Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Penn

I’d been to The Robin a couple times in my life, mostly for events. My parents said in the past it used to be a little local style tavern, but after it changed hands with new owners, they completely redesigned the space to have a more modern feel. Though some of the original design was still intact, such as the deep, mahogany walls and the blue tile floor with the specks of silver all throughout.

Archie and I took turns unloading the van. While weddings were our bread and butter, I personally loved the special occasion or milestone parties like this one, for Tracy Lewis’s fiftieth. There was just something that pulled at my heartstrings about having a big birthday party with your closest friends, all decked out.

When her friend called to place the order for the cake, I was given a few suggestions. Black, gold, and silver was the color scheme, and they asked that the cake have a “Gatsby vibe”.

So of course, I went all out on the theme, adding little silver painted champagne bottles that spilled out large edible pearls and jimmies, cascading down the three tiers.

Just as I gripped my hand around the box, I slipped.

“Fuck!” I said, thanking my lucky stars I didn’t drop the cake.

“Need a hand?” a familiar voice asked.

I looked over my shoulder to see Mitchell, once again dressed in some flashy island print shirt, his dark hair gelled back to expose his flawless olive skin.

My gaze roved over him, down to his tight, black jeans, and my cock twitched in my own.

Fucking hell.

“Uh... yeah...” I stammered, like an absolute idiot.

How was it that every time this guy walked in the room, my brain took a vacation?

Mitchell slung his camera around his neck around to his back as he helped lift the other end of the box.

“Okay, go slow,” I said.

Mitchell smirked. “Always.”

Thankfully, I could hide my blush behind the box as my insides twisted at the tone of his voice.

I’d never really appreciated anyone’s voice before. But there was something about the way Mitchell spoke, even when he was being flirty as all hell that was just... soothing. Relaxing.

I could fall asleep to that voice.

Mitchell led me in through the door, pausing to ask if I was okay every few steps, until we’d reached our destination in the reserved room.

The place was decorated with Gatsby-twenties style decorations, and all the mingling partygoers were dressed in costume .

“Shit, I feel overdressed as fuck,” Mitchell said as we set the cake box down.

“I mean, I knew there was a theme, but they didn’t mention there would be costumes,” I said as I worked closely on separating the box from the cake itself.

I could hear Mitchell clicking away. Compared to my black button down and dark jeans, he definitely looked better than I did.

Seriously, I wished I could wear prints like that, but I’d just look like a reject from the eighties. Mitchell looked like some smooth model from South Beach.

“Looks good,” Archie said as he started to unfasten the tape on the box. We still had one more box to get—the box of sheet cake that would be in the back for traying up and serving the party.

Most of our three-tier cakes had a real top layer, but the bottoms were fake. Partially to keep down on the amount of cake related incidents in transport, but also because of cost. It was a lot cheaper for our clients to order what was essentially a small cake for the guest of honor and a large sheet cake that could feed a hundred people easier and for less.

“There’s still the sheet cake...” I started as Archie waved me off.

“I got this. Why don’t you go grab something to eat. I know you’ve got to be starving.”

My shoulders loosened as my stomach rumbled. He was right, I was hungry. Mostly because I’d spent all day sweating over tonight.

It was weird to walk into the shop that morning, without seeing Mitchell. Even after just a few days, I’d gotten used to his being around, and I kind of missed him.

“Are you sure?” I protested, but Archie only glared at me.

“Go. We’ve got plenty of time before we have to tie this up and get it ready.”

Mitchell shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said as he cocked his head toward the main dining room, near the bar. “I haven’t had more than a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll today,” he said as I reluctantly followed and Archie headed for the doors.

“Busy day for you too, I take it?” I asked, glancing around the dining room. It wasn’t packed by any means, but there was a good handful of people dining, and sitting at the bar. Mitchell walked up and grabbed a menu off the bar, taking a seat at one of the open stools.

I followed suit, if only because I didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah, weddings are usually a lot in general. Just hours and hours of adjusting lighting and cropping out family members making weird faces and... This is probably boring the shit out of you.”

I shook my head. “No, not at all. I think it’s interesting. I mean, I get that talent only gets you so far. The rest is just hard work, right?”

Mitchell smirked. “It’s not work if it’s something you love.”

“No, it’s still work,” I said with a laugh. “But it’s a labor of love.”

Mitchell passed me the menu as he asked, “Did you always want to be a baker?”

I scanned the menu, my gaze settling on an appetizer platter full of hot wings, fried cheese sticks, and potato skins, and my mouth watered.

I shrugged as I set the menu down. The bartender came over, took our orders—my platter, Mitchell’s steak flatbread, and two cokes—just as Archie came in with the giant box.

“Hold on, let me?—”

“I got it, Penn!” Archie touted as he wobbled around the corner.

Mitchell reached out to steady him.

“Tell you what, you wait here for our food, and I’ll help Archie get this back to the kitchen, okay?” Mitchell offered, getting up from his stool.

I wanted to protest, but the look he shot me had my cock twitching and my ass frozen to the seat.

No one had ever looked at me like that .

“Uh... okay...” I stuttered as Archie and Mitchell walked off.

“What the hell am I doing?” I asked myself out loud, when they were out of earshot. The bartender slid our cokes to me, his gaze judgmental.

I guess I’d be judgy of a guy sitting at the bar talking to himself too.

Everything felt so different.

I’d been out with Archie, and my ex-girlfriends plenty of times. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to go out once in a while , have a little fun.

But something about Mitchell felt different than it had with everyone else. I knew we were working, technically, but there was an ease about him, that I just wanted nothing more than to sit down, eat some junk food, and have a beer and laugh .

When he returned, he smiled. “Good job holding the fort down,” he said with a wink.

“Please, all I did was watch the bartender pour the coke from the fountain.”

“The party should be arriving in like twenty, Archie said. So we’ve got more than enough time to eat and work.”

I scooted toward him, if only because I wanted to get closer to the bar.

“I kinda always knew I’d be a baker. My mom, she was always baking at home, letting me help her. When she opened the shop, I just knew it was where I’d end up. It was my home away from home.”

“That must have been amazing. Sharing the passion with someone else who gets it.”

“Your family doesn’t get photography?” I asked quizzically.

Mitchell laughed. “No, they do not. I mean, the hospitality and restaurant business is way different. I’m basically self-employed, so I am my business. If I’m not chasing the clients, posting on all the channels, doing the thing and keeping my name in the forefront... then I’m not working.”

I guess I never really thought about how hard that would be, being as I’ve basically been brought up and raised to take over the family business. I could only imagine how scary it was to be your business. A one man show.

“Still, you’re like the top photographer in Jasper Springs. You’re practically small town famous.”

“Not as famous as Dawson Richards, Mr. March.” he joked.

I didn’t remember much of my conversations with Mitchell’s friends from the other night, including the firefighter, but I did recall they all seemed pretty chill and cool.

I wouldn’t mind us all hanging out together again in the future .

Somewhere in my gut, I knew that was some sort of sign.

Some inkling of destiny, but at the time I fought to ignore it.

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty hot,” I said, realizing the instant I said it, that I didn’t just think it.

My cheeks burned like a five alarm fire as embarrassment flooded me and I hid my face in my hands.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry. I can’t believe I?—”

Mitchell let out the deepest laugh, and within seconds I felt, warm, soft hands pulling at mine. The touch sent a shiver up my spine.

It felt... different.

His warm palm against my skin was smooth, relaxing, and surprisingly gentle.

He pulled my hands down slowly, his dark gaze holding mine. I was acutely aware of the tension between us, and the fact that I couldn’t take my eyes off his lips.

Lips I remembered just how they felt against my own.

“Penn, listen...”

Oh God, this is the part where I completely fuck everything up.

This is my early life crisis.

“Uh...”

“You don’t have to be afraid of what you feel. With me, I mean. I’m not going to judge you. I...”

I watched as he swallowed, his gaze softening as he set my hands in my lap, his thumb brushing over my knuckles faintly, as if he too were afraid.

And for some reason, that made me feel better. More at ease.

“I know how... confusing ... things can be when you’re trying to figure it all out.”

My blood chilled as I prepared for his rejection.

Why did I care if he rejected me?

It’s not like this was a date, and he wasn’t my?—

Wait, did I want him to be my ? —

“I know what it feels like to question things and second guess yourself. But I need you to know it’s okay to feel what you feel. To be who you are. If that’s a guy who likes tall, pretty blondes...”

I frowned, the memory of Amy interrupting us at the coffee shop resurfacing.

Mitchell smirked. “Or a guy who likes...”

“Tall, dark, and handsome photographers?” I gulped, feeling strangely emboldened by his words.

I watched the grin on his face widen, and his own cheeks tinge pink.

“I like you, Penn. But I don’t want you to think I’m pushing or being too forward or...”

“I just... this is all new for me. I like you too, I think. I just?—”

Mitchell’s thumb ran rhythmically over my knuckles, making me feel like everything was going to be okay.

Somehow, this bright, new world of feeling and attraction didn’t seem so scary.

Because when I looked at him, I felt seen .

Like for the first time in my life, someone got me.

My gaze dipped to his lips, then his dark, fiery eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I...” I swallowed, wondering if I really could be honest with him.

And myself.

Saying it out loud meant it was real.

That the reality I once knew was over .

I’d shatter my own glass ceiling, but maybe... maybe that’s what I needed.

To emerge from my cocoon and embrace the unknown.

I squeezed his hand as I took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

I scooted closer, the motion putting me right between his legs. “I kind of want to kiss you,” I whispered.

Mitchell smiled, and it was soft. Sweet.

His eyes glittered in the amber light of the bar. “Then kiss me,” he said, his voice dark and gravelly. “I won’t stop you.”

My entire body felt alive with fear, desire, and curiosity. It wouldn’t be the first kiss we shared, but up until that moment, I’d rationed it was the alcohol that pushed me to act so brazenly the last time.

But there was no denying the truth, when without an ounce of alcohol in either of our systems, the desire was just as maddening, just as overwhelming as it had been before.

And that changed everything.

I slowly leaned into his space, my breath shaking as I did so.

Mitchell met me halfway, cocking his head to the side, his breath low and heavy as he whispered, “I’ll never stop you.”

I closed the distance between us, ghosting my lips against his, closing them against his bottom lip. His lips were soft against mine, not rough or harsh, and he stayed still as a statue, waiting.

Waiting for me to make the jump.

I settled my free hand on his neck, feeling his pulse beneath my fingertips, the rush of blood and warmth. I moved my lips slowly against him, acclimating to the taste and feel of him. When I was drunk, all I could remember was the heat. His tongue accosting mine, the deep groans that left our throats, and our raging alcohol-fueled boners.

But this kiss wasn’t like that at all. I gripped his neck a little tighter, sliding my fingers back in his hair as I probed his lips with my tongue.

And then the throat clearing “ahem” of the bartender with our food reminded me where we were, and what we were really doing. I broke away, heat flushing my cheeks.

“Hungry?” he asked with the sexiest grin I think I’ve ever seen.

“Um... starving,” I said as I turned back in my chair toward my leaning tower of appetizers, feeling a new sort of hunger that had nothing to do with wings and mozzarella sticks.