Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Mitch

I sat back in my editing chair, watching as the loading page did its thing, taking forever for my post to actually post.

While it would take me a while to really cull through and edit the wedding of the century, I needed to at least post a couple candids or favorites to keep both my clients and my followers clicking.

After getting home so early, I had more than enough time to hand edit a few shots of the details to keep everyone satisfied while I worked on the main attraction, the bride and groom.

So, I’d opted to showcase the Paradise in all its matrimonial glory, from the sparkling chandelier to the spectacular cake, the overflowing charcuterie board and towers of champagne.

Finally, the post went through.

I looked at the clock on my computer, which read nine thirty. I debated if I should keep going as I swiveled back and forth in my chair.

Staying up late editing photos wasn’t my favorite way to spend a Saturday night, but it wasn’t like I had anything else going on.

Which was pretty pathetic, if you asked me.

God is this like the pre-thirty jitters or something?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Just as I moved to close out my browser, I saw the familiar little red notification letting me know I had a message.

I groaned, wondering for a moment if I should ignore the message and get back to whoever it was in the morning, but I couldn’t help myself, and checked it out.

When I saw the photograph in the icon, next to the name Penn Baker, I sat up straighter. I clicked the photo, viewing his profile instantly.

Despite it being set to private, I could see enough photographs to confirm my sudden shock.

Pretty Boy had a name, and apparently the star Baker was a... baker?

How on point can you get when your last name is your profession?

Then again, I had no room to talk because my family literally owned M’s Place, the local watering hole, and had named the bar after all three of us. My brother Miguel, myself, and my younger sister, Max, and not to mention, my photography business was a play on my last name, DeVille.

I couldn’t help myself as I scrolled through the available information, which showed Pretty Boy’s most recent profile picture of him standing outside Penn’s Bakery on Charleston Street.

I’d been to the place a dozen times, mostly when I needed to grab something to bring to a potluck or a holiday gathering, but still.

The photograph showed him dressed in blue jeans and red and white converse that matched his red and white striped shirt. A bright, wide smile that reached his eyes gazed back at me, his toasted marshmallow colored hair blowing in the breeze like he was doing a photoshoot for the Disney Channel or something.

God, he was fucking adorable.

I smirked as I came back to my inbox, glancing over his message, the light of the computer bathing me in artificial anonymity.

I read over his message, asking about using the images of the cake for the bakery’s social media page, followed by an inquiry about working together. It wouldn’t be the first time someone asked to partner up with me for my services, but it was definitely the first time I wanted to say yes, without even a second thought.

Even if it’s only because the little cinnamon roll looks positively delicious.

I typed back with a smirk on my face.

All right, Penn, I’ll bite. I could use a little sugar in my portfolio. Let’s meet up and discuss our... partnership over coffee. Say tomorrow afternoon, if you’re free?

I hit send, leaning back in my chair, grinning like a little kid.

Was it unprofessional of me to flirt with a potential client?

Probably.

But the perks of working for myself was I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to do. I was the HR department, baby.

Penn responded rather quickly, which only fueled my confidence more.

What’s your favorite sugary snack? I can bring something if you like.

Oh, he made this too easy.

Sweet little cinnamon rolls who message me at nine thirty at night.

Maybe I had no shame, but a part of me didn’t really care what people thought of me. Either Penn would find my personality fun and easy, or he would get his little tighty whities up in a twist and turn the other way, which was possible.

But honestly, if he was that uptight with his masculinity that he couldn’t take some light flirting or teasing, I didn’t want to work with a stick in the mud .

To my chagrin, he responded with, I’m more of a cream puff, actually.

A dark chuckle escaped my throat.

Alrighty then, game on, Penn Baker.

Fluffy, delicious, and full of sweet cream. Just the way I like.

For a moment, even I thought I’d gone too far. Light teasing and flirting was one thing, but the squirrel in my brain who was my HR department flashed a very large WARNING! in my brain.

Thankfully, Penn’s response didn’t call me a fucking perv.

Instead, it was the opposite.

What time should we meet up?

I chuckled, noting how he hadn’t responded to my obvious overstep, but the fact he still wanted to meet up, even after my faux pas told me he was interested perhaps in more than just photographs.

Pretty Boy wants to play hard to get, that’s fine.

How does twelve thirty sound, Cream Puff? I messaged.

Penn responded quickly.

Sounds good to me, Cupcake.

I let out an actual laugh at his words as I messaged him back, telling him I’d see his sweet ass tomorrow afternoon.