Chapter Eight

One week later

The customer pointed. "I'll take one of those and two of those. He plucked a cookie tidbit from the sample plate atop the case and popped it into his mouth. "You'd better let me have some of these. Half a dozen." He pointed at the plate. "What are they?"

"Something new. Cookies." Prudence picked the items from the case with tongs and boxed them. "Anything else? We have some fruit tarts today."

"Are they good?"

"The best," she replied, amused. Why did people ask such a question? Did they expect her to say, No, they taste terrible ?

"Okay, I'll take a couple."

She added two tarts, tapped her wrist to charge the customer's account, and handed him the box. "Remember, in a month we'll be at a new location—the third floor of the Gath Building. We'll even have a small café inside where you can order in."

"I'll be there." The customer left.

"I'll take four of those tarts." The next man stepped up to the booth. "And a half dozen cookies."

"Excellent. What else?" she said while acknowledging the other two males with a smile. Their clientele demographic continued to emphasize the devastation caused by the pandemic. Although the women released from the stasis pods had recovered and had resumed their normal lives, male customers greatly outnumbered female ones, and most of the latter were human.

"Two loaves of that bread. Larth hasn't had that in a while," the customer said.

"We'll have it from now on," she assured him.

On the positive side, business had increased to a brisk pace in the past week. Ever conservative and cautious, Larth attributed the uptick to curiosity over her presence. While no doubt true to some extent, Pru considered the regular hours and consistent inventory factored into it, too. Customers could count on getting the items they wanted.

Alone, he had been unable to do all the tasks for an optimal result. Hours of operation had been erratic, and he often ran out of stuff. But, working together, the bakery prospered. This morning, while she manned the booth, he'd gone to the new location to supervise the delivery of the appliances. Cabinetry and counters had been installed earlier in the week. With sales at the cozi so brisk, they'd used up nearly all the frozen batters and doughs. They'd both be up late baking tonight. She crossed her fingers the loan for the robo came through. They needed help sooner rather than later.

"A loaf of bread and a pie," the next customer ordered.

"Ten of those little cakes," said the last customer. After sending him on his way with his cupcakes, she leaned against the counter for a needed break. This was the first lull of the morning.

She enjoyed being busy, didn't mind hard work and a fast pace, and she loved having more autonomy and control. At Flour Power, although her boss had been great, she'd just been a worker bee. Her husband valued her opinion; she had input. She felt like an entrepreneur—and it was a bit of an ego rush.

She eagerly looked forward to opening Sala's Bakery .

She loved everything about the shop except the name, and that caused her to cringe with shame. Larth had jumped on her café idea, and she believed he did appreciate her hard work, input, and contributions. He treated her like a full partner in every way. Except…he intended to name the shop after Sala, the woman he loved, the only one he would ever love. Prudence could work her ass off to turn the bakery into a huge success, and the shop would carry the name of someone who wasn't here, who hadn't worked at the bakery for three years.

I'm his wife now! She didn't expect Larth to name the place after her—not at all—but she resented that the other woman would receive the tribute. Was it presumptuous to wish he'd picked something neutral? There were so many cute names he could have chosen: Kneadful Things, Rolling in the Dough, For Goodness Cake, Humble Pie, Sweet Escapes. Given they'd added a coffee shop, they could have called it Pie Lattes.

And her growing resentment filled her with shame.

The woman had died . The bakery had been her idea, her dream. She'd launched it. It made sense to name it after her. It wasn't her fault she hadn't been able to bring it to full fruition.

We have a business arrangement. I came for a job. I agreed to the terms. I'm just a glorified employee. Why shouldn't he name it after Sala when it was her idea? Pru never expected Clifford to rename Flour Power after the employees, no matter how hard everyone worked. Her jealousy was irrational.

I've got to get over this. Stop obsessing. Get back to work.

Grabbing the spray cleaner and a towel, she exited the booth to erase the smudges and fingerprints from the case. She was wiping the glass when Larth bounded toward the booth with such a huge, happy smile, she couldn't help but return it. "The shop looked good, huh?" she said.

"Cabinets and appliances are in. The place is fantastic! Better than I ever dreamed. Wait till you see it. The café will fit in so well. And—we got approval for the loan. I ordered the robo! It's happening, Prudence!" Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her off the floor and spun her around.

Her squeal of shock turned to laughter. His excitement was contagious. Us and we. It's happening, Prudence. He's not referring to Sala this time. He means me.

The green monster slunk off into the shadows. She could still feel it lurking, but, for this moment, she and her husband were sharing a moment of joy and celebration. He recognized that this was something they were doing together .

Vendors and customers were watching them. "You'd better put me down before we break something."

He let her slide until her feet touched the ground, but he retained his hold around her waist. Their thighs touched. She gripped his taut, muscled biceps. Laughing eyes met hers. Grinning, he continued to gaze at her. Her breath caught in her throat as the smile slipped off his face when the gleam in his eyes heated to something hungry.

She made a noise in her throat, whether a protest or an assent, she wasn't sure. His head dipped, and he pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes widened in shock, but then he teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she parted her lips. With a groan, he deepened the kiss.

He kissed her like he meant it, like he craved it, like he needed her . And she needed him. The affirmation, the knowledge of his desire, the desire itself.

Warnings hammered in her head, but she shoved them away and clung to his strong arms, kissing him back, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She relished the scrape of his jaw against her skin, the gentle strength of his hands gripping her waist, the caress of his lips and tongue. His exotic alien musk enveloped her. How could she not have noticed how good he smelled?

"Uh, excuse me. Could I get some bread?" a customer cut in.

He released her so fast, she almost fell. His gaze, conflicted now, met hers. She spun away and grabbed the cleaner and towel from the top of the case and darted into the stall. She couldn't even begin to process what had happened.

"What kind?" she asked, going through the motions of conducting business while remembering the gentle but firm press of his soft lips. She could still taste him. Smell him.

"The seed bread."

Operating on autopilot, she bagged it. Larth entered the booth and stood behind her. All her senses went on high alert. Her skin tingled. Her heart raced. Her stomach fluttered. She couldn't concentrate on selling bread right now, and, as soon as the customer left, she'd have to face Larth. "Anything else?"

The customer peered into the case. "No…"

"The uh—um—" She blanked, couldn't remember what they sold. "Sweet rolls! The sweet rolls are excellent. Baked them this morning. My personal favorite."

"Four of those, then."

"Perfect!" She charged him and handed over his purchases. "Come back again. Remember, we're moving to a new shop!"

He left, and she busied herself rearranging the already neat items on the counter.

"Prudence…"

She froze, her breath hitching in her chest. It was just a kiss. It doesn't mean anything. He was excited and got carried away.

But, what's my excuse?

"Can you look at me?" he asked in a low voice. She turned. Dark eyes, their expression unreadable, fixed on her face. "Should I apologize?"

"No apology needed. We, uh, got carried away over the good news. No harm done," she said. "It was just a kiss."

Or was it? The kiss had seemed to suggest a promise, a hint at a fresh beginning, a signal of what the future could be. Her toes had curled, and, in his arms, everything felt right for the first time in a long time.

I have to keep my head. Not fall for the illusion. Under no circumstances should she read anything into the passionate, intimate nature of the kiss. In truth, she wasn't sure what her feelings were, what she even wanted from him.

She risked a glance at his earnest face. Him. I want him.

"Well, if you're okay, then I'm okay," he said.