTY-SIX

NASH

MY HANDS MOVED ON AUTOPILOT. Chop here. Stir there. I opened a couple of tins of beans and dumped them into the tomato ragu to simmer. I hadn’t given any conscious thought to what I was cooking, it just sort of happened when I looked in Jemma’s fridge and cabinets.

Her words still sat heavy on my chest, making it hard to breathe as well as think. And she’d been carrying all of that alone; for how long? That piece of shit had taken advantage of her—had violated her. Just the thought of it made me want to throw up, break the guy’s neck and crush his skull. How the hell she had managed to come out the other side of that, I didn't know. But I wasn't surprised that she had. She was incredible. A fighter. A survivor. I’d seen it every time she called me on my bullshit. I just hadn’t known what put that fire there before. I did now.

I knew that her experience had shaped her into this woman, this woman who was fast becoming intrinsic to the fabric of my life, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to take it all away, so she’d never have to think about any of it again.

All I could do to provide a modicum of distraction from the swarm in my head was cook, so that’s what I did. Letting the familiar actions numb my thoughts and bubbling anger. I topped the bean pot with a lid and slid it into the scorching oven.

I turned to the fridge, looking for something else to occupy my hands and mind, and found Jemma watching me from across the room. Her hair was a wild, tangled halo of sunshine and honey around her face, her eyes a little uncertain but lighter than they had been yesterday.

“Good morning,” she said, the words husky with sleep and last night’s tears. So many tears. Every single one broke my heart a little more. I’d do just about anything to make sure she never needed to cry again. But she wasn’t mine to protect like that. No matter how much I wished she was.

“Good morning.” My heart beat hard and fast against my ribs. It was an effort not to close the space between us and pull her into my chest. But I didn’t know what she wanted, or needed, from me, so I stayed where I was, hovering awkwardly in her tiny kitchen. “I made Spanish beans. They’ll be twenty minutes.” I paused, fidgeted. Useful. I needed to be useful, for her. “Tea. I bet you want tea. I’ll make you some tea.” I filled the kettle, set it on the stove then grabbed the green teapot that sat on its perch above and the teabags from the jar by the window.

“Nash.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as Jemma’s hand landed on my forearm. She was lucky I didn’t drop her favorite teapot. A smile was playing at the corners of her lips.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” After everything, she was concerned about me?

She took the pot from me, put it on the counter and forced me to look at her properly. It was an effort not to take her face in my hands.

“Yesterday was… heavy,” she said simply. “And I’ve been dealing with it for a few years. I imagine hearing it all, like that, it would be a lot to take in.” She wasn’t wrong, it was a lot to take in, but I just had to listen, she’d lived it.

“Thank you, Nash.” Her arms wrapped around me and the relief of it nearly buckled my knees. I sunk into the hug, curling around her and burying my nose in her hair. Sweet cinnamon, tea and warm woman. Home.

“What are you thanking me for?” I said against her hair. “I should be thanking you, for trusting me with your past.”

She burrowed further into my chest. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for wanting to earn that trust.”

I squeezed her tighter, feeling every point of contact between our bodies. Her hand rubbed a circle over my back before she stepped back, and I took her cheeks in my palms. Home.

“I want to take it all away.” My voice was little more than a whisper.

“I know.” She pushed onto her toes, fingers crawling up my chest and around my neck as she kissed me. It was a soft, unhurried press of lips that I felt all the way down to my toes. Home. But she wasn’t, was she?

The shrill whistle of her kettle split us, and I poured the boiling water into the teapot, keeping one arm wrapped around Jemma, her nose nuzzling against my neck. The scent of fresh tea brewing mixing with hers. I was sure I’d never smell tea again and not think of her.

Half an hour later we were side by side on her couch, balancing heaping bowls of Spanish beans on our laps and with a mountain of buttered sourdough toast on the coffee table. I’d cooked for her before, and yet today it felt more important.

“Listen,” Jemma started, dragging a piece of toast through her ragu, and all of my nerves tightened. A conversation starting with ‘listen’ never went anywhere good. My face must have betrayed my thoughts because she smiled and leaned forward for a kiss, which naturally I accepted. “There is no need for that face. I just wanted to say, I don’t want you to think this— yesterday—needs to change our arrangement.”

“Our arrangement?” I echoed, not feeling at all reassured about where this was going.

“Okay, that makes it sound skeevy.” She screwed up her nose; fuck, she was adorable. “I just—we’ve been honest about where we stand, and I wanted to keep that going. I don’t expect anything from you, Nash, we’re still casually enjoying one another’s company. Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed,” I agreed.

Only I had a feeling that everything had.

MONDAY MORNING, Jemma and I parted ways on the street outside her place. Her hands slipped inside my jacket and curled around my back. It was satisfying to know that she didn’t want to let me go either. I was seriously tempted to follow her to Cream and Sugar, but I had things to do. Moving things. I was anxious for Jemma to see the brownstone, to know what she thought of it.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, rubbing her nose against my chest.

“Count on it.”

Her smile was wide and warm. “And you’re really not going to tell me what you’re doing today?”

“Nope, it’s a surprise.” I dropped a kiss on the end of her nose and grinned. She looked like she wanted to push for more information but was already running late and I knew how much she hated running late. I glanced at my watch, and she slapped my arm.

“You’re a prat,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, I’m going. I’ll see you later.”

AS I CAME along the sidewalk toward my new brownstone, I found Dallas standing at the threshold directing movers like an overly peppy, Instagram-famous dictator. As much as I’d like to be in the kitchen with Jemma—my second favorite place to be with her—I knew that some space was probably a good thing.

I had dragged myself away from her after the kind of kiss that left my brain scrambled. In truth everything about her left my brain scrambled. I was confident there was nothing casual about my feelings for her, but I had no idea what to do about it. I probably shouldn’t do anything about it. Jemma had been very clear about the fact that we should keep things casual, which was the right thing to do.

“There you are!” Dallas waved from the door; more than one mover fumbled as they glanced in her direction.

“Dal, what are you doing here? I could have managed to coordinate my own movers, seeing as we’re five days out from your wedding.”

“Oh Nash.” She pinched my cheek with an indulgent smile. “I always have time to help my favorite brother.”

My attention was diverted as another couple of movers carried a large piece of furniture from one of the two trucks parked at the curb. “I don’t remember that couch.”

“No, you wouldn't.”

“Dallas—”

“I may have taken a few liberties with your credit card after our shopping trip…” She shot me the you-know-you-love-me look that had been perfected at age five. “That’s going downstairs,” she added to the men carting the couch I’d never seen before.

“How much?”

“Just the right amount.” She grinned.

For the next few hours, I watched as a steady stream of unfamiliar furniture snaked its way into my new home. The fact that the house, and the furniture, were mine hadn’t quite registered. I wondered when it would. I was still preoccupied with the thought of seeing Jemma inside. Sitting on one of the three couches. Drinking tea at the kitchen island. Making her sourdough crumpets—how had I gone thirty-two years without eating Jemma’s sourdough crumpets?

“So, what’s up big brother?” Dallas asked, surveying her work like a proud momma once the movers had left. In addition to the movers, Dallas had also organized for a grocery delivery, which she was unpacking into my refrigerator. As soon as she left, I was going to pull it all out and start again, but she didn’t need to know that.

“What’s up with what?” I asked from my position across the breakfast bar—the new stools that Dallas chose were incredibly comfortable.

“What’s up with you? What’s been happening? I’ve barely spoken to you for two weeks and you’re looking all…” She gestured vaguely at me with a bunch of bok choy and tipped her head to one side. “No.”

“What?” I wiped a hand over my beard and face.

“No. Way.”

“Dallas, what are you talking about?”

She threw down the Asian greens and rounded the end of the counter to give me her full attention. “You’re shagging someone?!”

“Don’t say shagging.”

“Jemma says shagging. Oh my god, is it Jemma?” She squealed and grabbed my face. “Are you fucking my wedding planner?”

I didn’t relish the idea of lying to my sister, but I also knew that Jemma would not feel comfortable with Dallas knowing about whatever was going on between us.

“I’m still your wedding planner,” I said in an effort to distract her.

“You’re not denying it!”

“Dallas, I’m not fucking your wedding planner.”

She examined my face for ten long seconds before letting go of me. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“Disappointing? Your exact words on the subject were, ‘do not fuck my wedding planner and scare her off.’ Remember?” That was definitely what she’d said, and now what? She was disappointed that I wasn’t sleeping with Jemma. This made very little sense.

“Yes, I know.” She waved a hand and went back to the groceries. “I was trying to make Jemma seem like she was off limits, you know, to make her more tempting. But if it hasn’t happened by now...”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that Jemma didn’t need anything to make her more tempting. What the hell was Dallas talking about though?

“Dallas, are you saying you did this—were you trying to get Jemma and I together?”

“Not exactly.” She wasn’t looking at me, which meant she was lying and had definitely been playing matchmaker. I wanted to be pissed at her, but it was difficult to be when I’d slept next to Jemma’s warm, soft body last night.

“I just thought—well she’s amazing and I thought she’d be good for you.”

“Dallas—”

“I’m not saying anything else on the matter, I swear. I know that things must still be raw after Nadia…I guess I just wanted to see you happy again.” Her eyes swept over my face. “It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“But you’re happy now.”

“I am.” I was also in over my head. And no matter how much I tried to tell myself that things between Jemma and I should be causal and no pressure, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more. Even when I knew she didn’t want it.

TWENTY-SEVEN

JEMMA

“I HAVE A QUESTION,” I said as I peeled myself off Nash’s chest and rolled out of bed, straight into a pile of discarded clothing—both mine and his. I resisted my need to sort them into lights and darks.

“What’s that?” He pushed up onto his elbows; the action did spectacular things to his abs.

“Why are we here?” I was sure he had mentioned getting the keys to his new flat at some point and yet we were still in my glorified sardine can. I picked up one of Nash’s shirts from the floor and slipped it over my head, trying to be as subtle as possible about the fact I was basically huffing it. How did he smell so good? It wasn’t any one thing; he was earthy and spicy and fresh all at once. It defied logic.

“I assume you're referring to the fact I am now the proud owner of a home in East Williamsburg.”

“You assume correctly, so I will ask again, why are we here?”

“The new place is missing one very vital element…” He stood and pulled on his black boxer briefs and for a moment I forgot what we were talking about. I would never tire of that sight.

“Oh? What’s that?” I asked when my brain returned to full function.

“You. It’s lonely over there.”

“Poor baby,” I cooed, before prancing into the kitchen to make tea. “But you know it wouldn’t be lonely if you brought me with you.” Temporarily of course.

“I had every intention of doing that last night but then I got distracted with the ice cream and chocolate sauce…” His eyes roamed over my exposed legs as he said it and my insides went all warm and tight. I could not bring myself to regret the ice cream and chocolate sauce, no matter how messy it was.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, well—” Nope I couldn’t focus, my brain was now intent on throwing up scenes from last night, which made keeping one’s train of thought utterly hopeless. It was a small miracle that I managed to get anything done while he was around, considering he so often looked at me like I was edible.

The spilling of my guts had left me feeling raw and exposed, hopeful, too, that now might be the time I finally get past it all. That now I might actually heal. But I didn’t want Nash to feel like he had to be around for it. I knew he had his own baggage. Not that he talked about it.

I didn’t know what I had been expecting to happen after I laid all my damage out for him to see. I guess part of me figured he’d, not run, but keep a little distance, maybe. That hadn’t happened. If anything, it was the opposite. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once, but I was not letting myself get carried away, because he could still leave and that was fine. It wasn’t what I wanted to happen, obviously, but I’d live.

“What’s going on up there?” Nash’s finger ran from my forehead down the bridge of my nose.

I had no idea how to put everything in my head into my words. So I just said, “Nothing. Everything.”

His fingers threaded into my hair and massaged my scalp. My eyes dropped closed as a little hum vibrated in my throat. His touch had the power to undo me entirely and put me back together in a way I never knew.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not yet. So when do I get to see this home of yours?”

“Right now.” His strong hands left my hair and trailed down my back.

“I’m not wearing pants.”

“Pants are optional in my house.” He cupped my bum and squeezed, and I snorted out a laugh.

“While that is excellent to know…I don’t think they are on the subway. Or in an uber, or taxi.”

“That’s fair. How about I make you come in the shower, and we get over there?”

What woman would say no to that?

“THIS IS YOUR NEW FLAT?” I gaped as Nash ushered me inside a stunning brownstone—his stunning brownstone. “I—Nash, this isn’t a flat. This is a house. This is—is the whole thing yours?”

“It is.”

“Bloody. Hell.” I wanted to be more eloquent, I really did, but I couldn't. I had no other words. Ahead of us was a staircase that curled around to the left at the top. Everything was white and polished timber and warm and I wanted to live here until I died. Mrs. Snyder would have to come to me for Sunday morning crumpets from now on.

“Do you want the tour?”

I nodded, still without words, as Nash took my hand and towed me through the ground floor. The living, dining and kitchen stretched the full length of the building, with light spilling in from large windows at each end. The furniture was understated but gorgeous, low slung armchairs and vintage coffee and side tables dotted the space. The kitchen looked out onto a courtyard with two raised garden beds just begging for herbs and vegetables.

The kitchen itself was a dream; pristine white cabinets and black marble benchtops that I wanted to rub myself all over. All of the hardware was brass and, honestly, I was getting a little wet just standing in here. And it didn’t help that, despite Nash only having the keys for a couple of days, it already felt like him. Warm and welcoming and comfortable. I cast an eye over my shoulder and found Nash watching me.

“You know you want to open all the cabinets.”

“I really do,” I confirmed, my fingers itching.

“Go on then,” he said with a smile, and I wasted no time. Everything was exactly where I would have put it. I stepped into the narrow butler’s pantry (heaven) and clapped a hand over my mouth as I saw a shelf heaving with different varieties of tea and a beautiful cherry red pot that was the perfect shape and size. Did he buy a teapot and an obscene amount of tea for me?

“Do you approve?” He asked from the doorway.

“I’m in heaven.” I shot a glance at the tea shelf. “Have you developed a penchant for tea?”

“Nope.” He said with a grin as he turned on his heel. “Come on.”

Holy Hell, he bought me tea, and a teapot. I bit my lip. Do not overthink it. It’s just tea.

I was shown the cellar, which was essentially a separate apartment, once again dressed with perfect furniture for the space.

“Did you have an interior designer or something?” I asked, poking my head into a wardrobe when we made it to the first of the bedrooms. Bright and plush. The bed was made with a thick white duvet and more cushions than I knew what to do with—all in earthy tones that gave the room a calm vibe—it was spectacular.

“Who needs a designer when you have a sister like Dallas.”

“She did all this?”

He nodded. I could tell that he was trying to look casual but there was a tightness across his shoulders and around his eyes that was betraying him.

“You don’t like it?” If he did not like this, I was going to slap him, then maybe lock him out and claim squatters’ rights.

“No, I do,” he said without hesitation. “She knocked it out of the park.” She really did, and yet, Nash was still antsy. “Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? It’s—it’s incredible, Nash. I want to live here.” I pinned my lips together, like it might help pull the words back into my mouth. But they were out in the world. Hanging in the space between us. I had not just said I wanted to live with him. Not exactly. I’d said I wanted to live in his house. Oh god. I cleared my throat. “What I mean is, it’s beautiful. And living here would be amazing—if you—but it’s your house—and—I’m going to stop now. What’s next?”

All traces of Nash’s anxiety had evaporated at my rambling. His eyes were both amused and a little lusty; a delightful, if somewhat infuriating combination. “Next stop is the master bedroom.” His bedroom, excellent, maybe I should just give him a blow job in an effort to distract him from basically saying I wanted to move in with him. No pressure at all there.

We crossed the landing, and Nash stood aside for me to go into the bedroom ahead of him. I was eternally grateful that he could not see my face. It was my bloody dream bedroom. The hardwoods underfoot were covered in an enormous dove gray rug that was calling out for my toes. The bed was low and wide and, unlike the other room that looked perfectly appointed, this one was more lived in—even though I knew for a fact it hadn't been. The duvet was a shade lighter than the rug, neat, yet slightly rumpled, and the pillows were the color of a sweet potato’s flesh, not quite orange, but not quite pink either. The peek of sheets beneath the duvet were a rich navy blue. The room was set off with warm timber and greenery here and there.

My eyes prickled, which was ridiculous because this wasn’t my house, nor was it going to be. Nash’s arms came around me from behind and I took a moment to lean back into him and pretend like maybe this was our bedroom.

“You like it?” He asked, lips grazing my ear.

I tried to clear my throat of the spontaneous emotions; it didn’t quite work. “It’s perfect.”

He squeezed me, his chin landing on my shoulder. It felt like coming home.

TWO THINGS. One; I could really do with a pedicure. Two; I was going to throw up.

Dallas’ wedding was two days away. Two. Days. I groaned and tried to focus on taking slow breaths through my nose as I stared at my unkempt toes. My eyes moved past my feet to the tile on Nash’s bathroom floor, the mostly white hexagons were peppered with black spots here and there, the haphazard pattern (or lack thereof) had irritated me when I first saw it. This morning, though, I found it almost soothing. It could be a sign that I was moments away from a stress induced mental breakdown. Two. Days.

“Ready to roll, Jemma?”

“Yes!” I snapped upright too quickly, and my head spun. Nash was standing in the doorway, looking sexier than anyone had any right to. I didn’t really need him to bear witness to me red faced and sweating and on the verge of tears. I wanted to be the put together professional, I really did, but first I just needed a minute to think it was all going to turn to shit and throw up a little bit in my mouth. Then I’d pull myself together. That was normal, wasn’t it?

“You okay there?” He asked as he crossed the room in three long steps and dropped down onto his knees in front of me. The way his hands slid up my thighs was almost enough of a distraction from the wedding related apocalypse in my head, almost.

“Of course.” I winced at the squeak in my voice, and I wondered if he’d even be able to hear it, or if it was a pitch more suited to the local canines. A slow smile pressed the corners of his lips upward and I shifted forward to wrap my arms around his neck. He looked disgustingly relaxed, considering we were going through the rehearsal in an hour.

He took my chin between his thumb and index finger and planted a bone melting kiss on my lips. “Do I need to fuck the nerves outta you?”

“How are you so calm?” I huffed.

“One of us needs to be, otherwise there wouldn’t be someone to suggest fucking the nerves out. And that should always be an option. So, what do you say?” One hand moved into my hair, and he tipped my head back to explore my neck with his mouth. Did we have time? Probably not. Did I care? With his teeth dragging over my skin, no I did not. Would I care if I didn’t have time to get organized before Dallas and Duke arrived? Yes, sadly I would. I let myself enjoy his wandering lips for a moment longer before I tugged his head up.

“Is that a yes?” His eyebrows wagged.

“It’s a later.”

He shrugged and pulled me up to standing. “All I can do is offer. Do you at least feel a little better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No need for thanks, sweet thing, I only ask that you’ve got my back if I lose my shit later.”

“Of course I do, always.” Although I seriously doubted that it was going to happen. He was perpetually calm and levelheaded. The smile I received in response to this almost incinerated my knickers and had me rethinking his offer to fuck my nerves away. No, not right now, my raging libido would have to wait.

“Alright then, let’s go blow my sister’s mind with your wedding planning skills.”

“Our wedding planning skills,” I corrected.

“It’s all you, I am merely following your lead.” It was a gross understatement of his contribution, but I recognized it was an argument I wasn’t going to win, so I settled for pulling him down and kissing him fiercely instead.

He nipped my lower lip. “You keep doing that, we’re gonna be late.”

It was only a short walk to Rudi Blue and, despite Nash’s distractions, my stomach was still twisting with anxiety. Today, rehearsal. Tomorrow, food. The day after, showtime.

He squeezed my hand. “I am not opposed to public sex if it will calm you down.”

“I don’t need to calm down. I’m fine.” I paused. “How did you even know?”

“I can read you like a book.”

“Because I am that transparent?” I’d actually always considered myself quite secretive with my feelings, and good at hiding them, from most people anyway.

“I prefer to think I’m that intuitive.” He said with a wink. “But you are my favorite thing to read, so that might have something to do with it, too.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep, every time I crack you open and take a look, I come away with a little something new.” His confession made me feel entirely too exposed, especially considering we hadn’t even known one another for a month and had been sleeping together for less than two weeks. And yet, without looking at me, he knew that I was about to lose my shit. How?

I peeked up at him, he wasn’t looking at me, just gazing straight ahead with a secret smile on that gorgeous bloody face.

I wasn’t sure when it happened, but something inside me had shifted. I had been blaming the unsettled feeling on the overabundance of smashed avocado in my life, but I was starting to see that it had never been about that at all. It was about me. I’d enjoyed the catering not just because it let me plan different menus every week, but because I got to plan more than menus. It let me scratch the itch of more that I hadn’t realized I needed. I was no longer just scratching that itch, I’d thrown myself in, boots and all, and I loved it. I was thriving.

When everything ended with Jonah and my life exploded, all my puzzle pieces went flying. For a while I had no interest in even looking for them, let alone trying to put them back together. When Mrs. Snyder shoved me out of my cave and forced me to start picking those pieces back up, I wasn’t sure how they fit together anymore. That was the reason I had these holes I didn’t understand, because I had all my pieces back, I just needed to figure out how they fit.

It wasn’t until now that I realized I’d never had all of the pieces to begin with, not even before, when I thought I was happy. Had I really not seen those holes? Or was it a matter of not understanding they had been empty until they weren’t anymore? My hand pressed against my chest, one finger tracing the outline of the new piece that had slid into place.

I should be happy, excited, relieved to feel this way. Not complete, but content maybe? Sated? But instead, the most prominent thing rolling in my gut was dread. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I was confident that it would happen sooner rather than later. How was I going to cope when it did? I had thought I’d been happy before and the end had broken me irreparably. And though I’d put those pieces back together, they hadn’t all healed quite right. If I was blown apart now, with these new pieces and new sense of rightness that followed me around, I didn’t want to think about the result. I wasn’t sure there was putting the pieces back after that.

All of this pointed to the fact that there was an excellent chance I was in over my head with Nash. I tried not to be. I tried to convince myself that this was all very casual with absolutely no pressure. And everything would be fine. But the wedding was two days away, and the thought that we wouldn’t keep doing whatever it was we were doing made my chest all squirmy.

Nash had not mentioned a single thing about Nadia. I wasn’t about to press for information because I more than understood the need to not talk. The thing was though, not talking tended to go hand in hand with not dealing with your shit, either. So as much as I was enjoying my time with him and working with him and shagging him every spare moment we had, I was very much aware that it could all go up in smoke the minute Nadia appeared.

She wasn’t on the guest list for the wedding, but after meeting Nash’s mother I was not so naive as to believe she wouldn’t be in attendance. She was, until quite recently, a member of the family after all. I guess I just wanted to know I stood a chance with him, even though it was absolutely not fair of me to ask. Because even without all the sex, I was going to miss working with him when all of this was over. We had a rhythm and understanding that made everything feel smooth and achievable. Even planning a wedding in under a month. As much as I was sure he’d like to think otherwise, this life of his in New York, this life with me in it, it wasn’t permanent for him, not really. It was an escape, a holiday from his real world back in LA.

Knowing this, knowing that I could be forty-eight hours away from never touching him again sparked some small piece of self-preservation.

“Hey daydreamer, we’re here.” Nash grinned down at me.

“Before we go in— um—maybe we should—it might be a good idea—” Now was not the time for me to lose my voice. Just spit it out, Jemma.

“You don’t want to tell Dallas,” he said, not frustrated, just Nash. Always so bloody understanding.

“I don’t not want to tell Dallas, it’s just—it feels like an unnecessary complication.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He laughed. “You’re usually right. We can barely verbalize what we’re doing here—and yet I think we’re on the same page?”

I nodded.

“So maybe telling Dallas, who has a tendency to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and thoroughly enjoys meddling in the lives of others, isn’t such a good idea.”

“Yes, exactly.” He was right. I was right. So why was there a twinge of disappointment somewhere in the general vicinity of my heart? This was a good thing. We were on the same page. The no pressure, everything is totally fine, page.

“Now stop thinking about me naked or you’re going to give us both away.”

“You wish I was thinking about you naked.”

“Of course I do. Have you been having dreams about me too?”

I couldn’t stop the snort of laughter. I was absolutely not telling him about the dreams I’d had after our first night together. Naturally, he’d mentioned it to keep my mind on him and not rehearsal madness.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I’m always lookin’ out for you, sweet thing,” he said with a wink as he dropped my hand and took one large step backward. For the next couple of hours, we were colleagues only.

Mack and Chase had matching smirks as we approached, and I wondered absently if there was anything going on between them. I made a mental note to ask Nash when we weren’t about to rehearse the biggest day of my career.

“If it isn’t the wedding planners,” Mack crowed, running a hand through his unruly curls, bicep flexing under his shirt sleeve.

“Thank you so much for letting us shut you down for three days.”

“Please, with the amount you’re shelling out, we could probably close for a week.” Chase pulled me into a hug.

“Maybe even a month!”

“And now you can see who does the books and who sweet talks the customers,” she said with an indulgent smile at Mack over her shoulder before turning back to me. “Is there anything you need from us?”

“Not at the moment, you’re welcome to come up and watch though.”

The four of us went up to the terrace and, as soon as we stepped outside, I couldn’t stop the smile from splitting my face. It wasn’t warm, but still bathed in the golden light of an autumn afternoon. The small pergola, which would serve as our makeshift altar, was covered in a canopy of reds, oranges and yellows thanks to the grapevine that clung to it. Twinkling fairy lights peaked out from the canopy. It was beautiful. This was all going to happen, and it was going to be spectacular.

Mack and Chase peeled off to do their own thing while Nash and I went back inside and I pulled out the run sheet and a pen, because there was something about actually writing that made me feel more in control than if I was just tapping away on my phone or a tablet. I would not have been surprised if it was the most detailed run sheet of all time. I hadn’t taken it down to the minute, but you can bet I was tempted to.

“Hit it,” Nash said, pointing at me.

“Guests arrive and mingle for twenty to thirty minutes. Groom arrives. Everyone takes their places. Bride arrives. Cue tears and cheering and general wedding antics. Ceremony. More tears. More cheering. Dallas and Duke will stay up on the roof to have some photos taken. The rest of the guests will come inside, drinks and food will start roaming. The new Mr. and Mrs. Duke Prince are formally introduced. More drinks. More food. Speeches. The band starts. The bride and groom take their first dance as a married couple. Cake is cut. More drinks. More food. Dancing.”

I blew out a breath and shook off a full body shiver. This was actually happening.

“It’s going to be fucking great, Jemma, you know it is.” Nash’s hand reached in my direction but dropped before it made contact. It was comforting to know that he wanted to touch me as much as I did him.

“I know it is,” I agreed, blowing him a kiss. “I can’t believe in three days it’ll be done.”

“Crazy.”

“You’ll have to figure out what you’re going to do with yourself.”

He scrubbed the back of his neck then looked up at me through his eyelashes. They were more of a stormy gray than green, with intensity hanging behind them. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already figured that out.” I swallowed heavily, feeling like I was about to be devoured, but before I could ask him what he meant, the bride and groom exploded into the bar.

“I can’t believe we’re getting married. In two. Fucking. Days! Can you believe it, babe?” Dallas grinned up at Duke, who was even more good looking in person. His teeth were exceptionally white, and his biceps were at least as big as my head, maybe a little bigger.

“I’d do it today if you let me,” he said, gazing down at her with a softness in his eyes that made me feel like I was intruding on a private moment.

“And let all Jemma’s hard work go to waste? Blasphemous, almost husband, blasphemous.” She swatted his chest then bounded over and caught me in a hug.

“I’m your brother, and you go straight to Jemma?” Nash asked in mock offense.

“I was getting to you, butt-head,” she said and threw her arms around his neck.

“Duke, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” I extended my hand, which was promptly swallowed by his square paw.

“You too, Jemma, Dallas has barely stopped talking about you. I think she just wanted to get married so you could plan the thing.”

“That’s absolutely true,” Dallas said with a nod and heat engulfed my face. “So where do you want us?”

I glanced at Nash who, despite reassuring me all day, was looking pale. We hadn’t told Dallas that he was going to be the celebrant, preferring to leave it as a surprise, and I had thought he would tell her once we started the rehearsal, but now he just looked sick.

“Why don’t you guys have a look around, the terrace is just through there and we’ll join you outside in a minute.”

“Sounds great!” Dallas grabbed Duke’s hand and dragged him off. I gestured for Nash to follow me down the short hall to the restrooms.

Once safely inside, I asked, “What’s up? You look like you’re about to vomit.”

“I think I am.”

“Seriously? What happened? You were fine a minute ago.” The look I received was so full of panic that I had to swallow a laugh. He was adorable when he was freaked out. “Okay, how about you just take a seat…” I towed him over and nudged him onto the edge of the vanity. “And tell me what’s going on.”

“She’s gonna hate it.”

“Dallas?” He nodded. “What’s she going to hate? You’ve been telling me all week that she’s going to be blown away by everything we’ve done.”

“Everything you’ve done. What if I’m a terrible celebrant? What if I forget all the shit I’m supposed to say?”

“Oh my god, Nash!” I took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. “When we walk out there and you tell Dallas that you’re going to be the celebrant at her wedding, she’s going to cry. I’ll put money on it. Better! I’ll put tonight’s first orgasm on it.” This brightened his mood considerably. “Speaking of…before we head up, you want a quick blowjob?”

He barked out a laugh and planted his hands on my hips.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a later.”

“Alright then. Do you at least feel a little better?” I asked, echoing his question from earlier. He nodded. “I honestly did not think you were the freak out type.”

His hands slipped down over my bum and squeezed. “I might be more prone to freaking out if you're going to offer a blowjob to help me out.” I pushed my fingers into his hair, massaging the base of his skull, enjoying the way he leaned into my touch and his eyes fell closed. I brushed my lips over his, tasting. We didn’t really have time for this, and it was going directly against the let’s not tell Dallas thing, but as his arms curled tightly around me, I decided I didn’t really care.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, I’m pretty sure we should be going.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

“But thank you for the distraction.”

“Quite alright, I had to return the favor for earlier, didn’t I?” He stood with me still wrapped around him.

“Come on, sweet thing.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

NASH

JUST AS JEMMA PREDICTED, Dallas cried. A lot.

“Are you fucking serious?” She asked, wiping her cheeks and staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “How the hell did you manage to become a celebrant in four weeks?”

I shrugged. “I’m just that good.” This at least got a laugh before she muttered a few more oh my gods into my chest while her arms squeezed around my middle. I didn’t want to make her cry, but I was pretty sure they were happy tears and at least she didn’t tell me to go fuck myself. Not that I actually thought she would do that. Well, there was always a chance, hence my perfectly timed meltdown a few minutes ago. I caught Jemma’s eye over the top of Dallas’ head, she beamed at me and mouthed I told you so. Yes, she did. And I owed her the first orgasm as a result. I was already thinking of how to make sure it was the best fucking orgasm she’d ever had.

Dallas released me and stepped back, clearing her cheeks of the last tears.

“That’s really cool man.” Duke pulled me into a bro-ish, back slapping hug. “Can’t think of a better person to make us man and wife.”

“Or woman and husband.”

“No one says that babe.”

“Well maybe they should start.” Dallas gave one last sniff.

It was Jemma’s time to take charge, she waved her run sheet, which was already covered in scribbled notes, and started at the top. She stood Duke and I under the rusted grapevine before taking Dallas by the elbow towing her to the door.

“So, you come in through the front. Everyone will be waiting up here…”

“To watch me get married!”

“To watch us get married,” Duke said from his place beside me. Dallas blew him a kiss.

Jemma walked us through the rest of the proceedings and more than once I found myself watching her, amazed. Not, like for the first time, amazed, because I already knew she was incredible. But seeing her in her element, not just in the planning, it was something else. She was calm, composed, fucking radiant. My chest warmed as I watched her and Dallas, I had no idea what they were looking at, but Dallas was crying, again.

“You guys…” she sniffed. “I can’t wait to see it all. I really can’t.”

“We can’t wait for you both to see it,” Jemma said with a smile at me. Mine. The thought struck me, right in the center of my chest. Hard. Desperate. But she wasn’t mine. She didn’t want more than was currently happening. And even if she did, I wasn’t in a good place to give that to her.

“But before that—” Duke started but was quickly interrupted as Dallas started squealing. I pulled myself out of my own head. Dallas squealing like a teenager was rarely a good thing.

“Oh my god, yes! Bachelorette par-tay!” She sang. “And bachelor party for my soon to be husband.” They shared a kiss with way too much visible tongue. I was pretty sure that any visible tongue was probably too much. Especially in front of all of your friends and family.

“Jesus, please do not do that on Saturday.”

The happy couple unglued themselves from one another and Dallas shot me a look over her shoulder. “Nash, Nash, Nash…always such a prude! Does this mean you will not be partaking in the naked female entertainment this evening?”

Naked female entertainment? “No, I will not.”

She tsked at me and hooked one arm through Jemma’s. “Well, that’s your loss because Jemma and I will be getting an absolute eyeful of well-oiled men. Naked men. Probably with enormous penises.” Her beaming smile was at complete odds with Jemma, who looked utterly horrified. I coughed to cover the laugh that rose up my throat.

“I—uh—what?” Jemma stuttered. “Dallas, that’s very kind of you to invite me but—”

“No excuses. You’re my wedding planner. You have to come.”

“I don’t think wedding planners are generally guests at their client’s bachelorette parties.”

She batted her eyelashes wildly. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Jemma looked at me for some kind of back up, but I didn’t have a chance to make any kind of excuse that would keep one or both of us away from the evening’s festivities, because Duke clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not getting out of it either, bro.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Jemma said, with a smile. I stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. This not touching her thing was brutal. “But I need to be home by midnight.”

Dallas looked poised to argue but decided to let it go. “Deal. Some time is better than no time.”

Ten minutes later, two black town cars were idling at the curb and, after another highly inappropriate kiss, my sister and soon to be brother-in-law each took one.

Jemma hesitated, looking just as desperate to touch me as I was her.

“I cannot believe we have been talked into going to the bachelor and bachelorette parties,” I said. It seemed doubtful that either of us would actually make it home by the midnight goal, but we could hope.

“You should definitely be going.” Her tone was all business but there was a glint in her eye that was nothing but trouble. It made me want to drag her back to my house and never let her leave.

“You’re the brother of the bride after all,” she carried on obliviously to the caveman direction of my thoughts. “It makes sense that you go. I’m just the wedding planner.”

“You know that Dallas does not think of you as just the wedding planner,” I reminded her.

“I know,” she said with a sigh, her eyes roaming over me. “And I like that she doesn’t, or I usually do. Right now, I’m not so sure.”

I was really regretting the-let’s-not-tell-Dallas decision because it meant I couldn’t even kiss her goodbye. I reminded myself that she’d still be in my bed later though. It was enough to loosen the knot in my chest. Both horns started blaring.

“Looks like it’s time to go,” I said.

“Looks that way.” She smiled, winked, and disappeared into the car with my sister.

MY HEAD WAS POUNDING, and I was going to throw up. Why the hell did I have so much to drink last night? I’d like to say that, as a thirty-two-year-old man, I was not one to succumb to peer pressure, but the eye watering pain in my skull said otherwise. I had no idea what time it was when I dragged my ass home, but it was well after the midnight deadline. Fucking Duke. The guy was a demon. And his friends were loose as fuck.

It had been a good night though, and I only regretted my overindulgence a bit. Okay, a lot. With a groan I rolled onto my back and my eye was caught by a pint glass of water and two ibuprofen on the nightstand. Jemma. Bless that woman. I vaguely remembered her being in my bed when I got home last night, sleeping soundly. I stood there for what could have been an hour just staring at her, blonde hair splayed across the pillow, hand reaching for my side of the bed.

It didn’t make sense how quickly and easily she had become such an important part of my life. Was I falling in love with her? Had I already? No, that was mad. I wasn’t Dallas, who fell in love on the first date, moved in a month later and got married in under a year. That wasn’t me. That definitely wasn’t me when I was still processing my failed marriage. I couldn’t be in love with Jemma.

I had been tempted to wake her up but, considering my potential for whiskey dick, I settled on gathering her into my chest and dropping off into a sleep so deep it rivaled death.

I tried to stay completely still, waiting for the painkillers to do their job—or kill me, right now I’d be okay with that too. I couldn’t hear Jemma downstairs. And as much as I wanted her in bed with me, it was probably best she was not witnessing the dead animal breath or general stench from last night.

I closed my eyes, just a little more sleep and I’d be good to go, I was sure of it.

Hands on my chest. Lips at my ear. Yes. This was what I needed. Jemma in my bed, taking all the pain away. She made everything better. I rolled into her warmth, wrapping my arms around her, breathing her in. But something wasn’t right. I wasn’t inhaling cinnamon and tea. Instead, it was—

My eyes snapped open, and I pushed myself away from Nadia. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

After a beat of uncertainty, she replied, “I wanted to surprise you.” Well color me fucking surprised.

“How did you get in?” What the fuck was happening?

“The key under the pot by the door.” The key I’d left for Jemma, if she ever forgot the one I’d had cut for her, because of course I’d gone and had a key cut for her.

I scrambled backward and off the bed, away from my practically naked ex-wife. She was in a tiny black lace thong and sheer bra. And I wasn’t the least bit interested. All I wanted to do was get her the fuck out of here as soon as possible. Did she smell Jemma on the pillow, in the sheets?

As I straightened Nadia’s eyes swept over my chest and lower, lingering predictably somewhere below my navel. I did not like her hungry look. What was she doing here? Where was Jemma? My heart started to pound too fast, too hard against my ribs. If Jemma saw Nadia coming in here, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to ignore the thump of my pulse in my neck. “What are you doing here, Nadia?” She pushed up onto her knees and shuffled toward the edge of the bed. I backed up a couple of paces. Yes, she looked good, she always looked good, but there wasn’t even the slightest stir in my boxers. Something she noticed with the slightest pout.

“I’m here for Dallas’ wedding. My sister-in-law’s wedding.”

“You lost the right to call her your sister-in-law when you ended our marriage. Also, you weren’t invited.” I knew it for a fact because I scoured the guest list for her name on more than one occasion.

“In fact, I was.”

Of course, and I didn’t need to ask where her invitation had come from. Mom. I was going to strangle that woman. But an invitation to Dallas’ wedding didn’t translate to Nadia needing to be in my bedroom right now. If Jemma walked in—if she’d seen Nadia coming in—I wasn’t sure she’d even give me the chance to explain. Not that I’d blame her, because it did not look good.

“Where’s Trent?” I asked, not that I actually wanted to know. I just needed to twist the knife and remind her that she walked the fuck out on our life. The flash of hurt in her brown eyes told me I’d hit my mark. It didn’t make me feel any better.

“We don’t need to talk about Trent. I wanted to see you. I—”

“You want to see me now? Last we spoke, you were done with me, Nadia.”

“I wasn’t done with you, I’ve never been done with you.” How the fuck could she say that to me now? She literally walked out of our home with another man. That said done to me.

The sound of the front door closing had my stomach bottoming out. Jemma.

“Nadia, you need to put some clothes on.”

She slipped off the bed and pulled on a trench coat. Jesus, she’d come here in a fucking trench coat. Did she really think that was all it was going to take for us to get back together? Show up here in a trench coat the day before my sister’s wedding?

I made it to the bedroom door just as Jemma appeared at the top of the stairs. And as soon as she saw my face, she knew something was up. How could she not?

“Nash h—” Before she managed to finish her eyes moved past my shoulder and considering the way they went wide, I had to assume that Nadia was behind me. “Hi—sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting anything.” And this was officially a fucking nightmare. The very worst part, there was no surprise, only hurt and disappointment in my favorite pair of blue eyes.

“No, you’re not, there’s nothing to interrupt. Nadia was just leaving.”

“Please, Nadia doesn’t—you don’t—have to leave on my account.” She was already backing up.

I took a step toward her, but she held up a hand. The one that wasn’t holding a large to-go cup and a grease-stained paper bag. Her hair was a mess and there was flour on her cheek. She’d already been to Cream and Sugar to start our prep while I slept off my hangover. And now she’d come to bring me coffee and food and found this fucking horror scene.

She cleared her throat, attention bouncing between me and the woman behind me. “I only bought the one coffee and pastry, so you’ll have to share.” I knew that tone, it was the I-want-to-flay-your-skin-from-your-bones tone.

I opened my mouth, to say who the fuck knew what, but Nadia beat me to it.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t met, I’m Nadia, how do you know my husband...?” She stepped out from behind me, extending her hand to Jemma.

Jemma’s lips curved into a polite smile, but her eyes were flat and empty, like she’d just turned off the brightest parts of herself. “It’s Jemma, and your husband has been helping me plan Dallas’ wedding. I was just coming to remind him that we have a lot to get through today. But it can wait until after you two have caught up.” She glanced at Nadia’s bare feet, and I was sure she knew there was very little under the coat. “I’ll leave you to it.” There wasn’t a backward glance before she bolted down the stairs. I was halfway to the door before I realized I was pretty much naked.

“Fuck! Jemma, wait!” I took the stairs two at a time back up and into my room, and found Nadia perched on the corner of my bed. I pulled on a shirt and punched my legs into a pair of jeans, but Nadia put herself between me and the door.

“Move.” My menacing tone did nothing to shift her.

“Nash, please wait. I didn’t—you met someone? She’s pretty.”

“I am not talking to you about her, Nadia.”

“I know that I don’t have the right to ask you to stay—”

“No, you don’t. You need to move, now.”

She didn’t. “Trent was a mistake. Leaving you was a mistake. I want to make it right, I want another chance.”

Before I met Jemma, I’d dreamed of Nadia saying those exact words. They had been all I wanted. Now, I knew how much I’d be losing if I gave in to them.

“I need to go. And you need to be gone when I get back.” I pushed past her and rushed out on the street. A fresh slice of pain shot through my head as I made it out into the bright fall sun. Unsurprisingly, Jemma was gone. At least I knew where she was going to be.

TWENTY-NINE

JEMMA

THE OTHER SHOE HAD DROPPED.

The other shoe had dropped in the form of a trench coat clad supermodel in Nash’s bedroom. I left his bed early this morning and when I came back to see how he was feeling, there was a fucking woman in his house. In his room. In his bed. I swallowed convulsively, willing myself not to vomit. It wasn’t just any woman. It was his wife.

And look, it might have been innocent, plenty of people have totally innocent meetings in bedrooms when one is in their underwear and the other is in a trench coat. Ha! Fat. Fucking. Chance. It was a universal law that anyone arriving at their ex’s home in a trench coat was wearing bugger all underneath. My stomach rolled again. She’d been naked under there. I was sure of it. I didn’t want to think that they’d been having sex, but it was difficult not to. He was naked (pretty much) and she was in a trench coat. Sex wasn’t even a hop, skip and a jump from that. It was more of a stumble, on the belt of your trench coat that you were ripping off in your haste to have the sex. Fuckity shitting bollocks.

The taxi pulled up at Cream and Sugar—its appearance on Nash’s street the moment I barreled out of his house had been a Godsend—and I stepped out onto the pavement. I didn’t have time for this right now. This being a mental breakdown over my non-relationship with a guy who was pretty clearly out of my league, if his wife was anything to go by. I had an entire wedding menu to prep before tomorrow. And that was exactly what I was going to do. Because I was a professional and I was absolutely not going to think about Nash and Nadia naked in the bed I had slept in with him last night. I swallowed against the rising panic and bile.

Stop thinking about it.

Nash and his smoldering eyes and multiple orgasms had distracted me from the fact that my career was hinging on this thing. He had distracted me from pretty much everything. And it was time to get my head back in the game.

“Hey, Jem, that was fast, where’s Nash?” Harley asked, never breaking stride in her coffee making movement.

The sharp retort sat hot on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. “He’ll be here shortly,” I said, instead of something that couldn’t be taken back. Because despite what I just walked in on, I didn’t want anyone else thinking poorly of him. Because what if he and Nadia hadn’t been about to have sex, or just gotten done with sex? What if it was innocent? As innocent as it could be when two highly attractive people who had been having sex with each other for quite some time were practically naked in the same two meter space. I was absolutely being an idiot. They’d been having sex.

“You okay?” Harley was watching me with her x-ray eyes. I plastered a comically wide smile on my face, because of course that was going to help.

“Yes, fine, great, I’m great. Nash wasn’t quite ready. But I’m sure he won’t be long.” It was true enough, after that shit show I gave him another ten minutes before he came exploding in here. Assuming he wasn’t too busy shagging the supermodel with the perfect boobs (I didn’t need to see them to know how bloody perky they’d be). Nope. Not thinking about that.

Game face, Jemma, game face, you don’t have time for this.

The kitchen was still the semi-disaster zone I’d left. Every surface was covered with produce in various stages of preparedness. I’d arrived at six-thirty after waking a little after five. I had tried to go back to sleep but my brain was having none of it, so I decided to give up on sleep and start moving.

My eyes prickled as I looked over Nash’s scrawled notes on the menu. No. I did not have time for tears. Not even when my heart was splintering in my chest. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he? I more than understood that this thing between us wasn’t serious, there was no pressure. But that didn’t mean he could sleep with his ex-wife a couple of hours after I left his bed. His wife. Not ex. The entire time I’d known him he’d been steadfast in his position of he and Nadia being separated. And yet, the woman in his house said something else altogether. I needed to talk to him. But that wasn’t going to happen with said naked woman in ear shot. Also, I would have been more likely to beat him with the closest blunt object had I not gotten out of there immediately. I just needed to cool down, focus on my prep list and we could have a conversation later.

I had barely started on the cauliflower when, as expected, Nash exploded into the kitchen. Had I not been such a confident knife handler I would have lost my left pinky.

He took me by the shoulders, his eyes wide and wild. “Jemma, fuck, I’m so sorry! That was—I don’t know what she was doing there. I thought she was you, but she didn’t smell right, and she was in our bed—fuck I tried to get her to leave—” Our bed. He called it our bed.

“Who was in bed?” Harley asked, her curly head hovering on the pass.

“No one,” I said at the same time Nash said, “Nadia.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “As in ex-wife Nadia?” Because of course Harley knew who Nadia was, despite me trying to keep my business, my business.

“Yes, Harley, as in ex-wife Nadia,” I said. “Can you give us a minute please?”

“Sure thing, Jem-Jem, but if you need to tag me in, I’m right here.” She started stretching out her shoulders.

“I’ll manage, thank you.”

To Nash’s credit, he met Harley’s fierce stare with one of his own before she swung away, cracking her knuckles. I needed to take control of this conversation, but I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted him to be telling the truth, obviously, but I wasn’t sure I could just let it go. The image of Nadia standing there, asking how I knew her husband, was seared into my brain.

“Please say something.” Every part of him was pleading and it took everything in me not to reach out and touch him.

“She called you her husband, present tense.”

“We’re separated. That hasn’t changed.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for having some trouble believing that just at the moment. Was she naked, under the coat?”

“No,” he answered too quickly, and I cocked an eyebrow. “She was in underwear.” Somehow that seemed even sexier than being completely naked.

“What did she want? Does she want to work things out?” I had no idea what happened to their relationship. But, if I had to guess, I’d say she left and was making a play to win him back. I would too, though probably not with a trench coat.

“I don’t know.” At my disbelieving look, he added, “Yes, she does. But I don’t want her.”

“Is she here for the wedding?”

“My mother invited her.”

Of course. I knew there was no way Mrs. Easton would let it go so easily. I sighed. “Nash, I don’t know what to do here. I want to believe you, I really do, but what I saw back there...”

“It didn’t look good, I know that. And I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to go fuck myself, but Jemma I swear to you that I am telling you the truth. Nadia and I are not back together. We are not getting back together.” He took a tentative step toward me. And I held up the knife. Not pointing it at him, just warning him not to come closer. To his credit, he didn’t advance any further.

“You haven’t said a word about what happened with Nadia,” I said; he looked poised to spill, but it wasn’t the time. “And I respect that. I don’t want to hear it now. I can’t. We have too much to do and if I get into this with you right now, nothing will get done. I need to focus. We have work to do.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, taking a step back. I didn’t want to be right. I wanted him to wrap me in a hug and make the last hour go away, but he couldn’t. He might think he didn’t want Nadia anymore, but she was his wife. He’d said vows, they both had. And it was clear she wasn’t done with him. I closed my eyes to hold back the tears and fight off the wave of sadness that rose up in my chest. I couldn’t deal with this now. It was time to compartmentalize. These feelings needed to be shut away for the next two days.

I licked my lips. Took a breath. And opened my eyes. The intensity of his made me falter. I’d wanted to be looked at like that all my life, like I was the only thing in the world. The fact that I was going to walk away from it sent a fresh crack through my heart. Two days. I’d deal with that in two days. Right now, we had a wedding to execute.

“Let’s get to work.”

AFTER FOUR CRAZY weeks of planning, the time had come. Nash and Duke were in place under the grapevine. The guests were spread over the terrace, talking among themselves. And I had just heard the rumble of a mustang pulling up on the street.

The bride was here. It was showtime.

Our photographer, Sadie, shot me a grin before darting inside and a stampede of aggressive, possibly overweight, butterflies took off in my stomach as I followed her. Everything was running smoothly so far but my anxiety was working overtime trying to come up with all the ways things could go south.

I had just made it to the bottom of the stairs when I heard my name. I should have kept walking, pretended I was busy and distracted, it wasn’t untrue. And no one would blame me. Instead, I turned, already knowing who was waiting for me.

Nadia stopped two steps above me, her supermodel body wrapped in a dress that lovingly hugged every dip and swell. I was pretty sure her bronze legs would come up to my armpits if we were standing side by side. I swallowed past my spontaneously dry throat as my heart thudded hard against my ribs.

“Jemma, I know you’re busy. I just wondered—”

“Jemma!” Sadie called from the door, waving me over. I wanted to kiss her.

“Sorry, Nadia, I don’t have a lot of time. The bride is here.”

“Of course, sorry.” She came down one step and a fresh, expensive scent curled around me. “I just—can we talk later?”

“Sure,” I said with a nod and then excused myself and continued on to the door. I didn’t want to speak to Nadia. Not now. Not later. Not ever. What the hell could she possibly have to say to me? Oh, by the way Nash is mine, you can keep your hands to yourself from now on, not that it matters because I’ll be taking him back to LA. I wasn’t going to think about that conversation now. I had work to do.

I blew out a breath as I made my way to the door. Even with my head spinning I couldn’t help but appreciate what we’d created. The bar was still recognizable, but elevated. The old, exposed beams were full of foliage, dripping toward the floor. Every table, whether low or high, was adorned with some kind of flower arrangement. The warm glow of dozens upon dozens of string lights lit the space and gave you the impression of walking into some kind of magical garden. It was perfect. I just hoped Dallas would think so, too.

I hustled over to the door and stopped dead in my tracks when I spotted Dallas exiting the car. Both Sadie and the photographer from People started snapping immediately. I knew that she was going to look incredible, she could be dressed in a torn potato sack and still take most people’s breath away. But my brain was not prepared for Dallas in full bride mode. She beamed as she saw me, holding the train of her dress over one arm.

“Oh my god, you need to say something,” she said. But I wasn’t sure I had the words.

“You look like a princess. You look better than a princess.” She looked like she had been wrapped in the most sublime ivory lace. The neckline sat along her collar bones and hugged every curve of her body all the way to her knees where it flared out like the tail of a mermaid. Her dark hair was pulled off her face but still fell in waves around her shoulders and was covered in a long veil. Tears stung my eyes.

“Do you think Duke will like it?” She did a twirl and I saw the back of the dress, which was non-existent.

“I think Duke is going to offend your grandparents because he’s going to have a raging hard on for the entire night.”

“Excellent!” She said with a wink. “Can you help me with my train?”

“Of course!” I snapped back into planning mode. “Let’s get you inside and married.” The photographers followed us as we made our way into Rudi Blue. And the tears I had managed to blink back returned as soon as Dallas stepped back inside and looked around. She was speechless. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.

“You’re a complete bitch,” she said eventually. “I have not cried all day, and now look at me!” I wiped a few tears off my own cheeks and handed her a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes.

“Jemma, it’s—I have no words. It’s better than I ever thought it could look—it’s magic.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said with a watery smile.

“I don’t like it, I love it. And I am sure People are going to lose their fucking minds over it, right Kelsey?”

“Right,” Kelsey replied, not bothering to remove the camera from her face. In the madness of the last week, I had all but forgotten about the fact that Dallas had sold the exclusive rights of the wedding to People. The idea that all of this was going to be in an actual magazine, and a whole bunch of eyeballs would see it blew my mind. Not that I would be admitting as much right at the moment. When the wedding was over and Dallas and Duke were on the cover of People magazine, I would be buying up every copy in Brooklyn and sending them all to my mother. But that was a task for next week. I still had a wedding to get through.

The music echoed down the stairs.

“It’s go time,” Dallas said with a wobbling smile.

“It’s go time,” I agreed. And with that, we both snapped into wedding mode. I slipped out onto the terrace and without meaning to sought out Nash. His smile was strained, sad. It made fresh tears rush up. No, one more day and I would deal with my personal life. It would be a lot easier to ignore him if he didn’t look so appallingly good in his pair of charcoal dress pants and an emerald-green, crushed velvet jacket. Show me another man who looked mouth-watering in an emerald-green, crushed velvet jacket and I would hand over a thousand dollars, on the spot, maybe even two because I just didn’t think it was physically possible.

I took a deep breath, swallowed my various anxieties and signaled Dallas who was standing at the bottom of the short staircase. She took her father’s arm and they started up together. My nose burned with more impending tears, but I blinked them away as best I could. Wedding planners probably weren’t supposed to be so emotional about their clients but this being my first rodeo, and me having too many feelings for the celebrant/brother of the bride, was doing things to me, apparently.

Paper Rings played quietly as the bride made her way onto the terrace. I had not pegged Nash for a Taylor fan, but it was a perfect choice. I turned my attention to Duke as Dallas made her way toward him. The world’s biggest action movie star made no attempt to hide the tears that were glistening in his eyes, his attention was all on his bride, the whole world could have been burning down and he would have been none the wiser.

God, I loved a wedding.

My attention once again drifted over to Nash, and I found him watching me. The look in his eyes was raw and vulnerable and it shook me right out of my blissed-out wedding daze. We hadn’t spoken a word that wasn’t wedding related since yesterday. It was working to keep me focused. Or it had until I got into bed last night. My tiny flat had never felt so cavernous as it did without him in it. I realized last night, as I was curled up alone in my bed, that I’d gone and fallen in love with him. It wasn’t the same as how I’d felt about Jonah. That was a strange combination of infatuation, obsession and fear. This was real. Honest. A partnership. It meant that I only wanted the best for him. That I wanted his happiness above everything else. And I was pretty sure that meant letting him go. Which was just about the worst thing ever. But it was better than him realizing in a month that he should have tried to make things work with Nadia. I didn’t want to be a regret.

Dallas made it to the end of the aisle and she and Duke shared a kiss that elicited numerous hoots from the audience. Nash reigned everyone in and started the ceremony. People laughed here and clapped there. He was brilliant. He was brilliant in the kitchen too, but there was something different about this.

I needed to go into the kitchen and make sure everything was on track, but it felt like my feet were stuck to the floor. I wanted to watch him forever. I wanted to commit this moment to memory. I pulled myself back from the ledge. I was working. I had a job to do. And I might be having a personal meltdown, but I would not let that have an effect on my work. I was better than that.

Mack and Chase were rushing around when I made it back inside. Each of them shot me a wave before I ducked into the kitchen.

“You okay over there?” Darcy was peering at me from across the room. I had told her that shutting Cream and Sugar for the day was completely unnecessary, but she insisted. Apparently, I was being selfish keeping Darcy, Harley and the handful of other staff members away from a celebrity wedding. And so, the Cream and Sugar team had been put to work. Darcy had been put to work in the kitchen and Harley and the others were part of our wait staff team.

“Of course, yes, yep, I’m great.”

She laughed. “It’s all going perfectly, Jem.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s all…ignore me, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I shook my head. Everything looked like it was exactly where it needed to be. I could see chorizo sizzling, I could see broad beans smashed, chimichurri and cauliflower cakes.

The menu had come together even better than I expected, the perfect blend of both our styles into one cohesive offering that I was sure was going to blow everyone away. My chest dived and rolled. I loved him. But now was not the time to be thinking about it. Especially not when his ex-wife wanted to speak to me. At least Nash knew that any personal conversation was strictly off limits tonight. Nadia was not aware. And although I knew she’d been trying to look casual earlier, I could see the hard edge behind her eyes. She wanted him, that much was obvious. And she wasn’t going down without a fight.

THIRTY

NASH

“I NOW PRONOUNCE you man and wife—and woman and husband,” I added, as per Dallas’ request. Duke rolled his eyes, but with a huge grin grabbed his bride and dipped her into a suitably dramatic kiss (with zero visible tongue, thank God), and all of the guests went wild. Hooting, hollering and clapping.

My baby sister was married. And I’d been the one to do it. It was wild. The difference between my life of the last seven years and the last month could not have been starker. And although I’d had some serious reservations about wanting to embark on this wedding planning adventure, and then wondering whether it could even be pulled off, the buzz I had right now, it was everything I’d ever felt at Bailey. Actually, it was better. And I’d nearly missed it, nearly stopped it.

The only thing that could have improved the current situation was if I could see Jemma. I hadn’t spotted her since the start of the ceremony, when my attention had been drawn to her like she was my own personal beacon, and I couldn’t look away. We still hadn’t talked about her finding Nadia in my house yesterday. Nadia who was standing on the terrace, among the guests, her eyes following me while she smiled and talked. As requested, she was gone when I got home late last night and so far, hadn’t tried to speak to me, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

My eyes swept over the crowd; I couldn’t help but search out Jemma. I knew she’d be somewhere inside, ensuring that everything was still running smoothly. I wanted to find her, talk to her, I’d been desperate to since yesterday, but she said she needed to focus, and I respected that. We only needed to get through tonight. After tonight we had all the time in the world to sort things out. And we would. I had to believe that we would. I didn’t know how to stand here and smile otherwise.

“If I could have your attention, please…” I waited for the chatter to die down before continuing. “The bride and groom would like to invite you all to enjoy some champagne and canapés downstairs while they have a few photos taken. Please head inside and they will rejoin everyone shortly.” The masses made their way to the door while Dallas sidled up beside me and threaded an arm through mine.

“You did good, Nash, so good.” Her voice was thick with more tears. I would have thought she’d be fresh outta them considering she cried for pretty much the whole ceremony but evidently, she still had reserves.

“Thanks, brat—sorry, Mrs. Prince.”

“That does have such a good ring to it, doesn’t it? I still can’t believe you became a marriage celebrant for me.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Apparently so.” She smiled, wide and happy and, fuck, it made me feel good. As much as she was a pain in my ass, I still loved the girl and to see her so crazy happy, it made me want the same thing. Sadie appeared, camera in hand.

“You ready?” She asked Dallas.

“You bet, one with this guy first?” Her head dropped against my shoulder.

“Of course.” The camera clicked. And clicked. And clicked.

The bar was buzzing when I made it inside.

Mom caught my eye with an expectant look, but I had no intention of talking to her. Not here. Not tonight. Not until I’d set things right with Jemma. I spotted a couple of trays of food circulating as I skirted the crowd and was relieved that they looked how they should. Not that I was surprised when Jemma was in charge.

She was in the center of it all as I got to the kitchen, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She took my fucking breath away and for a second, I just stood in the doorway, staring, until she saw me, and I raised my hand in a wave. Smooth.

“You were brilliant.” The broad smile the statement was delivered with didn’t quite reach her eyes before her attention snapped away from me and to a tray that was about to leave the kitchen. “Thanks, Carlo.”

Not talking to her, properly talking to her, was just about killing me, but it was only a few more hours.

“How’s everything in here?”

“Going smoothly.” Another smile, she was buzzing with the energy of service, I could see that, but the ocean of her eyes was stormy and guarded. She checked another tray and her run sheet materialized from nowhere.

“Twenty or so minutes for the photos…if you’re going to stay in here, the jacket needs to go.” I complied. “Apron, I will not be held responsible for splatter on that shirt.”

“If it will ease your mind.” I grabbed the nearest apron and threw it on. “Better?”

“Much. But you can go and do the rounds out there if you want to? Everything in here is under control.” She wanted me out of the kitchen, away from her, but that wasn’t happening. I may not be able to talk to her, but I was still going to be as close to her as humanly possible.

Time slipped by so quickly that I wasn’t expecting Jemma’s hand on my arm.

“Earth to Nash?” She squeezed just slightly, and my blood started to hum, but just as quickly her hand was gone.

“Yep, what’s up?”

“It’s time to put your Master of Ceremonies hat back on. Or jacket, as it were.” She attempted a smile, but it fell flat.

“You kickin’ me outta the kitchen?”

“Yes, I am, you have a crowd to control out there.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say more. I swallowed it, shrugged on my jacket, and after one last fleeting look left the kitchen.

What the wedding party lacked in size it more than made up for in volume as I introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Prince to raucous applause. Dallas was beaming as she and my new brother-in-law high fived their way around the dance floor and their gathered guests. There were more photos, cake cutting and speeches.

Once the speeches were done, the food started up again and the band kicked off. And, quite frankly, I had knocked it out of the park with those guys. Dallas dragged Duke onto the dance floor immediately and I was pretty sure she’d be there for the rest of the night. Job well done.

Now I just needed to find Jemma, she’d done her utmost to avoid me since the kitchen earlier. I knew she was busy, but things were winding down and I couldn’t go any longer without speaking to her, not if I wanted to keep my shit together. I didn’t need much, just a little hint that we were going to be okay.

“Nash, there you are,” Nadia said, catching me by the wrist. Her eyes were glassy.

“You’re drunk.”

“Isn't that what people do at a wedding?” She said, one eyebrow arched. When I didn’t say anything else she added. “Can we talk? I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk, Nadia.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Please.” I didn’t want to go anywhere with Nadia, but I couldn’t see Jemma, so I let her take my hand and lead me to the terrace. The November chill had officially settled, so even with the heaters it was cold, but not altogether unpleasant. Nadia pushed me into a dark corner, her hands against my pecs.

“What are you doing, I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I can think of better things to do with our mouths than talk, Nash, can’t you?”

I took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Nadia, you need to stop.”

“Is it because of the wedding planner, Jemma? Are you done with me because of her?” She asked with a pout. This was not the conversation I wanted to be having right now.

“First of all, she’s not just the wedding planner, and second you don’t get to ask if I’m done with you. Not when you were the one who left.”

“Nash, I love you. You’ll never understand how much I regret leaving. I’ve never been as wrong about anything as I was about walking away from you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Until you met Trent. And what if I said yes, huh? What if I took you back right now and then you got bored again and left for the next person that catches your eye.”

“You just need to trust me when I say that’s not going to happen again.”

“That’s not going to happen, because I don’t trust you, Nadia. I can’t, not anymore.”

“It was one mistake, Nash, you can’t forgive me one mistake?”

“I can forgive you, sure, but that’s not the same as trusting you.”

“So that’s it?” She said, her anger beginning to bubble beneath the surface. “You meet some chef and we’re done? What makes you think that things will be any different with her? You are selfish, Nash, we both are, it’s why we work. And eventually you’re going to realize that I was the best thing for you. But how much are you going to put Jemma through before you figure it out?”

“I’m done here.”

“We will never be done, Nash, I’m not giving up on you,” she called after me, but I didn’t bother turning back. And yet I couldn’t help wondering if she was right, not about us being right for one another, but about me putting Jemma through a whole lot of shit she didn’t deserve.

Being sure about no longer wanting to be with Nadia was one thing. Being ready to get into something with someone else was a different beast. And it wasn’t something I wanted to rush into if it meant I was going to hurt Jemma. I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I did that.

Where the fuck did that leave me?

THE BRIDE and groom were gone. The guests had all left. I watched as Jemma waved off the last of the staff, which included Darcy and Harley. We were alone. For the first time in two days. My conversation with Nadia was still sitting heavy on my chest, making me second guess everything I’d felt in the last month. And the bottom line was, I couldn’t hurt Jemma. I wouldn’t do that to her.

She turned and found me standing by the door. Her hair had come free of its bun and was a riot around her face and shoulders. She looked radiant, destroyed, tired, but fucking radiant.

“I can’t believe we actually did it.” She sounded delirious. “It was insane. Amazing, but insane, how do people do it once a week?” A cross between a sigh and a laugh tumbled out of her. “I think I’m going to need to sleep for two days just to recover.”

“Can I take you home?” My voice broke on the last word, and I watched as she swallowed, weighing her response. It killed me that this was where we were now. Everything had felt so smooth with her, even when it was clear she wanted to kill me, so having this space between us was gutting.

“Nash, I don’t think—”

“I just want to make sure you get back.” And I wanted to touch her, talk to her but I didn’t trust myself to say it.

She looked at me, eyes sad, faraway. How did everything get so fucked up? “I can get home.”

“Jemma—”

“What happened with Nadia?”

I wasn’t expecting the question, and as much as I didn’t want to talk about it, I knew Jemma deserved to know.

“She left me, for someone else.”

She nodded, like she expected the answer. “But she wants another chance?”

I couldn’t lie to her, as much as I didn’t want her to be right. “That’s what she’s said, yes.”

Another nod. Her eyes swung up from her feet to my face. “She loves you,” she said, tears collecting. Seeing them made my throat thick and tight.

“But that doesn’t mean—”

“Nash,” she said, her tone soft, as a small, sad smile played around the corners of her mouth. “She’s your wife. I understand how hurt you must have been when she left but she wants another chance. She wants to prove that she still loves you, that she never stopped.”

“Did she say that to you?” When had Nadia spoken to Jemma? my stomach twisted at the thought of what else she might have said.

“It doesn't matter what she said. What matters is—” Her breathing hitched.

“Jemma—”

“I don’t want to be the reason you didn’t give your marriage another chance. I won’t be the reason you regret not doing more. I—I just want you to be happy, Nash, even if it’s not with me.”

Fuck. That was all I wanted for her, too. I wanted to know her heart was light and happy. And as much as I wanted to be the man to give that to her, I didn’t know if I could be the person, she needed right now.

“Jemma, I—”

“It’s okay,” she said, taking my hand. “We both knew where we stood when we started this. I may not have known specifics, but I knew you weren’t in a place to—” She shook her head. “I’m so glad Dallas threw us together.” A laugh rolled up her throat.

“Me too,” I said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Nash.” She took my face in her hands. “You were exactly who I needed you to be. You were yourself. And you showed me what I can be. You set me free. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

I dropped my head into the crook of her neck, my arms wrapping around her. It didn’t matter that she fit me like a missing piece. Not when I wasn’t ready. I let myself breathe her in one last time and made a silent promise to become the man she deserved.

THIRTY-ONE

JEMMA

THE BUZZ of my phone on the nightstand pulled me out of the half-sleep I’d been in all night. I had wanted the oblivion of a deep, dreamless sleep. Instead, I got tossing and turning and thinking that I might have made a mistake with Nash last night. I blew out a breath and sat up. We had done the right thing, even though it had left a raw, gaping hole in my chest.

“Hey Darc, what’s up?”

“You need to get down here.” Her voice was a low hiss in my ear.

“Down where? Why are you whispering?”

“Where do you think? Cream and Sugar.”

“What are you talking about? Has something happen—”

“Just get your butt down here, Jem. But don’t come around the front.” She hung up. If her plan had been to pique my interest so sharply that I didn’t bother showering before pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater, she had succeeded. I told myself that it couldn’t be anything too drastic, or she would have told me. And she didn’t sound hysterical, well, perhaps a little, but not enough to suggest that the place had burned to the ground or anything. Not that I had any other ideas on what I might find when I arrived.

PEOPLE.

That was what I found at Cream and Sugar. So. Many. People.

I had an inkling that things might have blown up because there were over one hundred new emails in my inbox and even more follow requests on Instagram. None of which I had the brain power to deal with just yet. Even still, I had not expected to see the pavement out the front of Cream and Sugar completely obscured by bodies. They were peering into the front window. Taking selfies. Some looked like they were filming Tik Toks. They were spilling onto the road and almost getting hit by passing cars. What on earth were they all doing here?

A whistle drew my attention and I saw Darcy waving madly from the bottom of the stairs that led up to her flat above the cafe. I hustled over to her. A question on the tip of my tongue but she beat me to it.

“What the hell are you doing!?” she whisper-growled. “I told you not to come around the front. They could have seen you!”

“Why on earth would that matter?” I patted my hair; it wasn’t that bad surely.

“Because you’re the wedding planner, genius. Come on.” She dragged me up the stairs and into her flat. “We’re clear.”

“Wait. They’re all here because of Dallas?”

“Yep. We’re famous. Well, you’re famous. And apparently the Instagram generation knows you work here and voila. We need crowd control.”

“This is ridiculous. Are they expecting Dallas to be here?”

“I doubt it. She posted a photo from the airport before she and Duke set off on their honeymoon this morning. She tagged you in it. Hence the new fan club.”

I shook my head, trying to process what she was saying. “But why would they care about me?”

“I guess it’s a degree of separation thing. You are the one degree between them and Dallas and Duke.”

“This is mad.” I went to Darcy’s front window that overlooked the street and peered out, careful not to lean too far over just in case any of them spotted me. All of those people were here for me? It made absolutely no sense. I was just the wedding planner. They’d lose interest over the course of the day, wouldn't they? Surely they wouldn't still be there tomorrow? How were we supposed to open up and work if they were? Darcy was right, we were going to need crowd control.

The benefit of the insanity outside was that it distracted me from the Nash situation. Although, I suppose it wasn’t really a situation at all. It had just about broken me saying goodbye to him last night. I almost hadn’t had the strength to let him go after that last hug, with his hands branding their shape to my back and his nose in my neck. I could have stood there, in that moment, forever. I wanted to. I would have chosen that moment over the ones that followed. The crying in the Lyft. And the shower. And in bed, as I cradled the pillow that smelled like him.

It didn’t matter how right I knew the decision was. It hurt like hell. And so much worse knowing that we were choosing it. We were being adults, adults who knew that the time just wasn’t right for us. I had no idea if we’d get another chance to get it right, but I suspected not.

Nash and I were a whirlwind of chemistry, emotion, and plans, and we created something incredible. But I suppose things that burn so bright are not destined to do so for long. He wasn’t meant to be mine forever, and I wasn’t his. We were but a moment in time. A beautiful moment, certainly, but a moment nonetheless.

“So…” Darcy started, drawing my attention away from the window. “You wanna tell me what went down with Nash?” I knew that she’d been desperate to ask for the last two days but had known not to until the wedding was done.

“If he is not already, I assume he’ll be on his way back to LA, with his wife.”

“What?” she gaped. “I thought it was over.”

“They were only separated, and it was still fresh. She left him, but then came back, wanting to work things out.”

“And you just let that bitch take him out from under you?”

I couldn’t stop my laugh. “Harley is rubbing off on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jemma, I don’t know what was going on between you two exactly, but you were good together. Are you serious that he’s just gone back to his wife? Just like that?”

“It’s not just like that. I didn't want to stand in the way of their marriage, Darc. I just wanted him to be happy.”

“You made him happy.”

“For the moment, maybe. But he had a life with her, a life he didn’t choose to leave. And even if she hadn’t turned up, neither of us were at a place where we would have worked outside of that insane pressure cooker we worked in for the last month. It was the right thing.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but didn’t. Instead, she crossed the room, wrapped me in a hug and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, I wanted to be enough.”

“Hey.” She pulled back and held my face. “You are more. You are everything. This is not about you, Jemma. This is about him.”

“I know,” I said, voice breaking on a sob. “But I—I love him.”

“Oh honey.” She pulled me back in. Saying the words aloud made the wound in my chest ragged. But it was a relief, too. I’d nearly told him last night, but the words had stuck in my throat. It wouldn’t have been right. It would have made what was already difficult too much to bear. So, I had held them in, and tucked them close to my heart. Just knowing I loved him was enough. It needed to be enough.

Darcy and I sat by her front window for the rest of the day watching the crowd below swell and recede and swell again. It wasn’t until halfway through John Wick Chapter Two, when the pizza boxes were empty, and the wine was gone that it finally started to thin out.

Despite this, we felt confident that tomorrow was likely to be the same, and so we’d put in a call to Harley’s brother Murphy—who was a towering lumberjack of a man—to bring a couple of friends around to help manage the masses. If we were overreacting, then they would all get a free meal and a laugh at our over-reaction.

AS IT TURNED OUT, our forward planning for crowd control wasn’t the slightest bit of an over-reaction. In fact, when Murphy et al. arrived at nine they could barely get in the door, and I had already made (and sold out of) six batches of muffins.

A large proportion of the gathered crowd were only there to take photos and speculate on which table Dallas and Duke might have sat at. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that neither had ever set foot inside. Not that I was telling anyone anything. I was locked in the kitchen pumping out more food than Cream and Sugar had ever seen. And hiding. I was absolutely hiding.

I’d never been the kind of person that had an issue with large groups of people, but this was something else altogether. Every time I was spotted through the pass, people started yelling my name and Murphy had to usher them out. I’d been a Q-grade celebrity for all of twenty-four hours and I was sick of it. How did the actual, legitimate celebrities handle all of this chaos?

“We’re officially out of coffee,” Darcy said, her hair was a wild tangle of copper waves, and her pupils were blown out. If I didn’t know what had been going on out there today, I’d say she was high.

“How can we be out of coffee?” The delivery arrived on Friday, and we weren’t open Saturday.

“We’ve gone through the entire delivery that came last week. I’ve put in an emergency order, which should be here by five. But fuck—they’re animals. How can we open tomorrow? I already need a vacation.”

“It’s madness. We can’t do this again tomorrow.” And honestly, the running of Cream and Sugar felt like the least of my issues. My phone hadn’t stopped all day. I’d been prepared for some interest after the wedding. I did not expect it to be quite so immediate or intense. At my current rate I was going to be replying to emails and DMs for the entire night. Would it be premature to hire an assistant?

TWO WEEKS LATER, I resigned from Cream and Sugar.

I’d tried to balance my new bumper schedule and shifts in the kitchen, but it just didn’t happen. I didn’t like the feeling of not doing my best at either, so I was forced to make a choice. Perhaps it wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon me. Darcy hired two new chefs and basically told me it was no longer my kitchen. So out of the nest I went. Just as far as the table in the back, which had been acting as my office. But considering the number of people who were still coming in and trying to talk to me simply because I knew Dallas and Duke, it wasn’t going to be long before I needed an actual office.

Which I would be looking for. Right after I hired an assistant. Thanks to my newfound celebrity, I had to post an incredibly vague ad and after shortlisting I was ready for interviews. I was interviewing. For an assistant. It was completely mad.

And the only person I really wanted to talk to about everything was on the other side of the country. With his wife.

THIRTY-TWO

NASH

AT SOME POINT, I was sure I’d enjoyed living in LA. Right now, I couldn’t quite remember why. It was too sunny. Too stark. Too sprawling. And who the hell thought this many palm trees were a good idea?

Had this ever really been home, or just a placeholder until I came to my senses?

As soon as I walked into the condo—before then if I was being honest—I knew that it could never be home again. Even when it technically had been, I was barely around enough to appreciate it. It was all glass and endless blue sky, and I was sure I’d been happy here. But I honestly couldn’t remember it now. How had I ever thought this was where I wanted to be? It smelled too clean. No hints of coffee, or tea, or herbs. No life. There was just nothing. Had it always been this empty, this sterile?

Over the last month, my sense of home had shifted. It wasn’t just about this condo, or this city. New York was closer to being home, to feeling like it, but only because of one particular person in it. It was her. She was home. I’d known it, hadn’t I? When the scent of her made me feel alive and calm all at once, when talking to her about anything was the brightest part of my day, when just being near her made everything make sense. And I’d let her go, let her walk away.

It had been over a week, and I was still trying to convince myself that I’d done the right thing. It was working about half the time. As much as I wanted to be wrapped up in her right now, I knew other things needed to happen first. Namely, ending my marriage. Officially. And sorting my fucking head out.

Nadia stopped short as she rounded the corner and saw me. I didn’t know if she’d be here. I hadn’t warned her I was coming, just in case I couldn’t do it. But it needed to be done, we both needed closure, so here I was.

“Hi,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically small. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure I would.”

“But you’re here.”

“I am.” I wasn’t sure how to feel about the hope in her eyes.

“Nadia—”

“Wait,” she said, taking a couple of tentative steps toward me, she took my hand. Her face turned up to mine, eyes soft and pleading. She loved me, I knew that, and a month ago that look would have been enough. “Before you start, I wanted to say how sorry I am, for putting you through everything I did. You didn’t deserve it. And I know you’ve already made your mind up about us, but I think you need to give us a chance.”

“Like you did?” Now that I was here, in our home, the one she walked out of, the sting of her betrayal felt fresh again. I hadn’t asked questions then. I hadn’t wanted to know. Now I needed to. I deserved to.

Her brown eyes hardened, and her brow pinched as she dropped my hand. “Goddammit, Nash, how many times do I need to say I’m sorry? If you came here to throw that one mistake back in my face, feel free to leave. I want to make things right here, I want to talk to you, but you need to meet me halfway.” Like hell I did. And I didn’t think she was trying to make things right; she was trying to pick up where we left off. She was trying to pretend like she hadn’t blown up everything when she walked out.

“How long had you been seeing him?”

“Nash—”

“You want to talk, Nadia, let’s talk. How long were you sleeping with Trent before you left me?” I welcomed the rush of anger. The burning in my chest, the tightening of my skin over my bones. Anger was easy. Easier than the rest. Easier than regret and frustration and the feeling that I’d walked away from the one thing that made sense in my life. I wasn’t sure if I was even angry at Nadia, or if it was about me not dealing with this before. If I’d dealt with this at the time, would I be lying next to Jemma right now?

“Are we really going to do this now? Can we—”

“What else did you think we’d be doing? Did you think I would walk back into our home, the one you left, and we’d just fall back into bed?” The idea was laughable. But Nadia opened and closed her mouth, searching for words. She didn’t need to answer for me to know it was exactly the way she saw this going. And there was no fucking way it was happening.

“How long? How long had you been with him?”

The moment stretched until I didn’t think she was going to answer, then the fight slid off her shoulders. “A couple of months. We weren’t sleeping together though. Not until after.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. I understand why you wouldn’t believe me, but it’s true. All I can tell you is that it was a mistake.”

“No, that’s not all you can tell me. You owe me an explanation. Do you have any idea how fucking crushed I was when you left? For years, all you’d said was that you wanted me around more. And just when I had the time, just when I could make that happen and be here for you, with you, it wasn’t enough. You fucking left.”

“Nash, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”

“Jesus, really? That’s where we are now? You’re blowing me off with bullshit cliches? Do I not just deserve the truth?”

She nibbled on the nail of her left index finger, no longer able to meet my eyes.

“I was bored,” she said eventually, and the relief of that statement punched me square in the chest. “I loved you, I still love you, but—when I met Trent, he—he was attentive, and interested, and exciting, I suppose.”

“I wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

“You weren’t here, Nash, you were at Bailey. Always at Bailey. And I respected your career, your passion, it was one of the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place. But even when you were here, you weren’t, not really, you were quiet, closed off—and I guess I was lonely.”

My anger started to burn off and I slumped down onto the kitchen floor, my back against the cabinets. My career was all consuming as it was, but I had spent even more time at Bailey because I was trying to chase the feeling I’d had when Kieran and I first started, because I no longer felt like myself in any of the places, I should have felt like myself. I wanted to be the man I was when Nadia and I met, but I wasn’t. And, I guess, rather than talk about it, I’d shut her out. I’d pushed her away. I was the reason she left. The realization was not a pleasant one.

She dropped down beside me, close, but not touching. It reminded me of the day on the stoop with Jemma after she told me everything. Fuck I missed her. What would happen if I did this to her? Pushed her away. Left her lonely.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I— It wasn’t about you. I was lost.”

“Are you still?” Her voice was low.

Part of me said yes. Another said no. And a third told me that I’d never be lost again, so long as I followed my north star. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to do that yet. Wasn’t sure I was ready for her.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“But you and I...”

I turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Nadia. I think we were over, even before...everything.”

“We didn’t have to be. All you needed to do was talk to me,” she said with a sniff, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. I wasn’t sure how we got to this place, but I think we were always going to end up here. Even from the beginning, we were ticking boxes everyone else expected us to. We’d been chasing someone else’s vision of what our lives should look like. It was time we figured out what each of us really wanted. It was time to chase something else, something more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. But I don’t think I even knew what was going on in my own head.” I still didn’t, not really, but I’d get there.

We sat there talking until the sky turned a deep inky blue. It was the longest amount of time we’d spent together for months. Eventually, I pulled myself up off the floor, Nadia followed. I knew we were going to have a conversation about what came next, but I didn't have it in me to do that now. We’d said enough for one day.

“I’ll go to a hotel. We can talk more in the morning.”

She nodded, twisting her hands together. I could see that she wanted to argue, that she was scared to let this go. But even if we tried again, I was already sure we’d only end up back here, only more bitter and resentful the second time around.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kissed her forehead, grabbed my bag and left. And, for the first time since she turned up at my brownstone, I felt like I could breathe.

“DO MY EYES DECEIVE ME, or is that Nash Fucking Easton?” Kieran crowed as I let myself into the kitchen of his new restaurant. Fyre was little more than a hole in the wall, which, from what I’d read, had a line around the block every night of the week. It had maybe ten tables out front, with a long bar and an open pass. The kitchen would be lucky to fit four chefs. It was about as far from Bailey as you could get and Kieran looked happier than I had seen him, maybe ever.

“What the fuck are you doing here man?” My former business partner asked, a wide grin stretched across his face. He still looked like he was someone’s younger brother crashing the kitchen, no one ever believed he was six months older than me. “You look like shit.”

I laughed. “Thanks, I could always rely on you to tell it straight.”

“No other way to be brother. What’s going on?”

“Got back about a week ago, thought it was about time I checked out your new digs.” I met him in a one armed, back slapping hug. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until he was standing in front of me. “This place is amazing.”

“Thanks, it’s different right? But so good. And the reception we’ve had since opening has been brilliant.”

“How the hell did you manage to turn it around so quickly?”

“I know people,” he said with a wink before turning back to the counter loaded down with the day’s delivery. “Anyway, how the fuck are you? You said you got back, where’ve you been?”

“New York, I was back there for about a month. Planning Dallas’ wedding, actually.”

“No shit?! Since when are you a wedding planner?”

“I’m not. But it was—” I had no idea how to put it into words exactly. “It was surprisingly good, satisfying. I even married them.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“And how are things with you and Nadia?”

“We’ve separated.” At his look I added, “You don’t seem surprised by that?”

He shrugged. “It never felt like my place to say anything. And I figured if you wanted to talk, you would, but it was clear things weren’t right with you. I thought maybe selling Bailey would help. But no, I’m not surprised.” And here I was thinking I hid my feelings well. I suppose it was difficult to hide much from the person you worked beside six days out of seven.

He smashed two heads of garlic under his palms and asked, “There’s more to it though, isn’t there?” Jesus, I really was an open fucking book to the guy. But I didn’t know if I wanted to talk about Jemma, in truth I didn’t really know what to say.

The minute things were officially done with Nadia it was tempting to jump on the next plane to New York, go directly to Jemma’s apartment and keep her in bed for a week. I could think of all sorts of things we could do with those seven days. But I wanted more than that with her. I wanted to be more for her. But to be able to give her everything she deserved, I needed to deal with my own shit first. I needed to understand what took me to that place where I’d lost my sense of self. I may not be an expert at relationships, as evidenced by my failed marriage, but I understood that basing your entire sense of self on the other person wasn’t a good idea. So, before I went back to Jemma and begged her to give me a second chance, I was going to sort myself out.

“You want to stay for service? You can tell me all your secrets after.” He wagged his eyebrows and threw an apron at me. I accepted the menu he handed over. The dishes were clean and simple, classic Kieran. I hadn’t thought about being back in a kitchen, but if anything was going to distract me from everything, it was this.

Service was a well-oiled machine. Kieran had put together an amazing team and, even in a different kitchen, the buzz between the two of us was still there. We’d always worked well together, Kieran was the first person who got me when it came to food, we got each other. I hadn’t expected to find that again. And yet I had, and more. My mind wanted to linger on Jemma, but I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t let it.

“SO, when are you heading back to New York?” Kieran asked as we settled into a booth at our old post service haunt. It was dark and dingy, the floors were always sticky, and the staff were usually rude, but it was open late and it had beer.

“What makes you think I’m going back?”

He didn’t bother responding, just raised an eyebrow and sipped his IPA.

“I don't know. I want to be ready but… I don’t know what I’ll be doing back there.” I knew what I wanted to be doing but whether I could make that happen was another issue altogether.

“No plans for a new place?”

“Yes and no.”

He snorted. “How very mysterious of you.”

“There was a woman.”

“I figured.” I wanted to punch the smug look clean off his face. He knew it, too.

I took a sip of beer and started talking. From our first night together to seeing her again at lunch with Dallas. I laid it all out for him to pick over like a vulture on a rotting carcass. The last two weeks in LA had left me feeling all sorts of disconnected to the idea that seemed so promising when I was still in New York. It all hinged on Jemma. If she didn’t want to do it, if she didn’t want to do it with me, that was it. Over. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face that possibility.

It didn’t take much to see the difference the wedding had made to her profile. She’d been a trending hashtag for God’s sake. What if she didn’t want what I was offering? What if she was happy as she was, with this business she had busted her ass for. I’d understand if that was the case. But it didn’t mean I’d like it.

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re being a fucking pussy.”

I choked on my gulp of beer. “They wouldn’t have been my words.”

“Then you’d be sugar coating shit.” He paused, gave me a long look. “If you’re letting the possibility of failure and rejection stop you from acting on something that you are obviously passionate about, then you are not the Nash I knew.”

“Harsh,” I said.

“But true,” he fired back. “Bailey happened, Bailey was as successful as it was because we knew what we wanted, we went after it, and we didn’t compromise. We believed in the vision we had for the place and people followed that. If this is what you want, then go after it man. Don’t dilute yourself because you’re scared.”

“And if it’s not the right time?”

“Is there ever a ‘right time’?” He said with a shrug. “I’m not saying go in there guns blazing and unprepared. That is not how we roll. I’m saying that if this is really what you want to do, and it sounds like it is, then put in the work and make that shit happen.”

It was difficult to fault his logic, it didn’t mean I wasn’t scared out of my fucking brain about the possibility of Jemma saying no. But the alternative was to do nothing and always be left wondering, and the thought of that was so much worse.

THIRTY-THREE

JEMMA

IT WAS SNOWING. Again.

As much as I loved the snow in December, after all those months of unbearable heat and the kaleidoscope of autumn colors, by the time we got to the end of February I was done. And we were a solid two weeks past that now.

I wanted to be able to walk outside without fearing for my life on the pavement. I wanted to be able to have a hairstyle that was not: has been wearing a hat for a solid week. I mean, honestly, was it so much to ask that I saw the bloody sun for a few consecutive days? And that maybe, just maybe, the temperature could creep above sixty?

Not that I would really be able to enjoy the spring weather— when it decided to grace us with its presence— thanks to the unholy hours I was currently working. I wasn’t complaining about them, Lord no, I was run off my feet with one full time employee and a second in the works. And it was brilliant. It was everything I had always dreamed of having. A successful, thriving business.

The first couple of months had been a challenge but, once Odette and I found our rhythm, there was honestly no stopping us. I was an event planner specializing in weddings, engagements and anniversaries. It was absolutely not what I had ever thought I’d be doing, but it was everything.

Well, not quite everything. It was almost everything. It thoroughly annoyed me that my current success felt like it was lacking. I wasn’t lacking. I was a strong, independent woman with my own business that was in high demand. That was all excellent. And it should be enough. The one thing that could make it just a tiny bit better was a partner. A tall one, with tattoos and long hair and a beard. One I got to curl up next to at night and nuzzle my face into his chest. Was that so much to ask?

The wind howled down the street, threatening to take my woolen hat with it, but I wedged the thing more firmly on my head and kept walking. I should probably be at home, working on one of the numerous menus I needed to complete for approval from clients. But I was climbing the walls, so I pulled on my coat and hat and braved the flurry that had started falling outside.

I hadn’t intended to wind up on Nash’s street, and yet I wasn’t surprised that my feet had carried me here. The house looked different today. Not that I could put my finger on why, exactly. Maybe it was just that I’d managed to keep myself away for a solid month this time. A lot could change in a month.

I let out a sigh as I climbed the stoop and lowered myself onto the still dry doormat. I kept waiting for it not to hurt. For the day when I woke up and felt fondness at the memories of him, rather than ugly crying my way through my morning routine. It was going to happen. It had to happen. I couldn’t carry this weight of loss and loneliness around my neck forever.

With well-practiced hands, I pulled out my phone and started my playlist. The wallowing playlist. The playlist that no one but me knew about, because if they did it would be deleted in a hot minute and Harley would take me out in the shortest skirt known to man and thrust me into the path of every semi-good-looking man in the city. Actually, good looking wasn’t even part of her requirements. She once confessed that she watched them walk, looking out for a swagger that suggested he was ‘packing’, had been her word. I vowed to never let Harley set me up with anyone, ever.

I suppose I just wasn’t ready. But not in the same way I’d been after Jonah, not in that broken, shell of a person kind of way. This was different. This was, I didn’t even know. I just missed Nash terribly. And the thought of having someone else’s hands erase the memory of his was so offensive I refused to let it happen.

Cardigan was cut off by a call from Odette.

“Tell me something good,” I answered.

“Honey and Crumb have confirmed for Genevieve and Holden’s engagement.”

“That is good.”

“And,” she continued, “the Mitchel’s have decided to move their anniversary party out by two weeks so they no longer clash with the Prescott-Cambridge wedding.”

“Brilliant.” I crossed my legs and pulled out my diary. As much as I had tried to do everything digitally, there was still something about writing things down that helped them stick in my brain.

“I’ve updated the calendar and scheduled a tasting with H and C for the engagement cake.” Odette was an actual angel.

“Wonderful, thanks, Odette. Is there anything else we need for the appointment with the Whickam’s this aftern—” Without warning, the door I was leaning on disappeared and I collapsed backward. I was so caught off guard that I couldn't even try and brace before my head hit the hardwoods with a crack. “Ow!”

“Jemma! Are you okay? What just happened?” Odette’s voice was shrill. But I was unable to answer her, one, because I had dropped my phone. And two, because the person who opened the door was Nash. Nash was here. In his house. What the actual fuck?

“O, I’ll call you back,” I said as I snagged the phone off the ground, hung up and scrambled to my feet, frantically trying to silence Taylor singing about feeling like an unloved, forgotten overgarment.

“You’re—” My hand shot out and grabbed his bicep to confirm that I was not suffering from some divine daylight hallucination. The shock of electricity that raced up my arm confirmed that this was very much real. Nash was here. What was he doing here? Would it be inappropriate to throw myself at him and cry a little?

“You’re here.” My voice shook. I was still holding onto his bicep, and I was staring at him. I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to. He looked so good. Better than I remembered. His hair was shorter, so was his beard. Both still cried out for my fingers. My eyes traveled down, over his broad chest and torso, his hips and thighs, all the way to his bare feet. When I made it back up to his face there was a smirk playing around the corners of his perfect bloody mouth.

“Last I checked this was still my house.”

“Yes, right, it is. Of course it is. But you—you’ve not been in it. You’ve been gone.” No wonder the house looked different today. Nash was inside it!

“And how would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been coming here and sitting on the stoop and listening to my depressing playlist since you left,” I confessed without really meaning to. “Not often. I haven’t done it often, well not in the last month or so anyway. Before that, it was week—you know what, we don’t need to talk about that. You’re here. What are you doing here? When did you get back?” As the words continued to tumble out unchecked it occurred to me that he might not be alone. That this might not just be his house anymore, but theirs. The thought sent a nauseous wave through me.

I removed my hand from his bicep and took a step backward, peering past him.

“Nadia isn’t here.”

I nodded, desperate for some clarification. Did that mean she wasn’t in the house, or wasn’t in the city? Or was she just not here because she’d gone to grab them coffees or—

“We filed for divorce last week.”

My mouth opened and closed. Divorced. He was divorced, pretty much. Filing for divorce didn’t mean you were actually divorced yet; I was sure you needed to wait for official signatures and sign offs and things. But it was close enough, wasn’t it? He was divorced and back in the city. When did he come back? Had he been planning on coming to see me?

“When did you get back?” Please say last night, or this morning. Maybe he got the red eye from LA. And he was just about to leave the house. Without shoes. In the snow.

“Two weeks ago.” Ah.

Two weeks. He’d been in the city, in this house, for two weeks. And he hadn’t—no, this was fine. Just because I’d been a sobbing, pining mess since November didn’t mean that he had been also. And it was highly presumptuous of me to think that just because he was divorced now that we would pick up where we left off. He might not even want to be fr—

“I was planning on coming to see you, actually.”

That little flicker of hope burned bright in my chest. “You were?”

He nodded, scratched his beard. He was nervous. “You’ve been busy though.”

“I have, yes, I run a successful business now.”

The left side of his mouth ticked up. “I saw that.”

“I even hired an assistant.” I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to be professional Jemma. Or at least look like it.

“I saw that too. You replaced me?”

I swallowed against the sob in my throat. “I had to.” You were gone. For months. I didn’t think you were coming back. The words teetered on my tongue. I didn’t let them fall. “When were you going to come and see me?”

“Tomorrow. I made an appointment with your new assistant.”

“You made an appointment?”

“I figured that was the right way to present a business proposal. I didn’t want to just turn up on your doorstep. I didn’t know—” He stopped. Cleared his throat. Palmed the back of his neck.

And my heart plummeted through the steps at my feet. A business proposal. He wanted to present a business proposal. Breathe. I needed to breathe. I pressed my lips together and took a steady breath. Did I mean nothing? Did our time together mean nothing? He saw me as a business partner. And I’d been sleeping on the pillow that no longer smelled like him for months.

My phone started up again, and I sent a silent thank you to Sadie and her impeccable timing to get me the hell out of this mortifying conversation.

“I need to get this. I should go. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed with a curt nod.

“Odette will confirm all the details with you.” I stumbled down the stairs and back into the snow, unable to look at him. Nash was here. He’d been here for two weeks. And he wanted to present a business proposal. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it, or cry.

I CRIED.

I cried so much that Odette called Darcy because she didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t blame her; I didn’t know what to do with myself either. The fact that seeing him was entirely unexpected didn’t help, but I doubt prior warning would have improved anything. I just hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to see him again. How much my heart would swell, only to shatter at the words business proposal. How could he think that the two of us could work together like nothing had ever happened? Had he been lobotomized in LA?

“Slow down, Jem, what’s going on?” Darcy dropped down beside me on the couch, one arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“Nash,” I wheezed. “Nash is here. He made an appointment.”

“An appointment with who?”

“Me. He made an appointment with me. He’s been back for two weeks, and he made an appointment. He’s got a—” I choked back a sob. “A business proposal.”

Darcy said nothing. What could she say? I hadn’t been waiting for Nash, but I hadn’t been moving forward either. Well, apparently it was time. Because it was clear he wasn’t interested. A business proposal!

I stood and marched to my bed, reaching under the pillow and pulling out his shirt. It still smelled of him, just. And I’d been sleeping in it, because apparently, I was an idiot. Months. Months I’d been thinking about him. Without thinking too much about it I threw the piece of clothing into the sink and covered it in dish liquid. The scents of ginger and lime obscuring whatever was left of him. I regretted it immediately, but it was done now.

“What kind of a business proposal?” Darcy asked, eventually, as I stared into the sink and tried not to cry again.

“No idea.” Part of me wasn’t even sure I wanted to know. How was I going to sit through his whole proposal? “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

IT WAS a small miracle that I made it through the morning without my brain exploding. From the moment I woke up, even before I opened my eyes, my mind was on Nash. The thoughts were chasing one another, around and around. What would happen when I saw him? What was his proposal all about? Was that really all he wanted? Had I been waiting (as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, part of me had definitely been waiting) for someone who no longer wanted me? Did he ever? Had I imagined it all? The last question hurt the most. Thinking that maybe the connection I felt wasn’t there at all.

I glanced at the calendar on my screen, my eyes zeroing in on the lavender half hour block of time at eleven-thirty. Neaston, biz prop. I couldn't decide if I was relieved to not have known until yesterday. How long had that appointment even been in there, staring me in the face and I didn’t notice? It didn’t matter. It would be over soon and I could move on. Properly.

We were still without a formal office, although it wasn’t going to be long before we probably needed one, so Odette had booked a small meeting room at a co-working space a couple of blocks from my flat.

If I was going to make it on time, I needed to leave now. I didn’t want any extra time for chit-chat beforehand. I was going to get in and out. I would listen to his presentation, while thinking of a polite way to say: thanks, but no thanks, because working with you would feel like ripping my heart out on a daily basis.

Odette was waiting on the pavement when I arrived with a couple of minutes to spare. Her taffy-pink hair was piled on top of her head, her curtain fringe making me think I, too, could wear it and not look awful (a lie).

“He’s inside,” she hissed, warm chocolate eyes darting around wildly. “You did not tell me he was so fucking hot.”

“Not helping.”

She cringed. “No, right, of course. That’s not—you don’t need to hear that. Are you okay? Do you need a donut?” She’d been spending too much time with Darcy.

“I’m okay, I promise, let’s just get this thing over with.”

“I cleared the rest of your afternoon. Just in case.” She was an actual, legitimate angel.

“Thank you.”

“Do we need a safe word?”

“What?” I snorted.

“That’s not right, is it? Signal, do we need an escape signal?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s do this, O.”

“You got it.” She yanked open the door and waved me through. I straightened my shoulders, blew out a breath and prepared to face Nash. Half an hour. I could sit across a table from him for half an hour and keep myself together. I could do that.

He was fidgeting with a laptop when Odette opened the door to the small room ahead of me. And my breath froze in my lungs. I’d seen him yesterday and yet right now he was a revelation. I loved him. Unquestionably. And he wanted to propose a business idea. I pushed the thought aside before it sent me into a sharp downward spiral.

“Nash, this is Odette, Odette, Nash.” They shook hands, and I took his moment of distraction to drink him in. Dark jeans. Crisp white shirt. Black trainers. His hair was out, the lighter ends dipping just below his shoulders. His full lips were just visible beneath his beard. His eyes barely left me, despite the fact he was talking to Odette, and I sat before I went and did something stupid like throw myself across the table at him. Because he didn’t want that. He was here to talk business.

“Shall we?” I said, keen to get this over and done with and leave immediately. I already needed a drink.

“Yes, absolutely. Let’s get to it.”

As soon as he started talking, I felt as though I’d been punched square in the chest, because I remembered the idea. He first brought it up at Cream and Sugar, the day after we started—nope, I was not thinking about naked Nash right now. I hadn’t forgotten about the idea. He obviously hadn’t either. But how could he want to do this, with me, but not with me?

He finished and stood there, looking expectant and beautiful and my heart was trying to punch its way clean out of my chest. It was brilliant. He was brilliant. But of all the work that had gone into the proposal, and I could tell it was considerable, there was nothing of us. Not the business us, but the heart of us.

I cleared my throat, willing my voice to remain steady.

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

THIRTY-FOUR

NASH

I FUCKING BLEW IT.

My stomach was a knot of anxiety, my head was pounding and there was nothing but static in my ears as I stumbled out onto the street and took large gulping breaths.

I couldn’t wrap my head around what had just happened.

Can I have some time to think about it?

What was there to think about? She either wanted to be with me or not? I guess that meant the answer was not.

Had I waited too long? I got that it had been a few months, but my feelings for her hadn’t changed. If anything, I was more sure of what I wanted with her now than I had been back in November. Had I misjudged the whole thing? Did she have one foot out the door the whole time we were together? The thought made my stomach clench a little tighter. I didn’t want to think I’d read it all wrong, but there was always a chance.

I should have known it wasn’t going to go well when she brought her assistant. But I really wanted to believe that when I finished, she was going to throw herself across the table and I’d kiss her like I’d been fucking dreaming about since Dallas’ wedding. The bubble had officially burst.

I shoved the last of my things into the satchel, which I had scooped up in a hurry to get the fuck outta there, and took off. I didn’t know where I was walking, just that I needed to get the hell away from there as quickly as possible. I tried not to go into the meeting with expectations, as per the advice from Chase, but fuck it, I did have expectations. Big ones. Good ones. Naked ones. I had a movie fucking montage in my head. But it literally could not have gone worse. Okay, so it probably could have gone worse. She could have refused to meet me in the first place. She could have shut me down mid-pitch and told me to get the fuck out.

After finding her on my doorstep yesterday, I really thought that my expectations were not so unreasonable. She admitted to coming and sitting on my stoop and listening to her wallowing playlist for fuck’s sake. How did she go from that to: Can I have some time to think about it?

How could I let this happen? That was it, my one shot. And I fucking blew it. What the hell was I going to do now?

Drink. That was what I was going to do. It wasn’t the most practical, or the healthiest, thing to do at midday on a Wednesday, but there wasn’t another option right now. I’d drink until I passed out and then wake up tomorrow and regroup. Because I refused to think that this was really the end of Jemma and I. It couldn’t be, could it?

Chase looked understandably concerned when I walked into Rudi Blue fifteen minutes later. She paused for a full thirty seconds, her mouth hanging open, as I crossed the room.

“What are you doing here?” She looked past me, probably expecting to see Jemma. Not today. Maybe not ever.

“I blew it,” I said, dropping onto a stool and letting my forehead fall heavy onto the bar top.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her voice pinched.

“Exactly that. I. Fucking. Blew it.”

She shoved at my shoulder until I was upright before saying, “I need more information, what did she say, exactly?” Her ponytail was all mussed, like maybe she’d been playing with it all morning, probably since I left her place at nine-thirty after my hundredth pep talk in the last twenty-four hours. The woman gave a seriously good pep talk. Not that it did me any good this time.

“There isn’t a lot more information to give you Chase, she said, and I quote: ‘Can I have some time to think about it?’”

“That’s it?” She winced.

I slumped on my stool. “Yup.”

“Hold on.” She took up a knife and continued to slice lime wedges. “That can’t be it. The pitch was so good. Did you mess it up?” She was clutching at straws, just like I had been since I walked out with my heart shattering in my chest. But there were no straws. It was over. Until tomorrow when I could think straight again.

Maybe I had messed it up somewhere along the line. I pretty much blacked out the minute I saw Jemma. As soon as she walked in, my world narrowed to her and her alone. My memories of her were pale imitations of the real thing. Her eyes were more vibrant, her lips more plump, her skin smoother. And her smell. It wrapped around me, coated me, bringing with it so many memories I nearly choked on them. Even her clothes seemed more. A simple pair of blue jeans and a cherry red sweater had never looked as good as they did on Jemma. I rubbed a hand over my chest, willing the ache to subside.

“I don’t think so. I delivered it just how we practiced.” God knew we’d practiced it enough times. “I guess she just wasn’t into it.”

“How could she not be into it? That doesn't even make sense.” She waved off the thought like it was genuinely offensive.

“I don’t know what to tell you Chase. Can I get a drink now?”

She was silent for a few long moments, her mind ticking over with a way to explain whatever the fuck had happened. This was what Chase did. She made sense of things. She fixed.

“Okay look, it’s not necessarily bad.” I leveled her with a skeptical look, which she chose to ignore and carried on, “We know she’s busy, right? Crazy busy. She’s got one staff member and probably bookings from now until the end of time. She can’t drop all of that and move two hours out of the city just because you strolled back into town with an idea and a smile.”

“And a deed to a dilapidated farmhouse.”

“That too.” She blew out a breath. “Maybe she does just want some time to think it all over.”

“Maybe,” I conceded because I hadn’t actually considered that. I thought she’d just say yes, let’s do it, and we’d work out everything else later. Preferably in bed. Preferably naked. But, as usual, Chase was right. Jemma had a lot going on now and it was unfair, and unrealistic, of me to think she could walk away from all of that after one meeting. Not that I expected her to walk away, we could roll everything together. We could make it work. So long as we were together.

I felt marginally better. But I still needed a drink.

Chase slid a pint across the bar, which I accepted and drained half in one scull. I couldn’t stop my mind from straying down the rabbit hole. As much as I wanted to believe what Chase said, I didn’t, not really. Because even if Jemma did need to think things over, we could have done that together. We could have worked out the details together. That was all I wanted. Together. With her. Instead, she wanted time to think it over alone. I really hoped it wasn’t thinking over how best to let me down easy.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, staring into my beer as Chase talked about nothing in particular. None of it really helped to distract me. No matter how much I wanted it to.

“Um, Nash…” Chase said in a strangled whisper.

“I’m fine, Chase, really, you don’t need to babysit me.”

“No, I know that—but you should—” She nodded behind me, her eyes wide and wild.

“What are you talking about? What’s—” Words failed me as I shot a glance over my shoulder and saw Jemma marching across the room. Jemma. Jemma was here. She didn’t look happy. She looked amazing, but not happy.

I stumbled to my feet, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Jemma, hi, have you—what are you—”

“Were you serious with that proposal?” She cut in, her eyes blazing, it was difficult not to shrink under the weight of that look.

“I—yes.” Was she serious? Did she think I’d wasted both our time?

“Have you lost your mind?”

I didn’t think so, but now you’re making me question it. “No,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. This was so much harder without the table between us. It was an exercise in restraint to not reach out and touch her. All I wanted was to run my thumb over her lower lip. To bury my face in her hair.

“Nash, how on earth could you expect me to agree to that when—” She stopped herself. Shook her head. Took a breath.

“When what?”

“Do you really expect us to just work together? How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

I couldn’t help feeling like I was missing something. We’d worked together pretty fucking well before, what was stopping that from happening again? “Why couldn’t you work with me?”

“I don’t want to ju—I can’t work with you, Nash.” Her words were a punch straight through my chest.

“You—you can’t—why?”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because I’m in love with you, you twit! And working with you, when you—it would be like stabbing myself repeatedly in the chest on a daily basis and—what are you doing?” She swatted my hands away as I reached for her. I hadn’t heard anything after I’m in love with you. She loved me. She was in love with me. I needed to touch her. Why didn’t she want to work with me if she was in love with me?

“You, you said—” Because I’m in love with you, you twit!

“I know what I said.” She swatted at me again. “That’s why I can’t work with you. I can’t be your business partner and work together like nothing happened.”

“I’m confused.” She loved me but didn’t want to work with me? Fine, we won’t work together. So long as I had her I didn’t care what we fucking did.

“You’re confused?” She said and shoved at my chest. “You’ve been back in the city for two weeks, two weeks and I hear nothing from you. And if I wasn’t there on your stoop yesterday you would have just turned up to the meeting today like nothing happened? Like hey, remember that idea I talked to you about after we’d been shagging our brains out for twelve hours? I think we should do that. I’ve even bought a house! What do you think?” She paused. “How exactly did you think I was going to react to that?”

When she put it like that, it didn’t sound good.

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, we don’t have to. I just—”

“Of course I want to fucking do it!” She wailed, throwing her arms in the air.

“Then what’s the problem!?” My volume rose to meet hers.

“The problem, Nash.” My name was a growl. “Is that I love you, and you don’t love me!”

“It—what?” Had she hit her head or something? Why the fuck would I be here, why the fuck would I have bought a house, sight unseen if I didn’t want all of this and more with her. If I didn’t want a chance with her. If I didn’t fucking love her?

“Why else would you make an appointment and not come and speak to me first? Why else would you avoid any mention of us?”

“Because what if you said no! Because I could handle just about anything, but not you saying no, because I love you.”

“What?” A flicker of hope burned behind her anger.

“I. Love. You.” I didn’t dare step closer yet, not when she was just as likely to hit me as kiss me.

She shook her head. “No. But—but you didn’t—”

“I didn’t come and see you because I’ve been stalking you for two fucking weeks trying to work up the balls to speak to you. You’ve built a business from nothing, Jemma, in a matter of months. You’re a force of nature and I wanted to be good enough for you. I wanted to show you I could, I don't know, contribute, hold my own next to you.” I blew out a breath. “The idea, the proposal, it’s nothing without you.”

She stood there, watching me for a long moment. “I’m not going to say I’m nothing without you because it’s not true. I’m plenty. I’m enough.”

“I’m not going to say that either because if I was nothing without you, I wouldn’t deserve you.” I took one step closer. Then another. Hints of cinnamon and tea tickled my nose.

Her face turned up to mine, eyes searching. “I am better with you, though.”

I struggled to remain upright at her words. “Me too,” I croaked. So much better. So much fucking better.

“If you two do not kiss immediately I am going to mash your faces together,” Chase howled from her position behind the bar and a wide, warm smile broke across Jemma’s face. I took that smiling face in my hands, relishing the feel of her skin against my palms.

“I fucking love you,” I mumbled against her lips.

“I love you too,” she said, closing the last of the distance between us. She tasted just the same. Sweet, a little bitter, Jemma. Her hands gripped my shirt like she was scared to let go. Like she was scared that if she did, I might go somewhere. There was nowhere else I would rather than be than here with her. Always with her.

EPILOGUE

JEMMA

“SINCE WHEN DOES RENOVATING a house require this much work?” I huffed to the empty room. I was hot, I was sweaty, and my arms had all the strength of an over-cooked noodle. Who would have thought that manual labor would be quite so laborious.

I slumped on the front step and kicked off the work boots Nash insisted I wear. I wanted to be annoyed about it, but they did have a tough, badass vibe about them. Not that I planned on admitting that to him.

“I know you secretly love them,” Nash said, crossing the wide stretch of lawn between the cottage and the big house. He looked appallingly good. His gray t-shirt was soaked down the front and, as he walked toward me, he pulled it up and over his head. I let out an involuntary sigh. There really was no getting tired of that sight. His bronze chest glistening in the golden, late afternoon sun. And he was all mine. It still didn’t quite feel real, going to bed beside him, waking up together tangled in the sheets. Sometimes, that voice in my head still told me I didn’t deserve this kind of happiness. I had gotten a lot better at ignoring it.

“Are you objectifying me right now? I feel objectified,” he said with a crooked grin.

“It’s my favorite hobby,” I replied as he pulled me to my feet then promptly crushed me against his slick chest. “Urgh! You’re so sweaty!” I squirmed, not in the least bit repulsed, obviously.

“Look who’s talking.” He chuckled and ran one large hand up under my tank. And then it was gone, and we were both shirtless.

“It’s a good thing our closest neighbors are a quarter mile away.”

He hummed a response as he dropped his head and kissed down my neck.

“We should probably get cleaned up.” The words were more of a sigh, not surprising considering Nash’s mouth was very busy, further softening my bones.

He hummed again, the vibration skittering along my skin. “I’ve got just the thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup.” He kissed the tip of my nose then hauled me over his shoulder, they were getting bulkier thanks to the renovations. A perk of all that manual labor. I didn’t bother fighting him, why would I? I just settled in, admiring the view down his broad back and his truly spectacular bum.

We came around the corner of the big house, and onto what would hopefully soon become a stunning terrace complete with infinity pool. Currently, it was a dumping ground for everything we hoped to reuse. Not only was renovating time consuming and manual labor-y, it was also expensive. And I was determined to save us whatever I could. Also, I loved the idea of repurposing a lot of the original elements of the house in a new way.

We were going to return her to her former glory. And then fill her with love and laughter and a whole bunch of people getting married. Did that scare me? Absolutely. Especially considering we already had a number of people interested in booking before we’d even managed to get the place weather tight.

I twisted as best I could on Nash’s shoulder as I noticed a couple of candles scattered among the piles of red bricks and recycled timber on the would-be terrace. “Nash wha—”

He slid me off his shoulder and pulled my back flush against his front as I gaped. There were string lights wrapped around the rickety pergola frame and candles nestled in and around the various piles of debris. In the center of it all stood the clawfoot tub destined for the bridal suite. It was full, and the surface of the water was covered in rose petals.

I turned, his arms loosening but not letting me go. “What is all this?”

“Surprise,” he said with a sheepish smile and leaned down as I pressed up. We met in the middle, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, his hands holding my waist. Every kiss felt like our first, only better because I knew what to do to make that growl roll up his throat, and his hands squeeze a little tighter. My fingers ran trails through his hair, the drag of my nails on his scalp earning me one of his heady groans. God the noises he made. They made me crazy.

We broke apart and I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, tasting him there. Mine.

“Get in, sweet thing.”

“And where are you going to be?”

“Inside. Now get your sweaty butt in the tub.”

I didn’t have to be told a third time. I wiggled out of my shorts and underwear, tossed my bralette over my shoulder and dipped a toe in. Perfection. I sunk all the way into the deliciously hot water with my skin prickling and my muscles sighing in relief.

Getting in the car and driving back to the city the day after tomorrow was going to hurt. Part of me wanted to just stay here. The cottage was pretty much done, one more coat of paint and it would be ready to move our things in. It had taken some convincing for Nash to see the appeal of moving into the tiny cottage over the sprawling farmhouse. But that house wasn’t really ours. It was the venue. The business.

The cottage, on the other hand, was our tiny slice of the world. It was only marginally bigger than my flat at Mrs. Snyder’s, the flat I’d moved out of the day after Nash’s business pitch. It was difficult leaving that little safe space of mine, but I doubted Mrs. Snyder would have let me stay long after learning Nash was back anyway. Traitor that she was.

Yes, the cottage might be small, but it already felt like home. With its warm white walls, rustic timber floors and tiny kitchen. It was where I could see myself and Nash, making tea, falling asleep on the couch, shagging on the kitchen island. I didn’t need more than that.

One day, this would be our forever home, I knew it. For the moment, though, Nash and I were splitting our time pretty evenly between the city and our construction site. We were able to spend as much time here as we had so far thanks to Odette, who after only a few months of working with me, had been thrown in the deepest of deep ends. The girl was an absolute gem.

After half an hour of soaking my stomach was threatening to eat itself, so I hauled myself out, pulled on the fluffy robe that was hanging on a random nail and followed my nose into the kitchen. Or rather, what would become the kitchen. Currently, it was a camp stove that had two heat settings: the surface of the sun and off, which Nash assured me he enjoyed the challenge of cooking on.

“Hi there.”

He peeked over his shoulder. “Hey. How was it?”

“Heaven, but could have been better.” I shuffled up behind him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm… if you were in there with me.” I said, resting my cheek against his back and wrapping my arms around his middle. Under the fresh scent of soap there was still his spicy, earthy undertone. My mouth watered. He chuckled and threaded his fingers through mine.

“Ah but if I had been you wouldn’t have this.” He produced a cocktail over his shoulder, complete with a tiny umbrella.

I took a long slurp, tasting lime and mint and watermelon. He’d been taking notes from Chase. “Well, this does make up for it.”

“That’s all it takes?” He asked with a laugh.

“And a couple of orgasms. Then I’ll be good.”

He spun, and dark eyes landed on me. “I will get right on that.”

“Oh no, not yet.” I took two long steps away from him and his talented appendages, using my umbrella adorned drink as a shield. “I’m hungry.”

“One appetite before another.”

“Exactly.”

I hopped onto our temporary bench, and it wasn’t until I put my drink down that I realized there was a large, fat envelope sitting there too.

“What’s this?”

“I guess you’ll have to open it,” he said, with what I was sure he hoped was an unaffected shrug, but I knew him well enough to see the undercurrent of nerves.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises today.” I took up the envelope and tore into it. There was a wad of papers inside, I pulled out one stapled chunk and tried to discern what I was looking at. Legal documents had never really been my strong suit.

I must have looked confused because Nash said, “That’s for this place, putting it into your name too.” He scratched his cheek. “What’s mine is yours anyway, you know that. But this makes it legal. There’s one in there for the brownstone, too.”

“What? Nash, that’s mad.”

“No, it’s not.”

“The brownstone is your house.”

“It was never my house. I knew from the second I walked into that place that one day you’d be in there with me too. It was always ours. Even before I was ready to admit it.”

Spontaneous emotion clogged my throat as I creased the papers in my hands.

“It’s right, Jem, we’re a team, we have been from the start. It’s what I realized was always missing from my relationship with Nadia. We were together, but apart. We were pursuing our own goals, which was fine, until it wasn’t anymore. With you?” His hands landed either side of my thighs on the bench and he leaned down to look me right in the eye. “I know that you’re here with me, that we’re here together. And I want you to know that I value and trust you with everything I have.”

“You don’t need to do all this for me to know that.”

A smile pulled at the left side of his mouth. “I know that. But I wanted to. Like I said, it’s right.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket and dropped down onto one knee. “So, Jemma, to make all of this official… Will you be my business partner? As well as the love of my life?”

I laughed, the sound choked and a little soggy. “I don’t know, I really like you being my assistant.”

“I really liked being your assistant too.” He bounced his eyebrows and I let out an unladylike snort.

“But… I can accept these terms. So yes, Nash, I will be your business partner.”

“As well as the love of my life.”

“That bit was already a sure thing.”

He stood and kissed me then, slow and deep and branding. I held onto him, fingers aching as they twisted in his shirt. And, just like that, I was no longer hungry, or sore or anything else. There was only me, and Nash. And that was enough. We were enough.

DEAR READER

Thank you so much for choosing The Wedding Planners! It makes me so happy that you took a chance on this book and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as enjoyed writing it. If so I’d love it if you’d consider writing a review to help other readers find these characters. And if you’d like to stay in the loop on any new releases, behind the scenes chaos and story snippets, sign up for my newsletter and find me on instagram.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Contemporary romance writer, baker extraordinaire and Super Mum only scratch the surface of the elements that make up author, Erin Thomson. She has dabbled in writing for over 10 years but finally committed to completing The Wedding Planners, wanting the world to experience Jemma and Nash the way she had in her imagination. When she’s not lost in the pages of her latest contemporary romance project or wrangling her two kids you can find her baking up a storm in the kitchen. We dare you to find a fudgier, more decadent cupcake than her chocolate, salted caramel masterpiece!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination of used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Erin Thomson

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Dear Reader

About the Author

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