Chapter Sixteen

“Good morning,” says Mills when James steps into his office the next morning, head still a little fuzzy from lack of sleep. He nearly jumps clean through the roof at the unexpected voice, eyes darting around to look for Karen. She peeks her head out from the doorway of her office, waving distractedly and mouthing a good morning back at him before disappearing back into the room.

“Good morning,” James replies, making a beeline for the coffee station to fill up a cup for himself. He’ll need it if he’s going to get through a surprise meeting with his newest client before noon. He certainly hadn’t expected Mills to come in today, although in retrospect he realizes he shouldn’t be too surprised. Mills must have made an appointment with Karen yesterday, while James was busy at Matthew’s. She hadn’t said anything, but he supposes it’s probably just her payback for telling her not to talk to Matthew.

“My wife wanted to come in and talk to your sister about dresses,” says Mills, sounding tired and irritated under his stoic politician’s facade. He’s looking down at his phone when James steps away from the coffee station, and James nods back even though he knows Mills won’t see it. A creeping irritation works its way under his skin, nagging at him and growing sharper when Mills looks up from his phone to give James a disdainful once-over.  James knows the type of person Mills is, the old-money lilt to his voice and the curl of his lips that says plainer than words can just how little he respects James. James, who built a company from nothing and spends every day of his career trying to further his family name, has no sympathy for Mills, client or not. Still, James is a professional, so he puts on his business face and smiles brightly at Mills.

“Can I help you with anything while she’s busy?” he asks, and gives himself a mental pat on the back for managing to not sound like he’s speaking through gritted teeth.

“Actually,” Mills says, stuffing his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, “you can.”

***

That’s how James ends up back at Matthew’s bakery for the second time in as many days, heart hammering in his chest and Mills in tow. He hadn’t planned on being back here so soon, especially not after the night before. He remembers it in vivid clarity, the low lights of the bakery after closing and the heat of Matthew’s breath on his lips against the stark chill of the night air. He had tried to chalk it up to a lack of sleep and the unexpected turn their earlier conversation had taken, but he can’t fool himself. Something about Matthew draws him in, pulls at him and calls him closer, and it has since before they sat down for dinner.

He can’t tell Karen, he decides, even though he knows she’s probably suspicious as it is. She would push in too much if he told her, though, she would try to meddle and pry and Matthew is skittish enough that James is sure that it would scare him off in a second. Still, her advice would have been nice. He’s not really sure what to do now, after the intimacy of the night before he’s almost forgotten how to talk to Matt casually, in the light of day. Not to mention, he’s got Mills with him, and Mills isn’t exactly the best companion for James to have around while trying to sort out his feelings with the incredibly handsome baker he nearly kissed just fifteen hours before.

Margaret waves him down once he steps inside, her expression and posture friendly again, a wide and genuine smile plastered on her face. “The usual?” she asks when James reaches the counter, a cup and pen in hand already. Her eyes flick between James and Mills behind him, twice without registering the newcomer. They go wide and startled when Margaret realizes who Mills is, but James just shakes his head imperceptibly at her and mouths work. It seems to be enough for her, and she turns to Mills instead.

“What can I get for you, sir?” she asks, and James can see the moment that her smile goes from genuine to forced, as Mills looks her up and down.

“Just black coffee, thanks,” Mills says, and the tone of his voice sends icy chills up James’ spine. He knows Margaret can take care of herself, that she’s a grown woman and that she could probably knock Mills out with a good hit to the jaw if she needed to, but the protective side of him flares up at the way she seems to shrink in on herself at Mills’ voice. There’s nothing he can do, though, not here in Matthew’s shop with the most influential client he’s ever had, so he just steers Mills away from the counter and hopes that Margaret isn’t too wound up by it all.

“Can we see Matthew?” he calls over his shoulder, and she nods. He leads Mills to a table on the other side of the shop. Not his usual table, no matter how much he wants to sink into the seat by the window and watch the people pass on the sidewalk outside. Matthew comes out after a moment, eyes wide and shirt covered in flour as usual, and James stifles the flutter in his stomach at the way Matthew makes his way toward his table before stopping and looking around the shop for James. With a soft smile that he hopes doesn’t look too incriminating to Mills, James waves one hand to get Matt’s attention. When Matt notices James, his eyes go wide, a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face for a split second before he wipes it away and strides over to their table.

“James, hi,” he says, voice breathless and God if that doesn’t send a shiver down James’ spine. “And Mayor Mills, to what do we owe the honor?”

“He’s our newest client, the one I told you about,” says James, hoping Matt doesn’t bring up the night before. It’s one thing to be too nervous to talk about how they nearly kissed, but another completely to do so in front of one of the most openly homophobic politicians in the state. James might be abrasive and cocky, but he isn’t trying to commit career suicide. “He wanted to meet you before you got too busy with the orders.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Matt’s face and disappears in a flash, but James can relate. “Well,” Matt says, sticking out his hand to shake Mills’ politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir, and good luck on your campaign.” James knows Matt well enough by now to realize that he’s lying through his teeth. None of his usual candor and easy camaraderie are behind the words, and his smile is tight and professional instead of crooked and endearing. Mills doesn’t seem to notice a thing, though, or maybe he’s just too used to being pandered to by people who don’t like him nearly as much as they pretend to.

“Charmed,” Mills despite the fact that he very clearly isn’t. Matthew takes the snub like a champ, though, sticking his hands in the pockets of his floured apron and rocking back on the backs of his feet. His gaze keeps flickering between Mills and James, eyes going wide and nervous whenever James catches his eye. “Can I see the kitchen?”

“O-Of course,” Matthew stammers, ushering them both back toward the counter and the kitchen door. As James passes, Margaret catches him by the arm, pulling him to the side and watching as Matt and Mills disappear into the kitchen together. James darts around the side of the counter, leaning over like any regular customer would to avoid drawing too much attention, and Margaret rolls her eyes at him.

“I don’t have much time,” she says, prompting James to raise a curious eyebrow in her direction. “Matt told me not to do this, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“What?” James has a sudden, vivid vision of Karen doing the same to Matthew, and he sighs imperceptibly.

“He hasn’t given me any details, but I know him well enough to figure out when something’s up,” she continues. “Have you or have you not made a move on him yet?”

“Yet?” James repeats, more confused by the second.

“I know something happened between you two after I left last night, I just want to know if it happened happened.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

Margaret rolls her eyes again. “Did you listen to anything I just said? No.”

“Nothing happened,” he assures her, voice coming out shaky and uncertain. It probably doesn’t help his case, but he doesn’t care. It’s the truth, anyway, nothing did happen, no matter how much he might wish it did. The sense memory of Matt’s breath on his lips prods at the back of his mind, pulling at his attention and sending raised goosebumps across the expanse of his skin.

“Did you want it to?” Margaret’s voice is softer now, a hushed whisper that sets James more at ease.

“I,” he starts, thinking of long legs and hazel eyes and a thin frame wrapped up in his arms in the heat of the bakery kitchen. “Yes,” he admits, voicing it for the very first time. “I did. I do.”

Margaret is silent for a moment, contemplation and sympathy etched across her young features. She covers James’ hand with her own on the counter, squeezing it gently before withdrawing with a small smile. “He’s more breakable than he looks,” she says eventually, voice soft. “Be careful with him.”

James nods, jerking his head once. Not really sure what to say, he just gives Margaret a small smile and follows Matt and Mills into the kitchen.