CHAPTER NINE

CALEB

After agreeing to join forces and become Crossing’s Cups Cakes, we wasted no time getting the ball rolling by setting up a meeting with the owner of our building and business leases, Mike Jones.

“Do you think he’ll go for it? I mean we’re asking him to approve a major renovation. Going from two leasing checks to one.” Sierra nibbles her lip as I hold the door to Design Time open. Mike owns this embroidery and screen printing shop that also sells local sports memorabilia and keeps his office here for all meetings.

“We’re adding value to his building by upgrading everything as we go. Plus, there’s nothing stopping him from combining how much each of us pay into one lump sum each month, so he doesn’t lose out on money.”

“Hello! Welcome to Design Time,” a woman emerges from the back of the retail space and shuffles behind the cash register in the middle of the store.

“Hi, I’m Sierra Kipley and this is Caleb Vickers. We have a two o’clock meeting with Mike.”

“Oh, of course. He mentioned it earlier. You can follow me.” She waves a hand toward a long conference table squeezed into a makeshift storage space. “I’m Avery, by the way. I’ll let Mike know you’re waiting.”

We sink into two cushioned chairs and swivel to face the table. Mike joins us a few minutes later, and by tacit agreement, I launch into the plans Sierra and I have, pouring on the charm and enthusiasm in the hopes that our vision isn’t dashed before it has a chance to take flight.

“I’m surprised to hear the two of you want to team up. Figured there’d be too much bad blood between the businesses.” Mike steeples his fingers and reclines in his seat across from us.

“We’ve worked through our differences,” Sierra assures him. “The Cafe Clash gave us an opportunity for some honest conversations that brought to light how unfair I was being to Caleb and vice versa.”

“I see…”

The doorbell above the front door rings out, and Avery returns from a hall leading to the back of the building. Scooching closer to the table, Sierra and I try to give her room to squeeze behind us in the tight meeting space.

“I’d like to see the schematics before any demoing occurs. I need to ensure everything goes through the proper channels as far as building codes and licenses.”

“Of course. We’ll be happy to get those for you,” I agree, my hand drifting to Sierra’s thigh beneath the table and contracting around the soft flesh.

This is promising.

If Mike wants to see our plans for the new set-up, then that means his answer isn’t an immediate no. That means he’s considering our proposition, and we’re one step closer to making Crossing’s Cups Cakes a reality.

Mike claps his hands in finality then rises to his feet. “Great, I’ll look forward to those, and if everything checks out, then we can move on to discussing updated staff uniforms and any merchandise you want to sell.” He grins and shakes both of our hands.

“You’ve got it. You guys did a great job with the employee aprons for Buttercream Dreams, so I don’t see why we wouldn’t hire Design Time again,” Sierra says before we exit the store.

Rows of cars line the sidewalks of Main Street as we head toward Brewed. It’s a bustling Tuesday with clear skies and the sun shining brightly over the colorful shop windows. A good omen for the beginning of our partnership.

Speaking of which…

“Are we going to tackle the elephant in the room yet?” I ask as we curve around a mom rubbing sunscreen on her toddler.

“What elephant?”

“You and me, sweetcakes.” Daffodil’s appears on our right, and I divert Sierra toward the entrance for a late lunch. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our kiss.”

Once we”re seated, her dark brows scrunch together while she studies the laminated menu. As if she hasn’t eaten here before and doesn’t know exactly what she wants—strawberry poppyseed salad with chicken, one of Daffodil’s spring specials. I remember hearing her complain to Shannon last June when the restaurant switched to summer-appropriate entrees, and she couldn’t get it anymore.

“It’s a moot point now. We can’t date if we’re business partners.”

“Says who?”

“Literally every HR handbook that bans interoffice relationships. Every advice column that warns about mixing business with romance,” Sierra drawls, shrugging beneath the pink cardigan covering her shoulders. She sips her iced tea with lemon, daring me to contradict those points.

“For every article and rule that frowns upon working romantic relationships, I guarantee there’s a corresponding one that approves of them. Look at Austin and Luna. They worked together and fell in love. Do you think there’s something wrong with their relationship?”

“The key word here is worked together. Past tense. They didn’t become business partners. It was a contracted job that had a start and finish date, giving them freedom to pursue something more.”

“So, we set boundaries.” I’m not against a compromise. If that’s what Sierra needs, then I’m happy to accommodate. What I won’t agree to is keeping things strictly professional.

We’ve proven there’s too much chemistry between us to stay objective. Sparks fly whenever we’re near each other, and if those sparks don’t have an outlet—like making out and fucking like a pair of horny teens—then it wouldn’t surprise me if they shifted back to animosity. At least on Sierra’s part.

“I’m listening… What kind of boundaries?” She moans in delight at the first bite of her salad, and I fidget in my seat, trying to inconspicuously adjust my hardening cock.

Don’t get a boner in Daffodil’s.

Don’t get a boner in Daffodil’s!

“Separation of church and state. As much as it’s reasonable. That means no business talk outside the four walls of the cafe, and we keep it professional during business hours.”

She hums in approval. “What happens if we break up? It won’t be so easy to avoid each other when our finances are tangled together.”

“We agree now that whatever happens between us doesn’t affect the business. We’re both adults. And even when you claimed I was your archnemesis, we maintained a cool civility, especially since Shannon and Cole are our friends. If a romantic relationship ends, there will be a concerted effort to remain respectful and amiable.”

Quiet chatter surrounds us. The clink of silverware accompanying each murmured conversation as Sierra continues to eat while contemplating my terms. I hope I don’t have to push harder—hope she wants me as much as I want her—and she accepts the compromise, willing to give us a chance.

“You know, I never would have pegged you for the reasonable one in a relationship,” she finally says. “Especially with your propensity for diving into new things so quickly. But you can be very persuasive. Every damn word out of your mouth makes so much sense, I struggle to come up with a rebuttal.” She mock glares at me. “It’s annoying as hell.”

“Sorry not sorry, sweetcakes.” I finish the last of my potato soup and swipe a napkin across my mouth. “Just think of it as a skill you’ll come to love.”

“Unlikely.” A balled up straw wrapper bounces off my chest. “But you’ve convinced me. We’ll try these boundaries, and see how it goes.”

“That’s my girl.” Sierra blushes at the endearment, and now that we’ve cleared that up, I can’t resist rising a little out of my seat, snaking a hand around her neck, and planting a hard kiss on her lips.

In front of everyone.

They’ll know soon enough that the Cold Coffee and Cakes War has officially ended, and the armistice was just sealed with a kiss.