Page 5 of Ever Mine

The blinking cursor taunts me.

Go back to the manuscript I’m supposed to be writing, or run with this new idea while the words are piling up in my brain?

The choice is easy.

I told myself I didn’t have time for distractions. Especially those that centered around the office. The no-fraternization policy existed for a reason.

Still, I was the boss. If I couldn’t break rules, then what was the point of being in charge?

chapter

three

Addison

If love had a scent, it would smell like cinnamon rolls. In particular, my sister Kelsie’s cinnamon rolls. A couple of years ago, she and her two besties, Gracie and Caroline, opened up a bakery in downtown Saddle Creek. Sugar Bakers is now wildly popular, and everyone in town knows how good my sister’s rolls are.

That sounded way dirtier than I intended.

See? Even my double entendres are accidental. Because the truth is, cinnamon rolls smell like love to me, because I don't know anything about actual love. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never even had a toe-curling kiss.

This partially explains why I am struggling to write my current story. Okay, technically, my lack of experience of the carnal variety explains all of it.

How am I supposed to write believable romance without experiencing at least one of those?

By mid-morning, the whole bakery feels like a cloud of sugar and butter. Of course, Saturdays are the busiest days at the bakery. There’s a little bit of a lull in the customer crowd, so Kelsie wanders out of the kitchen. She’s wearing a bright pink apron that declares: My Buns are Sticky!

Kelsie has always made life look so effortless. She moves through the world as if she’s never had a self-doubt her entire life. I’m sure that’s not accurate, but in truth, I’ve never been brave enough to ask. I used to try to emulate her easy smile and casual way she interacts with other people, but it only ended up making me more anxious.

Her red hair is piled into a messy bun that looks artful and intentional instead of actually messy. She’s got the coffee pot in one hand, and a plate in the other as she strides to my table.

As soon as they opened this morning, I parked myself at one of the tables towards the back wall. My laptop is surrounded by my water bottle, a mug of lukewarm tea, a second mug that’s empty, and an alarming number of sticky notes.

“You’ve been here since seven,” she says, setting a plate down. “You haven’t had a cinnamon roll yet.” She sits in the other chair at my table, sets the coffee pot on the empty table behind her.

“I wanted to get some work done before your sugar-laden roll lulled me into a nap.”

“Now you know why bakeries close early. It’s because we all need afternoon naps.”

I nod. “Makes sense to me. Think they’d let me nap in my office at the brewery?”

“I think they’ll let you do whatever you want if you can do for them what you did for our bakery. Not to mention that chain of boutique hotels.”

I roll my eyes. “Mom got me connected for that, and I truly think they would have been successful without me.”

“Don’t give yourself so little credit.” She nods at my cinnamon roll. “Eat. Do you want coffee now?”

I dutifully take a bite, and my eyes roll back into my head. “Surely this is better than sex,” I say.

She laughs. “It’s better than some sex, that’s for sure.” After pouring coffee into my empty mug, she taps a finger on my graveyard of sticky notes. “What is happening here?”

“Just notes to myself.” I gather them all and shove them inside my notebook.

“How’s the writing going?” she asks.

I blow out a breath that makes my sensible bangs flutter against my forehead.

“That good, huh? Eat your better-than-sex cinnamon roll and see if it doesn’t inspire you.”