He could still clearly imagine the pinkness of her nipple, how it had hardened instantly when he wrapped his lips around it.
Cade took the bags from her and set them on the small bench seat in the back. As she climbed in, he tried his best not to stare at her long legs that jutted out from the fitted black skirt.
Lily looked at him, embarrassed, as she realized her top was undone and tried to discreetly button it while she buckled herself in.
He stared straight ahead and clenched the wheel tightly.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Oh. Right. You don’t know where I live anymore. Southeast Hoyt,” she said.
“Fancy.”
“Not really,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Lily chattered nervously as he made his way toward the Richmond neighborhood. She talked about the events coming up at the bakery, Jean-Michel’s obsession with cleaning up the graffiti on the building, and plans for Easter brunch with friends, but Cade couldn’t find anything to contribute.
“Well, this is it,” she said.
“You live at a mechanic shop?” he asked.
“No! I live in the apartment above it.”
“Oh. Isn’t it noisy?”
“During the day, probably. But by the time I get home they’re usually done.”
Cade reached back for the bags, uncertain whether to offer to carry them up or not. It would be the polite thing to do, but would she think he had ulterior motives?
“Would you like to come up?” she asked so quickly it sounded like a single word.
“What?”
“I mean, I was going to order some Chinese takeout. So…”
“Didn’t you just get a bunch of groceries?”
“Not really. This is all stuff to practice patisseries at home.”
“What happened to the veggie and coffee kick you were on?”
She blushed slightly. “It’s a cheat day.”
Cade was hesitant. “I don’t know…”
“Oh, come on,” she said, suddenly insistent. “We can order from that place you used to love. Yan Yan, right?”
She remembered that?
“Okay,” he said. “You know I can’t say no to Yan Yan’s.”
It’s not like you have anything else to look forward to at home besides a microwave dinner.
He followed Lily up the narrow staircase, the smell of grease in the air. Her ass was right in his face, swaying rhythmically side to side. When Cade realized he’d started to stiffen, he forced himself to look at his feet.
When she opened the door, it was to a warm, cozy apartment worlds away from the dark stairwell. And it was totally her.
She tried to tidy up as she ushered him toward the kitchen.
“It’s not much,” she said. “Just a one-bedroom.”
“It’s great,” he said as he set down the bags, and he meant it.
The main room was set up as a combination kitchen, living room, and dining room with an ornate round wooden table painted and distressed in white. A makeshift chandelier hung overhead, a circle of faux crystals that encased the bare lightbulb on the ceiling.
“Creative,” he said.
“Jean-Michel calls it ‘French shabby chic,’” she said as she kicked off her heels.
“You two are pretty close, huh?” he asked. Cade felt a tug of jealousy.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I mean, he’s teaching me how to actually bake like a French chef.”
“You didn’t get enough of that in culinary school? You went up to Portland, right?”
“Ugh, it’s nothing like what he knows.”
Over her shoulder, he could see her bedroom. The canopy bed was covered in fluffy white down comforters with oversized knit baby pink throw blankets.
“Want me to look up the menu and call it in?” he asked. Anything to stop thinking about what could happen in that room just a few feet away.
“Sure. I’m going to change. Be right back,” she said, and disappeared into the bedroom.
He pulled up the menu, happy to see his favorite combination was still there.
“Hey, Lily? You know what you want?” he called.
She poked her head out of the bedroom door. “Uh, some kind of spicy shrimp and noodle something,” she said.
“Okay.”
She reemerged just as he’d placed the order, drowning in a huge Le Cordon Bleu sweatshirt and tiny shorts that could pass for underwear.
“What do you call that outfit?” he asked. He had to work to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Comfy clothes,” she said. “You try working in a starched shirt and heels all day. Wine?”
“Uh… sure.”
He watched as she hunted for a bottle in the cupboard. As she stretched on her toes, the shorts hiked up even higher. Cade could see the swell of her cheeks as they peeked out from below the lacy trim of the shorts.
“I have red and white. But the white’s not cold.”
“Either,” he said. “Doesn’t matter.”
Lily opened the red and poured two glasses.
“How much do I owe you for dinner?” she asked as she took a generous swallow.
“What? Nothing, don’t be weird.”
“I’m not! Come on, you already gave me a ride home.”
“Lily, it’s Chinese takeout. It’s hardly dinner at the Joel Palmer House.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not some damsel in distress, you know. I know you’re used to rescuing helpless women from balconies or whatever, but—”
“Hey, sit down and behave or I’ll cancel the order.”
“Fine,” she said with a fake huff and draped herself
