Tasty by Bella Cruise Page A

packed.”
    “Nice
use of space,” he says with a shrug, and it makes me hate him
all over again. Because he doesn’t really seem that impressed,
and why should he be? His store is like twelve times the size of this
one.
    “It’s
important to have gathering places like this,” I go on, the
passion rising in my voice. “It’s what I always dreamed
for Rock N Roll Cakes, that it would become a place where people come
together. Hot pastries, cold drinks, good conversation.”
    “You
don’t have to sell me on it,” he says, leaning in even
closer. It doesn’t seem to bother him that we’re
practically touching, not one bit. It seems like heat is rising up
off his body, or maybe I’m only imagining it. “I could
see that working well for your store.”
    “You
can?” I say with surprise. It doesn’t sound like an
insult. He seems to mean it genuinely.
    But
I’m not sure I can trust him. I suck in my cheeks, trying my
best not to smile. He’s a chef. A creep. And he hasn’t
shown himself to be exactly trustworthy in the past.
    “Anyway,”
I say quickly, before he can answer, “I’m sure it’s
no big deal to you .
Your managers determine the way your shop looks, right? You probably
have nothing to do with it, Cake Master.”
    There’s
fire in my voice, and anger, too. Cal winches. He reaches up with a
broad hand and pinches the bridge of his nose.
    “You
know, Jules, I like you,” he begins. “I know you’re upset about the
store, but things will calm down soon enough. I promise.”
    “You
can’t promise me that. I hardly know you. Why do you think I
should believe you?”
    He
looks at me for a long time. Something hidden behind those burning
green eyes seems to tremble.
    “I
get it,” he says. “You’ve been hurt before. I have,
too. But I would never do that to you.”
    The
way his lips part softly while he waits for my response goes straight
to my heart and cracks it in two. Damn. I’m a sucker for a guy
who is strong, but vulnerable. I hate the way I can feel myself
opening to him.
    But
I kind of love it, too.
    Cal’s
still waiting for my answer. At last, his expression lightens. He
claps his hand against my shoulder with the kind of reassuring
strength that can only come from a man.
    “You
and I, we didn’t get off on the right foot, Jules. How about we
call a truce and start fresh?”
    I
exhale, hard. He’s really selling it. And honestly? I’m
buying every word.
    “Fiiine,”
I say, “a truce. But I don’t have to like it.”
    “Fair
enough. I’m Cal McKenzie.”
    He
sticks his hand out, offering it to me. He looks so damned confident,
like he owns the place. Like he owns me. I take it, sighing, and
weakly shake. My fingers are so delicate, almost dainty next to his.
He’s smiling as our palms connect. I can’t really blame
him.
    “Juliette
Rockwell,” I say.

 

Chapter Twelve
     
    Hermosa
gets us lunch on the house, Cuban sandwiches steaming hot and fatty
and rich. Cal and I eat in near-silence together, our gazes meeting
now and then. He has such a cute smile, curling and slightly cocky. I
honestly feel relieved about our truce. It was getting exhausting,
holding two conflicting ideas of Callum McKenzie in my head: on the
one hand, the douche bag who was ruining my business; on the other,
an incredibly sexy bastard who frosts my cupcake like nobody’s
business.
    Of
course, I think, as I take another bite of my sandwich, steamy ham
and gooey melted cheese going all drippy in my mouth, I’m still
not entirely sure I can trust him. I’ve been burned by his kind
before. For all I know, what Ginny heard about Angelique is a big fat
lie. Or maybe he has a fiancée back in New York City. Or maybe
even a wife and gaggle of kids somewhere. There’s no telling. I
need to be careful. When Cal lets his leg casually knock mine under
the table, I draw my foot away. He lifts his eyebrows, but doesn’t
acknowledge that it happened.
    “I
need to be off soon,” he says, wiping the