Ugh. If April had had the good sense to remember that she’d promised to help her mom with some snooty garden party at James’s house the following morning, she wouldn’t have gone to the bar. In fact, there were a number of hindsight reasons that sprang to mind when her mom dragged her out of bed that morning to get ready as to why she shouldn’t have gone to the bar—namely Van.
And I’d invited him upstairs! Double ugh. As she’d thrown on a white sundress and combed her hair into a sloppy ponytail, April could only hope that Van knew it had been the alcohol talking when she was overly forward with him. There was the small chance, of course, that he might think it was the truth. Wasn’t there a saying that drunk words were sober thoughts?
Regardless, she could think of a thousand places she’d rather be the next morning, her head pounding and stomach sensitive to food, and none of them involved James and Van’s family home. Besides, her mom had spent last night with some of her closest lady friends—why did they need to see each other again? The business women of Cascade Falls, most well-off and independently wealthy like her mom, liked to put on airs every once and a while with something as snobby as a garden party—just to remind everyone that they were, in fact, the crème de la crème of the town.
And somehow April had been dragged into helping with the set-up.
“Shouldn’t James have servants to do this?” she asked without thinking as she unloaded a few boxes of cupcakes. Why they’d picked up pastries was beyond her. It wasn’t like any of these women were going to have more than a single half-slice of carrot cake, or something equally “healthy.” In fact, she wholly expected her mom’s fridge to be overflowing with cake and cookies and cupcakes by tonight—so, she supposed it was a good thing they’d splurged at the bakery.
“Servant is a crass word,” her mom chastised, as the pair unpacked bags in the kitchen. She’d seen James fleetingly that morning, but her mom insisted he’d probably spend the day in his study. Too many hens clucking around his house, apparently, which April thought was beyond rude of him. “He has a chef and a housekeeper, but I told them they wouldn’t be needed today.”
April pursed her lips, her eyes darting to the doorway of the ultra-posh kitchen at the slightest noise. No sign of Van yet, and she hoped he’d sleep through the whole ordeal. After setting up the tables and chairs outside, April and her mom began placing the pastries on a table for the ladies to sample from, only to be interrupted by a few early guests.
Her mom flitted off to entertain, something she had always done very well, and April was left to do the grunt work in the kitchen. If she hadn’t felt so hungover, she would have enjoyed the quiet, monotonous work. Instead, all she could think about was crawling back into bed and sleeping the day away, hopefully to awake tomorrow feeling less embarrassed about the last time she saw Van.
“Well, look at you.”
She closed her eyes tightly, hoping she was hearing things. Unfortunately, as Van sidled up to the center island, looking refreshed and sinfully handsome in a plain tee and workout shorts, April wanted the ground to open and swallow her whole. Of course he was fine after last night. Of course. She licked her lips and stared pointedly at her tower of perfectly stacked cupcakes. The pink frosting was the only food that tempted her thus far, and her mouth watered, as she wondered what it must taste like.
“How are you feeling?” Van asked, leaning on the countertop and snagging a cookie from the Tupperware container in front of him. She looked up sharply when he crunched down on one.
“Fine.” She went for the tray of cupcakes, hoisting it up carefully and stalking around the kitchen to the patio doors. Her kitten heels clacked loudly with each step, and she struggled to get the screen door open, as Van’s eyes bore into the back of her head. After some awkward maneuvering, she managed to get it open with her foot then disappeared outside to set the cupcakes out. A few more of her mom’s cohorts had arrived—though none of them acknowledged April. Maybe they think I’m hired help.
“Listen,” Van started as soon as she was back in the kitchen, and she fixed him with a narrowed look as she went for a plate to set the cookies on, “about last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said abruptly. “Thanks for the drinks and the ride home. I’m fine.”
“You know,” he told her, as she started transferring cookies from the Tupperware to the plate, “all I wanted to do last night was kiss you.”
Her hands slipped, and she ended up breaking one of the cookies in half, the crumbs littering the island countertop. April stared straight ahead, her cheeks flushed by the confession, and without thinking, she handed half of the broken cookie to Van, which he took.
“But you were drunk,” he continued, as April bit into her half of the cookie, her mind suddenly very far away, “and I’d feel like a real asshole for kissing a drunk girl, even more so for going up to her place when she invited me—”
“We can pretend that part didn’t happen.” She set the cookie aside and continued filling up the plate. “It was… I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.”
“Of course.”
“At all.”
“Understood.”
She cast him a sidelong glance and caught him studying her, cookie in hand. Of course he’d wanted to kiss her. He probably wanted to kiss anyone with a pair of boobs. She wasn’t special. Head held high, she gestured to the rest of the treats.
“You can make yourself useful and bring those outside, you know,” she told him, preferring to set him to work than continue with the conversation. She didn’t have it in her today to handle anything of that magnitude. Nodding, Van started grabbing trays and plates of sweets, bringing them all outside to the garden party without her having to direct him. When he was done, there was nothing left for her to move, so she popped open a tin of the leftover pink cupcake frosting and scooped some out on her finger, a reward for working with a throbbing hangover and a distractingly sexy man.
“How’s it taste?”
She closed her eyes and sighed, knowing the sugar was bound to make her headache worse.
“Delicious.”
April went for seconds, thirds, fourths, not caring that she was double-dipping with her finger, and before she knew it, Van was beside her. He caught her hand on her fifth scoop, then brought it to his lips. Their eyes met, and she noticed the heat again, her breath catching in her throat. Maintaining eye contact, Van wrapped his lips around her finger and sucked the frosting off. She swallowed hard, her eyes drifting to his lips, and a tremor passed through her hand.
“Delicious,” he agreed, his voice a sultry low rumble. Even after he released her hand, she could still feel the way he held her. Their bodies had shifted toward one another too, as if pulled by their own gravitational force. Without looking away, April dipped her finger back in the tin, ready to give him another taste.
Her plan stalled when, over Van’s shoulder, she spied James watching them with a discernable scowl. Clearing her throat, she stepped away and licked the icing off herself, cheeks flaming.
“Thanks for your help with… all this,” she managed, as she made a swift and hasty exit out the patio doors. As she went, Van called her name, sounding mildly confused, but she ignored him and stepped out into the sunshine.
Her head was about to explode as she squinted in the light. Her sunglasses were inside, in her purse, but she couldn’t trust herself to go back through the house. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and poured herself a glass, hoping that the alcohol would off-set the hangover, and wandered into the crowd of snobby women. When she glanced over her shoulder, she spotted Van watching her from the patio doors, and she hastily turned back to the group conversation at hand.
A few moments later, she dared to take another look. This time, he was gone.