22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dahlia

" U mmm…" A new customer I don't recognize studies my display. No, not studying. Marveling at it. Her green eyes are huge, and she's been playing with her blonde ponytail for the last minute or so. "Ugh. I wish I could have everything. At once. Just open my mouth and gobble it all down."

The customers standing in line don't say a word. They don't rush her.

They know they'll get kicked out if they do. The last few who yelled at one of my customers for admiring my cupcakes got blacklisted.

The rumor has spread its wings, and well, no one's being a jerk anymore.

In case someone would, there's always next year .

Maybe Tyler will join me by then. We slept together last night too, and we didn't discuss what he showed me. Didn't bring up the angel of death—me—that's tattooed on his back.

We didn't have to. We're fine. He assumes the worst, and he was there, waiting patiently outside my bakery last night to walk me to his home where we slept together.

He could be my partner in slaughter. A chuckle escapes me at the thought.

"I got it." The woman in the black knee-length sweater beams at me. "I think."

My instantaneous smile reflects hers. "Go ahead."

"Give Me Your Eyes to start with." She points a manicured finger at it. Painted bright orange that matches my dress. That's fucking awesome.

Not as awesome as her choice.

Give Me Your Eyes was the cupcake Tyler asked for the other day.

Great taste, lady. Great taste.

"Wait." She raises her hand before I grab her cupcake.

"Yes?"

"The witch pattern on top. How'd you make it?"

"It's a secret, but…" When I lean closer, as if to share a secret, the blonde does the same. "I mixed zinc powder into my frosting. Swiped it across the witch-shaped stencil. It's tasteless, though. Just pretty."

"Very." The blonde's smile widens, her cheeks flushing. "Was it inspired by your dress? It's gorgeous."

"Thank you, but no, they weren't inspired by my dress." My new favorite customer doesn't flinch when I expose my too-sharp canines in appreciation. She giggles again like she really likes me. "My mom used to bake carrot cakes when I was a kid. I hated it back then. Now, I use her recipe because I think it's that good."

"She must be so proud that you've taken after her."

Mom. I miss her. The gentlest, kindest, most loving mother I could've asked for.

Telling my customer she's dead won't do either of us any good. Besides, the line is getting longer.

"Of course."

"Pay For Your Cins next." The customer can't see the sadness in my eyes, and thank fuck for that. She points at the cinnamon toast cupcake, keeping her finger from touching my display window. "You must have so much patience, positioning the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal to look like it's a knife cutting through the cupcake…" Her thumb and index finger pinch together and she brings them to her lips, doing a chef's kiss gesture.

Grateful for the distraction, I fish that one for her and arrange it in the cardboard container next to its sister.

"Night of the Living Dead," she singsongs, snapping my attention back to her. "That'll be all."

I wrap my fingers around the butterscotch cupcake.

"Hmph." A frown tugs at my lips. The gray gravestone I put on top is crooked. It bugs me to no end, so I fix that before closing the lid on the three cupcakes and ring in the order.

Tapping on the register is less of a hardship today. The cuts on my fingers have healed. Tyler made sure of that. He kissed them better the last two nights we slept together .

Last night, when I was a little more awake, we talked. About everyday stuff. I've been craving it for years, and last night, while we were looking into each other's eyes, we did just that.

We talked about his job. The code and endless meetings. He asked about the stray neighborhood dogs, and I told him I'm the one who feeds them. Didn't say with what, though. Tyler didn't ask.

When I changed the subject, he let me. We reminisced about the good moments we had together, in those first years after we became his neighbors. How Ian and I liked him that first day.

Well, I did. It took Ian some getting used to our new neighbor. My then-seven-year-old brother punched the seventeen-year-old Tyler for coming anywhere near me. He'd always been my defender.

Until he couldn't be anymore. Then it was Tyler. And me. But that topic, like the stray dogs, was meant for another day.

Our conversation ended there. In the safe zone.

We didn't discuss Ty's ink. No I know you know I know .

We will tonight.

"Next." I motion for the pimpled teenage guy to come forward.

Bzz.

"Eep!" At the vibration in my apron, I stop everything I'm doing. Tyler. He promised he'd text me at noon, and he did yesterday.

It's noon now. This has to be him .

"Did I do something wrong?" The lanky guy's eyes widen. "I'm sorry for taking forever, I—"

"You're good," I assure him. No need to scare someone…for no reason.

While the teenager studies the display, I check my message.

Tyler: He better not be looking down at the cleavage of the dress I bought you. Your tits are mine.

My head snaps up. My neck almost breaks with the speed. Tyler's out there. Watching my shop, in the bustling street. I narrow my eyes, searching the crowd and groaning when I can't find him.

Not fair. He sees me while I have no idea where he is. I go back to my phone, typing at rapid speed.

Me: He's harmless. And polite. Come inside for a cupcake?

The second message from him comes within a second.

Tyler: I don't know. The line is way too long. The cupcakes even worth it?

Despite his teasing, my heart does this weird, delighted hop-hop-hippity-hop in my chest.

He's been sweet. Offering me a glimpse of the old Tyler. The one I fell for hard and fast the second my hormones kicked in.

He protected me, as much as he could. Took me in instead of throwing me into the hands of the foster care system. Forced me to shower, fed me. He hugged me through my meltdowns and basically saved my life.

That Tyler made jokes.

Do I love that side more? No .

The stalker, the killer, the unhinged lover—I love him just the same.

I wouldn't want to change him for the world. Wouldn't ask him to be anyone else.

Mine .

Me: Testing me?

"I think I'd like…" the customer murmurs.

The scent of chocolate icing carries to my nostrils. I can guess what pimple guy will say before he does.

"Yes?" I ask anyway.

The phone buzzes in my hand.

Tyler: I'd rather be spanking you.

The customer points at my Boston Scream—aka Boston Cream cupcake. White cake filled with custard and chocolate icing on top. And it couldn't be a part of my Halloween collection without my special touch.

Using white frosting, I draw on top of the chocolate one a Ghostface's mask. No stencil. Just me. It takes forever and I make less of them, but I can't help it.

This cupcake is too precious. Of course it deserves the hot couture treatment.

Tyler's message. Right. I forgot to answer.

Me: You'd have to visit me for that. Come out of hiding?

Tyler: And spank you before your customers?

My curious gaze scans the crowds a second time as I go through the motions of serving my client. Arm reaching inside the display window. Cupcake goes into a cardboard box. Money in the registry.

Kah-ching .

And a message from my lover.

Tyler: If you smile at the kid one more time, I'll cut him up. Paint your bakery red with his blood.

I give Pimple the biggest smile.

Still no Ty.

Asshole.