Then there’s all this space and comfort. The peace and quiet and the time to just sit without the bakery downstairs calling to me to come work.

And when Jase is here, regardless of how many times he tells me to make myself at home, I feel like I’m invading his space and privacy. So it’s times like right now when he ventures into the city to do whatever he does, that I feel like I can explore.

But I do know what he does, because the past two days he’s made sure to find me before he leaves to give me a detailed explanation of where he’s going and when he’ll be back. The studio. A stop at Nathaniel’s office. Then back to the studio before he heads home. For a man who has a reputation that he cares about no one, I’m beginning to think whoever started that rumor has never really met the real Jase Gizmodo.

Or maybe he doesn’t want them to.

But he’s gone for the day and I’m going to revel in this time to myself. It’s been six months of working nonstop toward making the bakery a success and so the past four days have felt like heaven. No early morning wake-up calls to bake. No constant thoughts of how to survive. No need to explain where Paul went to the few regular customers I have.

Just a sign on the door that says closed until Wednesday. Yes, I feel guilty about doing even that. But the thought of not having to live paycheck to paycheck for a while and being able to pay Barney and Annie in full in the next few weeks makes it palatable.

So palatable that I even might be enjoying myself as I relax at his luxurious poolside. Who knew I’d get to be so good at pretending?

First, at being blissfully ignorant of the gigantic order I have to fulfill and second, of the fact that there’s a diamond ring currently creating a tan line on my finger.

I sink farther into the chaise lounge, welcome the sun’s warmth on my skin, and the quiet in my head that hasn’t been quieted in forever.

“What are you thinking about?”

I jump at the sound of Jase’s voice and instantly panic. “Hi.” I’m in a bathing suit. “I didn’t know you were home.” A bathing suit that is small and ill-fitting and oh, man. “Why are you here?” My legs are flat, which means my ass and thighs are spread and probably look like bloated pancakes.

Oh.

My.

God.

He chuckles, his brows narrowing. “I’m here because I live here?” His pitch goes up at the end of the sentence as if he’s not certain whether that’s the right answer or not or more like why he’s answering it at all.