Page 61 of Last First Kiss

“We should, uh—the cake tasting,” Jordan rushes out. “This way.”

The bakery is airy and bright. The walls are splashed in yellow with rustic wood paneling. Confectionary sugar and vanilla scent the air.

Yara, the owner, happily greets them in a clean white chef’s coat that looks sharp against her gold-brown skin. She’s worked with 24 Carter Gold before. Her biggest claim to fame is the multi-tiered red velvet cakes she bakes yearly for the mayor’s Valentine’s Day gala, but her selection of flavors is first class.

She sizes Amy up. “What profile are we thinking? Classic, like white or almond? Tropical? Decadence? Something bold like blue velvet? A boozy bourbon?”

“I—” Amy pauses. She nervously sips her latte, then says, “Is it bad that I don’t know?”

Yara laughs. It’s a full, infectious noise. “Not at all.”

“But shouldn’t I have some idea? It’sourwedding cake.”

“Miss Welch—”

“Amy’s fine.” Pink dusts Amy’s cheeks. “You’re about to save my life. I think we can skip the formalities.”

Another laugh springs from Yara. “Amy, trust me, you’re not the first to walk in here unsure of what you want. That’s what I’m here for. Let’s make some magic.”

Jordan smiles as Yara leads Amy to a corner table near the window. A thick design book awaits. He can already see the tension leaving Amy’s shoulders. She openly snort-giggles when Yara makes a cake joke. He knows Yara has won her over.

Quietly, Jamie says, “You’re really good at this.”

The shop is empty except for them. Still, Jamie’s sidled up to Jordan like there’s nowhere else to stand.

“Good at what?” Jordan asks in the same low voice.

“Reading your client. Knowing who and what makes them comfortable.”

Jordan shrugs one shoulder. “That’s my job.”

“Jordan Carter, are you being modest?”

“I’m beinghonest.”

Jamie hums. Jordan doesn’t like that noise. Theokay, sureimplied behind it.

“I think it’s more than that,” Jamie says. “All this effort isn’t just about doing your job.”

“It isn’t,” Jordan stiffly confirms.

“Then what is it?”

Jordan bites the inside of his cheek. The first response that comes to him feels too personal. Something he can’t afford to be with Jamie. This is a business meeting. Jamie’s aconsultantto his client, not someone Jordan whispers secrets to on the floor of a dark basement bedroom.

“We should focus on Amy,” he suggests.

He feels Jamie sigh before he hears it. “You said you were okay with this,” Jamie says.

Jordan doesn’t need context to know what Jamie’s referring to. “I am,” he says.

“And that we wouldn’t be awkward.”

“We’re not.”

“Jordan, this is the longest conversation we’ve had in six months,” Jamie whispers.

“We talked longer the other day. When you hit me with the door.”