202 Cherry Popper Way: A Small Town Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance

Hip against the counter, muffin in hand, I enjoy a bite of my morning handiwork as Miles practically flies out the door. Huh. “I wonder if he realizes he has on two different shoes?” I say into the silent kitchen.

“Morning muffins and pajamas seem to make him nervous; I see.” Mental note: don’t bake around the man. Not if I don’t want him running for the hills.

When he opened the door for me last night, I didn’t know what to expect on the other side. I thought I would at least find dark colors and get a man cave vibe. Instead, the only dark thing about the place was his mood ever since showing me the bedroom last night, dropping my bag by the foot of the bed, and leaving. I have to give it to the man, everything is spacious, smooth and clean. I especially love the black leather couch and the cool marble counters covering every inch of his ample kitchen. It makes for easy baking.

I slide in the last tin of muffins I plan on taking to the firehouse and orphanage later just as my phone rings for the fourth time in twenty minutes. The first was Poppy checking in. Then Casey called wondering about work. The third was my client. She wasn’t too happy to hear about the burned penis cake, but understood. And now…ugh. The insurance company. I can answer it and never get out of these pajamas or deal with it after a shower.

It is a no-brainer. I head down the hall, pulling off my shorts and tank. Shower first, then I’ll deal with all the things.

I open the bathroom, ready for some hot water on my sore muscles when a yellow piece of paper catches my eye. Stark black strokes stand out on the bright paper and one word alone has me turning bright red though I’m alone.

Panties around my knees and my bra hanging from my shoulders, my heart stops mid-beat.

I grab the note, my eyes flying over the words. “Miles Malone!” I hiss, more flustered now than when he practically ravished me like a sugar-covered pastry yesterday. I don’t know if I should laugh or die of embarrassment.

Both?

I read over the note sitting on top of my panties again. My very sticky, wet panties. My heart speeds up.

Silk is nice, but your pussy feels better

He didn’t!

The thick black ink is unmistakably Miles and these panties…definitely mine. My heart thunders louder in my ears. I imagined him walking into the bedroom last night, yanking down the covers and giving me a repeat of the bakery all night long. I couldn’t sleep because of that man and the way he left me wanting more of him. Instead he jacked off over my panties.

I purse my lips with a little more sass than I should. I see I am not the only affected party. But what to do with this note? Text him a snarky reply? Ignore it like he did me this morning?

I snatch my phone from the bathroom counter and strike a pose with my panties pulled in such a way there is no way he’ll mistake the crease of my pussy lips. “Bela Andrews doesn’t back down from a challenge, baby.”

I hit send and take my shower.

Ten minutes later, there’s no reply but the little checkmark tells me my naughty-gram was received. Two could play at his little game.

I towel off my hair after breaking some time records in washing head from toe and my hair twice. It still smells like smoke, and I can only hope a couple of more showers will take care of the issue. I pour myself another coffee and risk yet another muffin. What the hell, right? I need the fortification to hold me up when I call the insurance agency back.

Pulling on my jeans, mouth full of muffin, I hear the back door open and close. I peek my head around the corner but don’t see anyone.

Miles. Who else could it be? Sneaky bastard did get my text after all and is back. I glance at the clock. It’s barely nine in the morning. Did he even clock in down at the fire station?

Heat creeps up my cheeks and I take a huge shaky breath, leaving my blouse on the bed and my pants undone. Be bold. Be me. No, don’t be more. Be a sexy, badass version of me.

I turn off my inner monologue, hold my head high and add a little swing to my hips. With only a few feet between me and a fun morning, I turn the corner, my hopes soaring.

Just as I step clear of the hallway I stop so fast my knees have a hard time keeping up with the full-on backpedaling.

Holy Jesus! “Not Miles! Not Miles!”

I dive for one of his blankets and yank it around my boobs. Thank God I at least had my bra on!

“Mrs. Malone.” Frogs sound more elegant thanks to my croaking voice.

The woman standing across from me, muffin in hand and an all too knowing smile on her face did nothing but stare. For an awkwardly long moment.

“I thought you and my son would make a great item. I told Joe. Mark my words.”

Miles’ dad stops in for a pastry three times a week and is never spotted without a book in his hand. In my experience, he loves his family but tends to nod and agree with just about anything his wife says if it means he can get back to his book faster.

Please don’t let her say she hears wedding bells. I hold the cringe off my face but just barely.

“I heard about the fire.”

I nod.

A hand comes out to pat mine. “Happened to me too. Don’t feel bad.”

I nod again.

“Want to know a secret?”

Again…nod.

“Oh, since I have you, do you have a social media plan?”

“A…” Scratchy at first, I try again. “A what, ma’am?” My heart floats back into my chest from where it fell on the floor. “Social media? For the bakery?” She throws me a look that says she wonders if I hit my head this morning.

“Yes! Even in a town this size, you have to have a social presence.”

I groan inwardly. More coffee. I need more coffee. She’s right, but stages and I’m not at that one just yet in my business plan. “It’s only me and Casey right now. Learning social media marketing… that will be a huge learning curve I don’t have time for.”

“Good thing for you, I know all you need to know. Let me handle it.” The other woman has her back to me, packing up the muffins in the containers I found and set out on the counter. Once a baker, always a baker.

She turns with a look of determination on her face. “Don’t do what I did. Go digital as soon as you can. You’ll love how fun it will be! I have so many ideas!”

Whoa. What? I throw a hand up, my blanket slipping. I grab and tuck, not wanting to make this conversation any more awkward than it already is. “Can I take a raincheck on that, ma’am?”

“No ma’am here, sweetie. Call me Mandy. You bought my bakery. That practically makes us family.”

Mrs. Malone winks and I’m beginning to think that in the Malone family it’s equivalent to case closed, moving on.

“And yes. I can see you’re rather occupied.” She eyes the blanket and pulls out that all-knowing smile only parents can manage. My mother included.

“I have to run. Muffins are fabulous, by the way. New recipe?”

“Yes, I was trying it out before adding it to the catalog of treats. The guys down at the station will be my guinea pigs later today.”

“Good plan. Your secret is safe with me.”

Mandy gathers her purse and heads for the door. “Here’s my secret for you. Miles has never brought another woman to his house. You’re the first, chick.” She winks a perfectly cat-winged eye at me, and I feel a rush of emotions. First, the seventh level of hell kind of embarrassment followed by envy. My winged eyeliner will never be that on point.

Mrs. Malone, muffin in hand, points it at me, “Interesting, huh.”

“You don’t say.”