Kiss My Cupcake - Helena Hunting Page 0,23

barstools directly in front of the draft taps.

He tips his chin up at me and goes back to checking IDs as I push through the door and step outside in the waning evening sunshine. It’s still warm and balmy for early September. I miss the nights where I used to have time to sit outside on my balcony and enjoy watching the sun set. Now I’m always here, at the bar, watching the light fade through the windows.

I’ll get that back someday, though. For now, I remind myself that there’s a bigger plan and a few missed sunsets aren’t the end of the world if I’m able to pursue my dream.

When I was young—in my teens, and long before I was of legal drinking age—my dad used to dabble in home brewing. I learned from a very early age to appreciate the science behind creating superior craft beers. It had always been a hobby for my dad and somewhere along the way it became a passion for me. Now, aside from my grandfather, it’s the final connection I have with my dad, the one thing I don’t want to give up, especially as the memories of him continue to fade.

For a while money mattered more than dreams, but when Grams passed, it shifted my perspective. I needed the memories to stay fresh and I needed time with Gramps, so here I am.

I glance up at the sign I had custom made, expensive but worth it. Your storefront is your main source of advertising for passersby, and the more alluring it is the more likely people are to come in. I snicker as I pass Alice in Wonderland’s sidewalk sign. Today it reads: DON’T BE BITTER. TREAT YOURSELF TO SOMETHING SWEET!

I open the door and survey the shop. Despite it being a Tuesday, the café is busy, almost every table occupied by latte- and martini-drinking women. In the corners, young couples huddle, their textbooks lying open but ignored as their owners pick at cupcakes, their feet intertwined under the tables while they flirt.

Alice-Blaire is behind the counter, hands propped on her hips, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her dress is pale pink with a huge rainbow swirl lollipop print. The skirt flares wide; obviously there’s some kind of material underneath to make it so…poofy. It accentuates her lush, curvy figure. Her hair is pulled into some kind of intricate up-do, making her look like she’s stepped straight off the set of a fifties-era sitcom. She sure is an interesting woman.

Her head turns and her welcoming smile turns saccharine. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor.” She bats her lashes. “I’ve been expecting you.”

My own grin widens with genuine happiness. For reasons I don’t quite understand, part of me really enjoys the daily dose of snark I get from Blaire.

“Miss me, then?” I lean on the glass display case. Yes, I’m very aware it says I shouldn’t. I’m also aware that the second I leave she’ll be out with some environmentally friendly, lemony-smelling glass cleaner, wiping away the mark my forearm leaves behind.

She makes a guttural sound, rolls her eyes, and mutters something under her breath. I don’t quite catch all of it, but I swear it sounds sexual.

I probably need to get laid.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She keeps that smile plastered on her face, but her cheeks have flushed pink. “What can I get for you today, Ronan?”

“Dunno, what’d you recommend?”

“I’d recommend Death by Chocolate again, but we’re fresh out and you always seem opposed.” She taps her pink-glossed lips and hmms. They’re full. A little pouty. Probably perfect for kissing.

Yup, definitely need to get laid.

“Oh! Actually, I have something special for you today.”

“Special?”

“Mmm.” She arches a brow and spins around, her skirt flaring impressively. There’s a bow knotted at the center of her back. Even her apron is tied perfectly, which seems impossible since she can’t see the back of it. Unless she has someone do it for her.

She’s in the middle of retrieving something—not from the cupcake case—when a lanky guy wearing a polo that reads CUPCAKES TO GO! over his left pec appears from the back of the café.

“All set for tomorrow morning. You need anything else before I take off?” He runs a hand through his thinning hair.

She abandons the box, which I’m assuming is for me, and takes a few steps in his direction. “Thanks so much for taking care of all of this tonight instead of tomorrow morning, Paul. I know it’s going to be

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