Chapter 4

Graham

I left the bakery through the back door, trying to get away from the crowd that had gathered in the main area. It seemed that just because Sam ran off didn't mean everyone else was going to disperse. I supposed that was a good thing though, if they were all making purchases. As they should.

The driveway was empty at home and the house locked up, which meant Gavin was not there. Thank goodness. I hadn't spoken to Sam yet, and I certainly wasn't ready to face his brother. I let myself into the back door that led directly to the basement where I lived.

Once inside, I tossed by bag next to the couch and sat down. I opened the box of cookies and took one out. I took a bite of the delicious cookies Sam had made for me. Each bite was like a memory of a home, simpler times—of afternoon bike rides with friends and laughter. It was why I loved them so much.

"Graham's cookies" it said on the top of the box. I knew it was his grandma's recipe. The one recipe he never shared on his blog, and the cookies were not available for sale inside the bakery. They were for special use only, he always said. Yet, there was always a box ready for me when I came home.

Usually, when I came home, I was ready to sit and unwind. Today, I was too keyed up. I began reading through his blog post. I always read his posts. Sam was a fantastic writer, and I was one of his biggest fans and supporters. I didn't just jump to the recipe like many of his other followers. At this point I'd learned more baking techniques than I would ever use.

What possessed him to publish something so private? Was it an accident? A ploy to get more clicks? That wasn't like him. First thing I needed to know was how genuine was this post? I didn't wish to get my hopes up that I had a chance with Sam if this was simply a goof and he didn't feel the same way.

Reading his words though, he had to feel something, right? This wasn't nothing.

Maybe then he'll finally realize that my feelings for him are sweeter than the cookies I bake for him special every time he comes home from a trip.

Graham's cookies. The only recipe I'll never share.

I looked at the lid of the box. Graham's cookies.

After going through my routine of cleaning my fridge to make sure I had actual edible food after a long trip, and then also doing my laundry, I decided I'd given Sam enough time to gather his thoughts. I needed to speak with him—preferably before his brother got home from work and cornered me. But I wasn't going to show up unannounced. I sent him a text.

All right if I come over?

He answered almost immediately. Sure.

I left the house and began the quick walk to Sam's. He did not live far from me. This was a small town—and a friendly one. Perhaps too friendly. My neighbor's house looked a little too busy for a regular day. Spies looking to see if I left my house and went to Sam's? Probably.

As soon as I started up the front walk, I heard his voice echo through the doorbell camera. "Door's open," he said, and I walked right in.

I wasn't a stranger to Sam's home. His brother and I had been the ones who helped him move in. I'd spent several afternoons in his living room talking about my travels, discussing blog strategies, enjoying Sam's baked goods. Enjoying Sam's company.

Sam was in the kitchen, which was his typical place to be. He stood at the counter, a glass of water in front of him, and a plate of cinnamon rolls as well.

"Ooh, do I get one of those?" I asked.

One corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile.

"Sure." He grabbed me a plate and put a cinnamon roll on it.

"So," I said, not quite sure how to start this conversation. "That was one hell of a blog post."

He put his elbows on the counter and buried his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Graham. This is so freaking awkward. I can't believe people actually read my blog! Everyone just hits the Jump to Recipe button."

I let out a snort. "You have thousands of subscribers, of course people read it. I always do."

He shook his head. "They don't, though. They just hit ‘Jump to Recipe.' That's why that button's at the top. For the last five Christmas holidays I've re-used the same blog post and no one has noticed."

"I noticed," I said.

He shot me a pointed look. "I got the idea from you."

I had the strangest urge to pull him into my arms. Sam was the tactile type. He looked like he could use a hug and damned if I didn't want to give him one. I settled for just putting a hand on his shoulder. "Can you answer a couple of questions?"

"Of course," he said.

"Was that a stunt to get more clicks, more follows, or...?"

"What? No," he wrinkled his nose. "You know I don't care about that kind of thing."

"That's what I thought. I just wanted to be sure. Did you post it on purpose?"

He shook his head. He tipped his chin up a fraction of an inch as if he needed to give himself courage for this conversation. "No, I drafted it a week ago when you left. It… that was the draft. The real post got trashed, even though I meant to delete the one about… you know. I never double-checked." He stepped away from my touch, and I almost followed him.

"So everything you wrote was..."

He met my eyes. "True. All of it."

I nodded. Inside I was jumping for joy.

"This doesn't need to be awkward, Graham. I'm—I never meant for you to know, and I understand if we can't be friends anymore." His words came out in a rush. He chewed at his bottom lip.

"Why would you never want me to know?"

"It's not fair for me to put my feelings out there like that, because you don't feel the same."

"I don't?" I asked with a raised brow.

His cheeks turned red. "You never indicated that you felt any different than just friendship. And you're my brother's best friend. You live with him and work with him."

"You never said anything either, Sam. This was a shock. We've always just been friends."

"I know. I know. And it can stay that way. This does not need to be awkward. I swear I won't make it awkward at all. I've already starting thinking about what I can post to my readers so they'll all calm down and the town…. well, they'll have to fixate on something else." Sam busied himself with finding the plastic dome cover that went over the plate the cinnamon rolls were on.

"What if I want it to get awkward?" I asked. "What if we went out on a date?"

"What?" He dropped the top to the plate he was holding, and it bounced on the floor and rolled away.

"Sam, would you like to go on a date with me? Tonight. We could go to dinner and a movie."

"A movie?"

"Unless that's too cliche. I can think of something more original."

"You can't be serious."

"Of course I am." I got off the stool and walked around the counter. Based on the post, I knew Sam was attracted to me, and I most certainly was to him, and I used that to my advantage. We were mere inches from each other now. "I'd like to take you out to dinner."

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"Very sure. And none of this has to be awkward. We can get some of that awkwardness right out of the way."

"How?" he asked, and his gaze traveled from my eyes to my lips. And I knew he was thinking about kissing me. So I closed the space between us and kissed him.

There were times when I'd fantasized about this. Sam was a good-looking man, and I was only human. Until today I'd assumed the attraction was one-sided and I had always ignored it; now that I knew it was not, the flood gates had opened.

I backed Sam up against the counter and put my hands to his neck to hold his head exactly where I wanted him. I coaxed his mouth open with my tongue, and he moaned against my lips. Then I was devouring him.

His taste exploded on my tongue, sweet like the treats he made with a dash of something extra that I couldn't quite place. Cinnamon maybe? I wanted to bathe in it.

First, I needed more of him.

My hands left his neck and moved to his hips. I hoisted him onto the counter. He let out a yelp. From this angle I could trail kisses down his neck. I gently sucked on his skin where his neck met his shoulder. How was it that he tasted so damn good? His legs spread, so that I could get closer to him.

Sam's fingers threaded through my hair. "Graham."

"Sam. Fuck, you are irresistible." I wanted so much more. I almost reached for his pants so I could wrap my mouth around his dick. Did his cum taste sweet too? I stopped myself.

I backed up a few steps.

Sam breathed heavily. He touched his lips as if he wasn't sure if what had happened was real.

"Sorry," I said. "I got carried away."

"That's fine." His voice was soft, and it reverberated in my ears. I wanted him to whisper my name as I pushed inside him. That was not happening right now, though. Sam deserved so much more than a quick fuck on his kitchen counter for our first time together. Our second time, though…

"Fuck, I want you so bad," I said.

"Me too." He hopped off the counter and stepped toward me, but I stepped back.

"Date first," I said.

"Date?"

"Yeah. You know. Where I take you out, buy you dinner, shower you with compliments, we'll come back here, and I'll give you a kiss good night."

"Oh. Just a kiss?"

I smiled. "Can I take you out tonight?"

He nodded. "Don't you want to rest?"

I shook my head. "No. I've got a date with the hottest baker in town, I'm not wasting another minute."

His cheeks tinged red, and he looked away.

I kissed his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed. "I'll pick you up at six thirty, okay?"

"Okay."