Page 136 of A Taste of Vanilla

She pulls the two other boxes onto the bar next to the first and starts arranging the pastries on small plates Oliver clearly disapproves of her using. Marley circles everyone with her phone.

“Late-night collab test. Bitter Bloom and Saints & Sinners. Oliver is unhappy, so we know it’s working.”

“Fucking Christ.” Oliver turns away and tends to a customer at the bar.

I notice Halston move before anyone else does. Her eyes slide to Oliver’s before glancing at the chalkboard hanging on the wall that readsWhiskey Flights and Pretzel Bites!

But unfortunately for her, Oliver turns at the exact moment she reaches into her pocket, a chalk marker gripped in her hand.

“No,” Oliver says sternly.

“It’s a menu. It needs a little joy,” she replies.

“My menus don’t need joy.”

She looks at him as if he confessed to a felony before kneeling on a chair in front of the board without a second thought.

I move before my mind has fully decided to, my hand closing around her waist to steady her as she sways.

She freezes, and I do too.

I’m only touching her to prevent her from hurting herself. Nothing more, nothing less.

Except she’s warm and familiar, and I can’t help but feel my dick harden as her beautiful eyes meet mine.

The noise dulls, and all I see is her naked beneath me, her fingers in my hair.

“Warren.” Marley’s voice cuts through the memory.

My hand leaves Halston’s waist immediately, and she grips the chair to steady herself.

“Thank you,” Halston says, clearing her throat. Her cheeks are a distinct shade of pink.

I step back and look at my sister. Her eyes narrow behind her phone.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “I hate this so much.”

Halston begins writing.

LATE NIGHT VICTORY TWISTS

BAR + BAKERY TEST MENU

AVAILABLE UNTIL OLIVER LOSES THE WILL TO LIVE

The Vipers cheer while Oliver mutters something incoherent. Marley laughs, zooming in on the board with her phone.

Halston jumps down, and I watch her adjust her cardigan.

I’m here temporarily,I remind myself. I’m here to help Marley help Halston. She asked, I came. That’s the pattern. When Marley needs something, I come. When the situation is stable, I go.

I don’t have a job here. Not officially, anyway. I don’t have a home. I don’t have plans.

There’s no reason to stay in Baltimore beyond my sister and a bakery owner who has flour all over her and a talent for taking the weirdest ideas known to man and turning them into drinks.

Halston sets a plate of pastries in front of three Viper players and crosses her arms, her chin tilting up. “Feedback. Go.”

One player with a dark beard bites into the pillowy doughand makes a sound I know will piss off Oliver. “This is stupid good,” he moans.