Page 27 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

I let the paper go and the receipt flutters between her fingers.

“Careful,” she says, voice thinner than before.

I nod.“Always.”

Her mouth tightens like she does not know what to do with that answer.Join the club, sweetheart.

I keep my hands at my sides, even though they ache to reach for her.“Parts should be here in three days.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll bill you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I’m very official.”

“You brought me a flower card that mentioned carbohydrates.”

“That’s a new brand of romantic.”

Her lips twitch.“Don’t push your luck.”

“I would never.”She stares at me, and I smile.“Okay,” I admit.“I would.But only a little.”

Holly shakes her head and turns away, leaving the door open.Not an invitation but not not an invitation.I stand there like an idiot until she glances back over her shoulder.

“Are you coming in, or are you planning to haunt the alley?”

The kitchen is a war zone.A beautiful, terrifying, sugar-coated war zone.

Bowls are stacked beside the sink.Cooling racks line the counters.Trays of cupcakes wait beneath swirls of pale pink frosting.There’s flour everywhere.On the floor.On the table.On Holly.One suspicious streak even decorates the side of Patricia the oven.

I look around.“Did you fight the flour?”

“The flour started it.”

“Did you win?”

“Obviously.”

A cloud of white powder slides off the edge of the counter and lands on the floor between us.I look down.Then back at her.

“Decisive victory,” I say.

She points a spatula at me.“Sarcasm will get you stabbed.”

“With a spatula?”

“I’m creative.”

“I believe that.”

She moves past me to check a tray, and I follow her with my eyes before I can stop myself.Bad idea.Her jeans hug her hips, her apron ties tight around her waist, and the scent of her frustration mixes with the sweetness in the air until I can’t tell if I want to laugh, groan, or run into traffic.

My wolf knows what he wants, but luckily my wolf is not in charge.

“You need help,” I say.