"And what's on your menu in the morning?" she asks, and I wish I could see her face more clearly. Know if her eyes are getting more calculated, or if she's just testing me.
"Banana pudding donuts. Town favorite. Sure sell-out. You?"
"Bailey wouldn't tell me, so I don't know."
"Bailey wouldn't-" I cut myself off with a bark of laughter. "Holy shit. You still can't bake."
"What? I can bake. I can bake your ass off."
"Christ, Annika. You're fucked."
"And thank you so much for helping by starting a bakery war."
Shit. Shit.
"Good for business," I venture.
"Hm."
Dammit.
She can't bake. She can't bake.
We're both fucked.
And it's my fault.
My ice cream is sitting in my stomach swirling itself into a lava whirlpool that's gonna leave me with indigestion for weeks.
"You have help?" My palms are sweating and I couldn't take another bite of ice cream if the fate of the world depended on me finishing this cone. My boner's still going strong, though, so maybe all's not lost.
Or maybe I shouldn't use it as a crystal ball, because it's a dick. "Other than Bailey."
"Everything's fine," she insists.
She's running a bakery with a thirteen-year-old and a woman who went unexpectedly blind.
She's not fine.
And I'm sitting on an email from a reporter who wants to cover the greatest bakery rivalry Virginia's ever seen.
I'd crush her.
Unless-
"Sales good?" I ask.
"I'd like to be friends, which means we can't talk about this."
Friends. Being friends can bite me.
I'm gonna be her fucking hero.
Decision made.
Several in fact.
Right here, right now.
I don't just bake. I create masterpieces. Foodgasms. That won't change in two weeks. In six months. In ten years. I will always be a master baker.
Maybe I'll keep my own bakery if I can manage to keep my profits on an upward trend.
But what I do in the next thirty seconds will determine if I can ever be anything else besides a master baker.
This was a lot of fun, it was funny and ridiculous, and even tugged on the 'ol heartstrings a few times. I loved Grady, and I liked Annika way more than I thought I was going to when I started. They make a really good couple. And in typical Pippa Grant fashion, Annika and Grady are surrounded by friends, family, and animals which results in zany hijinks and witty banter. Which is why I love her books so much.
My only complaint is a tiny one that probably won't bother anyone else. Towards the beginning, there's a scene that includes some of Cooper's friends and their stories on how those couples got together. It really has no bearing on this story, but if I had known ahead of time, I would have waited to read this one after I read the other books in The Bro Code series. Only because, chronologically, it looks like this book comes after those two. But, really, it doesn't matter. I didn't enjoy this any less because of that, and I enjoyed it a whole hell of a lot.
Insert *standard warning of spoilers in the way too many excerpts because I couldn't narrow down my favorites below* here.
Still, the goat strains the leash and bleats indignantly at me like it's hungry and I'm denying it fresh cupcakes.
Or possibly like it, too, is accusing me of sending spies and thieves to Shipwreck.
"That's right," Grady drawls softly. "Your family thinks they can steal my customers."
"You're fighting a teenager and a disabled woman."
"That teenager is more devious than my grandfather and his parrot put together."
"You're a grown man. And you're fighting with a teenager."
There are no signs of his dimples as he glowers at me in the late July heat. The half-dozen people crowding around his truck slowly back up.
"Didn't realize he was a Shipwreck shithead, Annika," one of them mutters. He eyes the donut sample, takes half a bite, moans in pleasure, then winces and throws the rest to the ground and crushes it with his boot, the pain in his face telling me just how highly he regards me if he's willing to sacrifice an orgasmic tres leches donut.
"That's what I think of your baked goods," he barks half-heartedly to Grady, still eyeing the donut like it's the second coming of fresh chocolate chip cookies, which we all know are the best pastry in the universe, except when I bake them.
The goat bleats and pulls so hard on its leash that its front hooves leave the pavement
A few more of the gathered crowd apologizes to me and either stuffs the last of the donut samples in their mouths, or cringe when they, too, throw the rest of the sample to the ground and back away toward their cars or their shops or wherever they came from.
Grady's brows are so low, they've disappeared beneath the top rim of his sunglasses, and his mouth is flatter than my first drill sergeant's high-and-tight haircut.
I always thought his dimples were sexy, but I can't deny what broody, seething, wound-up Grady is doing to my nether regions. I haven't been this hot and bothered since my favorite planner line announced Wonder Woman-themed stickers and pages.
He jerks his head toward the back of my bakery.
Like he wants to talk privately. Away from my Sarcasm supporters and his goat.
I'm all for a private conversation right now, because I'm about done with this stupid fight, but I also know Grady, and I know how hard he worked to carve out something that he could be the best in.
He grew up in the shadow of his little brother, who had the bigger personality, the bigger brain, and the bigger talent. And while I know he'd do anything for Cooper, that doesn't mean he's immune to having feelings about being the less successful Rock brother.
Not that anyone likes to swallow their pride. Grady's just always had to fight for his place, and I get it.
I'm moving in to where he excels.
I'm pulling a Cooper on him.
Plus, heat always makes him cranky.
It's why his mom always kept popsicles in her freezer during the summer.
~
The words are thank you.
But I can't find them.
Because Grady Rock makes my brain short-circuit.
I spent four years of high school re-wiring myself over and over so I could resist his dimples and his confidence and his easy acceptance of me for who I was, not where I came from or where I wanted to go or the schedule I'd made to get there.
But I can't do it anymore.
I can't resist him.
And I don't want to.
He's not perfect. God knows, neither am I. But when he walked into the shower and casually pulled that curtain back, like he knew I was here, and it was okay, and he was happy to see me, no matter what happened in the rest of the world today, I fell.
I quit trying to overanalyze, and I just fell, and it scared the shit out of me.
Because what if we don't work?
What if all this is just a leftover high school crush?
That bulge against my belly doesn't feel left over.
The press of his body anchoring me to the chilly tile wall doesn't feel left over.
The hot swipe of his tongue against mine doesn't feel left over either.
~
And because Annika's never late for anything, I catch the flash of the sun reflecting off a windshield right at six o'clock.
I hit the front door and pull it open as she's climbing out of her car.
Her dark hair is tied back, and a baseball cap shields her eyes. She's in tight low-rise jeans with her phone sticking out of one pocket and a tank top that keeps lifting to show a sliver of her belly over the white long-sleeve blouse she has tied at her waist.
And she's in hiking boots.
The first time I saw her, she was in boots.
They make me happy, she'd said.
Her happiness made me happy.
And now that I've finally figured out the magic of making her happy, I never wanted to stop.
"Get all dressed up for baking lessons?" I ask with a grin.
"If you're looking for makeup and a slinky dress, you asked the wrong girl to stick her hands in dough with you."
I clench my eyes shut and try to think of my Nana naked, but all I'm coming up with is Annika in my shower, her cheeks flushed, my fingers in her hot, tight pussy, and I shouldn't have borrowed my brother's house.
Screw the brownies.
And the steak.
"Grady?"
"Hold on."
Pop.
Yep. Think about Pop. Crusty nuts and saggy vaginas.
Okay.
This is good.
I toss a mime into the mix, and yep.
That does it.
Situation temporarily contained.
I open my eyes again, and Annika's giving me the lifted brows of what the fuck have you been smoking?
"Making sure I didn't forget anything before we pop the wine," I lie.
She smirks. "You were thinking about me naked."
And there goes my dick.
"Trying not to think about you naked," I correct. "I'm teaching you to bake."
~
I'm on the couch, Sue passed out with his snout in my lap, watching the Fireballs play their first home game in a week and a half and nodding off over an empty bowl of Lucky Charms topped with chocolate milk when I hear the sound of tires crunching over the gravel behind my house.
I don't think anything of it, because the athlete's foot spray commercial between innings is blending into the dream I'm drifting into about Sue trying out to be the new Fireballs mascot, which entails him shooting flaming boogers out his nose.
I snort-laugh in my sleep and wake myself, but something's not right.
There's a weird tapping coming from the back door.
Sue grunts.
I figure it's just the flowers, realize they don't actually have fingers and mouths, and can't tap dance across the sidewalk, much less tap on the back door, and I bolt upright just as the back door clicks open.
"'Lo?" I call.
"You found me a baker," Annika whispers behind me, and I'm suddenly fully awake.
I leap up.
Sue falls off the couch and gives us both an earful until he sees Annika slipping in from the kitchen, and then he charges.
She laughs and scratches him all over his head while he tries to leap on her. "Aww, who's a good boy? You're a good boy, aren't you?"
"You're here," I say, stating the obvious like a dumbass.
"You sent me a baker," she repeats.
"I know one or two. Sometimes they're looking for changes."
The bags are heavy under her eyes, but everything else about her is sparkling. She straightens, and her loose hair falls to land at nipple level. Her shoulders are relaxed, her spine straight, her joy shining.
Instead of her normal leggings, she's in short jean shorts topped with a peach tank top that hugs her breasts and shows off her slender but strong arms.
And she's in sandals.
With pink-tipped toes.
Pink.
Annika.
But it's the giant smile curving her lush lips that sends me over the edge.
I did that.
I made her happy.
~
"I miss you."
My grip around her tightens. "Right here, Annika."
She doesn't answer.
She doesn't have to.
I know what she means.
She has to leave. I have to stay. And neither of us knows when she'll get her next break so we can sneak off together.
"Maaa?" Sue asks.
Annika laughs into my neck as the goat hops up onto the couch and tries to squeeze between us.
"Back, you crazy animal," I tell him.
He licks my ear and sticks a hoof way too close to the goods.
"Sit," Annika orders.
And the fucking goat sits.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask him.
He licks his nose, then snorts on me.
Annika laughs, right there in my arms, and yeah, I'd let my goat snort on me every day if that's what it took to hear that music.
I'd find her a new baker every day too.
Anything to make her happy.
Anything.
She's everything that's been missing from my life in the last ten years.
All of her. Her drive. Her dedication.
Her family.
Her chaos.
She's my happiness.
And I'm going to do my damnedest to be her happiness too.