“Must be food. You’re at that Thai place we went for Michael’s birthday.”

“Warmer. Think sweet.” I eye the placard outside the store, reading the pies of the day.

“You’re at that little pie shop, aren’t you? The one on Second Avenue.” He pauses. “You’re close to the Breton Hotel—you know that?”

I ignore that. “And the special today is key lime, my favorite.” I can practically taste the tart mixed with buttery crust in my mouth. “It’s practically dinnertime, and this is what I want. Sugar.”

“Get off the phone with me, and go get you a slice. Bring home a whole pie. I’ll cook tonight, and we’ll split it after. Love you, Elle.”

I get off the phone and head inside the bakery. A long sigh comes from me. Sugar, make me happy.

I take a spot at one of the booths, settling my purse and garment bags with my lingerie on the seat next to me. I eye the bags, recalling my interview. Marcus, the CEO of Little Rose, met with me personally. He was incredibly nice and complimentary of my work, his eyes lighting up especially at an off-white set featuring tiny quotes from Romeo and Juliet. I’d found the silky fabric online when I’d first heard about the play.

The waitress, a young girl dressed in a white dress with ruffles on the hem and a soft-pink apron, sets down my slice of pie. I groan as the first taste hits my tongue. With a hot cup of coffee, I polish it off in record time, and when she comes to take my plate, I put in the order for the whole pie.

It’s not until I’m at the counter and she’s ringing me up at the cash register that I have a tiny freak-out. I can’t find my wallet. With customers waiting in line behind me, I scrounge around in my purse, digging and pushing everything to the side. It’s not here. Crap.

I rack my brain, slumping when I realize that when I got my wallet out to pay for my hair, I must have dropped it on the floor or maybe left it on Aunt Clara’s counter.

“Everything okay?” the checkout girl asks, eyeing me as if I might dash out the door without paying.

“No, fine. Just give me a minute. Let these other guys check out. I’ll be back.” I flash a smile and dash back to my booth, getting down on my knees and feeling around the edges of the seat just in case it dropped out when I sat down. Nothing. No wallet.

I get back up and take a seat. I could call Topher, but he’ll be closing up the library, and I hate to ask him to drive all the way into Nashville. Giselle might still be around the city, but I brush that aside. It’s Friday, and she probably has plans with Preston.

I pull out my phone and scroll until I find the contact I want. I’ve had his contact in my phone since I knew it was real, but I’ve never used it.

Here goes nothing. I send a text to Weatherman Wannabe.

Chapter 23

ELENA

He sweeps in the bakery like a king, his tall frame taking up most of the space at the entrance and all my air. I sigh. He’s wearing tight black running pants, a long-sleeved matching shirt, and a Tigers knit hat, which hides all that magnificent hair. Intense eyes rove over the patrons, landing on me. The predator has found his prey.

I wave.

He arches a brow.

Two women gape at him, one of them elbowing the other as they whisper. I’m not surprised when they dash over to him, faces tilted up, eyelashes batting. He pauses, looking at me and then them. I shrug, and my eyes say, Your fans. Go ahead. I’m not going anywhere. I have no wallet.

He holds incredibly still as they ease in, his face earnest as they ask him questions. They laugh up at him and push a pen and paper they’ve grabbed from their purses. He nods politely but absently, not really listening, much like his demeanor in the VIP room. I imagine he’s focusing on not . . . being rude? I take in the rise of color on his cheeks, the way he fidgets as they lean in closer. One of them whips out her phone and takes a selfie of him and her together. Still, he maintains an expression that, if you glance, looks sincere and easy, but he is uncomfortable—and it amazes me all over again that this gorgeous man with enough charm to entrance millions (once you get to know him) plus a famous talent that has brought him so much success . . . is awkward.

It feels like a little secret between us, and I can’t stop the small smile that pulls my lips up.

His gaze meets mine as two other women join the crowd. He mouths “Sorry” over their heads at me and turns back to do another autograph. He frowns, swallowing, as another girl insists on a selfie, some of his control slipping. They don’t even notice, and I wonder how many people actually look at him and see a real person with boundaries. None.

I sit up straighter, watching everything, every nuance that crosses his face.

It must be difficult to live in the limelight constantly. He loves the game but doesn’t enjoy the attention that comes with it, yet he pushes himself, all the while never trusting anyone, keeping his distance, not letting anyone too close.

Oh, Jack. If only . . .

He nods and slips by the girls, but one of them grabs his hand and reaches up and plants a kiss on his cheek, pink lipstick smeared everywhere as he tries to avoid it. Checkout girl. Doesn’t she have work to do?

I heave out a breath and stand up, leaving my things in the booth.

I march over to them and shoulder my way into the midst of the women. “Excuse me,” I say to the tallest one, a skinny brunette who’s trying to edge me out. I don’t think so. The pointy end of my heel hits her foot, and she starts and gives me a look and steps back. That’s right. I might be short, but I have stilettos. Beware.

I apologize profusely in a deepened, dripping southern accent and step around her, remove checkout girl’s hand from Jack’s arm, and give them all a sweeping look. I let out an amused laugh, bordering on annoyance, one Mama uses when someone has made her mad, but she still wants to be polite. “Sorry, ladies, but could you please let go of my boyfriend?” I bat my lashes. “He’s been very nice signing autographs and taking photos, and I haven’t seen him all day. I’m sure you ladies understand.” I temper the words with a fake but seemingly genuine smile. “Plus, he’s obviously tired from all that exercise.” I wave my hands at his running gear. “He needs some air.”

They gape and murmur.

“Of course. We didn’t know he was here with someone,” one of them mumbles, checking me out as she moves away from him. I smile and attach myself to him like glue, pressing my blazer against his arm. Not moving one inch. Feeling not one ounce of jealousy. Just protective.

“Thank you for the autograph,” the tall one says, pressing a card in his hand as she limps away.

I roll my eyes. Good grief. Can’t the man even walk in a bakery without being slipped phone numbers?

Checkout girl pouts as I tug him away.

He grins at me and follows me to the booth. “Boyfriend?” he murmurs. “Nice.”

If he only knew it’s the second time today I’ve claimed him . . .

I throw a look over my shoulder and hiss, “I saved you. You hated that, and don’t split hairs here. Plus, we need to hurry. Checkout girl might be close to calling the cops on me for loitering, especially now that she knows you’re here for me. She might do it just to get me out of the way.”

He grins and spreads his hands. “And here I am, ready to rescue you. Forgot your wallet, huh?”

“Don’t look so happy about it.” I shove the check at him, and he looks down at it, bemusement still on his face. “A slice of pie, coffee, and whole pie? What kind is it?”

I nudge my head at the pink box on the table. “Key lime.”

“I like key lime.”

“So does Topher.”

He laughs and tugs his wallet out of one of the zippers on his pants. After pulling out a wad of bills, he tosses them on the table and looks over at me. “You headed home?”

“Thank you. I’ll pay you back at practice on Monday.”

“Hmm.”

I glance over his shoulder and see that the women have left, all except for checkout girl, who’s eyeing us. She also has her phone out. Great.

“Why are you downtown?”

“Meeting with a lingerie company.” I pick up my garment bag and purse as he takes the boxed pie.

“Yeah? How did it go?”

I pause, feeling confused, not at the question per se, but just at the fact that being here with him is easier than I thought, seeing him outside play practice, with none of the tension that’s been between us since the blow job.

Don’t think about that right now.

“You okay?” He frowns, easing in closer. “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Fine. It was fine. They want an intern. I’ll have to pass.”

“I see. Sticking with the library?”

I nod, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.

He tosses an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close as we walk past the counter to the door. I look up at him, arching my brow.

He shrugs. “What? Just playing it up till we get out of here. Maybe we should kiss since that one girl is still watching?”

“No. I think I handled it.”

He grins. “Your loss.”