“You’re being a baby.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “There are millions of people expecting this new installment in two months. Designers and marketing people who need this to put food on their tables. I don’t care what it says about me that I need to be near you to produce. I just can’t gamble on it or try new things right now.”
Or ever. But she didn’t say that out loud. Ollie wasn’t good with change and “new," it was true. And yes, it sounded dramatic, but he wasn’t wrong about the people depending on him. His world—his words—made a lot of people happy and kept a lot of people employed. And it was impossible to ignore that she missed him and liked the idea that he wanted to be near her to work. Begrudgingly maybe, but still.
He wanted her to get over him? Well, she wanted him to fall for her.
Seemed that being together was the best way for one of those things to happen.
But that didn’t mean she was going to let Ollie totally get his way.
She was sure that was going shock him.
“Fine.” She pushed back from the table and stood. “Come on then.”
“Wait.” He frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Well, you didn’t think I was going to be sitting at the bakery all day, did you?”
“I…” He sighed. “I have no idea what you’re doing if you’re not with me,” he groused.
“Of course not,” she said with an eye roll. “But you’re about to find out.” She lifted her bag from the floor by her chair and slung it over her shoulder. “Just give me a second to change and we’ll go.”
“Change?”
“My clothes.”
He straightened. “You’re going to change clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She tipped her head, narrowing her eyes. Why did he care? “Because this dress and these shoes aren’t appropriate for what I’m going to be doing.”
“What are you going to change into?”
She frowned. “Jeans and a t-shirt. If that’s okay with you?”
He frowned too, but he was studying her dress. “I’m not sure.” He seemed to be saying it to himself rather than to her.
“You’re not sure if it’s okay if I change my clothes?” she asked.
He sighed. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not even a little.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”
She started to respond, then shook her head. This was a ridiculous argument. “I’ll be right back.” She started for the back of the bakery where Zoe and Josie said she could use their private powder room to change. She turned after two steps though. “You only like me in these dresses?” she asked.
He sighed and didn’t look at her. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’ve never seen me in jeans before.”
“I’m aware.”
She and Ollie spent a lot of time together but, again, they were both workaholics. Even their after-hours time was generally spent at the office, so, in office clothes. When she did take food to him or dropped things off at his hotel room or apartment, it was always when she was still dressed for work.
She wasn’t sure why that was.
Okay, she did know. She loved how she looked in her dresses and heels and she’d wanted to look good for him whenever she saw him.
As ridiculous as that was when it came to “impressing” a guy who was not detail oriented. Which was a nice way of saying that she often had to tell him the date on the calendar and the mailing address of the hotel—his home for all intents and purposes for the past ten months—at least once a week.
He wasn’t stupid. Far from it. But he was a dreamer.
Which was a nice way of saying that he could be a flake.
“So why do you not want me to put jeans on now?” she asked. This was such a dumb conversation.
He finally looked at her. “Just do it,” he said. “Let’s see what happens.”
Oookay. Well, she’d never argued that he wasn’t weird.
She changed into the faded, worn jeans and the tee she’d tucked into her bag. She slipped on simple tennis shoes and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail.
But she couldn’t resist adding a scarf around the base of the ponytail.
It was bright blue and matched the sparkly words on the front of her t-shirt that said Feminism is my second favorite f-word.
Yes, the shirt had sequins. She wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy girl. She just knew that her heels didn’t combine with the dirt out on Drew’s farm very well. Because she’d worn her heels out to the farm before and that had been a big mistake. Partly because it was hard to walk over dirt in heels. Partly because there was more than dirt out there on Drew’s farm.
She added some lip gloss, spritzed her perfume on her neck, and then left the bathroom.
Ollie was halfway through his second muffin by the time she got back to the table.
Piper couldn’t help but smile. She was sure he had missed them. But damn, what a baby.
“Okay, you ready?”
He looked up.
And immediately started choking.
She watched him as he coughed. He reached for his coffee and took a drink. He seemed fine for a moment. Then he took a breath and started coughing again.
He didn’t need the Heimlich. Thankfully. She could have done it, but he was a big guy and it would have been difficult. But he got to his feet, bending at the waist to cough hard.
“Good lord!” Josie exclaimed, appearing next to Ollie. She handed him a glass of water. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head but took the glass, downing it in three gulps.
The entire bakery was looking at them now.
He lowered the glass slowly, took another breath, coughed once. Then swallowed.
“Are you all right?” Josie asked again.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess.”
“Okay.” She took the glass from him.
“What was tha—” Piper’s question was cut off as Ollie took her arm and steered her toward the door.
He marched her to the door and swung a right when they hit the sidewalk. He directed her into the alley that ran between the bakery and the antique store next door. It was wider than a usual alley. There were twinkle lights strung between the buildings overhead and benches and planters full of flowers along the cobblestone-paved pathway that ran from Main Street to Railroad Avenue.
“Oliver, wha—”
He stopped and backed her up against the side of the bakery.
“I really like the dresses you usually wear,” he said. His voice was gruff.
Totally confused, she nodded. “You’ve mentioned that.”
“I think I should only spend time with you when you’re wearing those.”
Annoyance slammed into her. “Is that right?”
“That would really be better.”
“Well, I suppose if I really cared what you thought about how I dress, I’d take that into consideration.”
What an ass. She pushed him back. And spread her hands down her t-shirt. It molded to her breasts and the V-neck highlighted her cleavage. Much as her dresses did.
She wasn’t thin. She didn’t have a tight ass. She liked everything they made at Buttered Up. But she liked how she looked in this tee and jeans and in all of her dresses and Oliver Caprinelli could fuck right off if he didn’t. Plenty of men liked curves, and just because she’d been stupid enough to fall for her flaky, self-absorbed boss didn’t mean she couldn’t get over him. Probably. Maybe.