Unwrapped Sneak Peek

Chapter 1 - Ivy

“Oh, the weather outside is—hmm, hmm, hmm.” 

I hum blissfully along to the familiar Christmas tune as I whisk together a blend of spices for our latest batch of holiday cookies—vanilla chai pecan tassies. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills my tiny Chicago apartment, wrapping around me like a warm hug. Not only is it my favorite time of year but it’s also the last time I’ll be doing this in my apartment. 

It’s a tradition I started almost a decade ago when I was just trying to make a few extra bucks in college. Back then, I could barely keep up with the demand of making a few batches for Christmas or big-game days on campus. But once the frat boys found out I made cookies and spread the word to their stoner friends, the orders rolled in, and I knew I needed help.

That’s when Tessa came in. My best friend, my partner in crime, and my opposite in nearly every way. She’s sprawled across my worn-out couch now, legs tucked beneath her, her perfectly golden hair pulled back in a messy bun that somehow manages to look chic. 

The laughter comes easily between us, just like it always has. But when we were younger, it was boys and high school drama that captivated our attention. Now it’s business decisions and avoiding the fact that we are both pushing thirty and still single… something I think we both hope to change.

“Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” Tessa’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her excitement barely contained as she twists a peppermint candy between her fingers. “Opening Sugar & Spice, our dream bakery?” Her mouth hangs open, her eyes about to bulge out of her head like she’s just having the thought for the first time.

“Yes,” I smile, but then just as quickly it disappears. “And no,” I confess, my chest tightening with nerves.

“What? Why?” She pouts, her excitement deflating just as quickly as her smile.

This tradition of ours—baking holiday treats in my little apartment—has always been the highlight of my year. Hanging out with my best friend while we dance around to holiday hits and dream of the future. But now, all those dreams are becoming reality. This isn’t just a fun way to make some extra cash. We’re quitting our big girl jobs and sinking every last dime we have into this. 

This year, it’s not just for fun—it’s for our dream.

“I’m excited, I promise.” I try to sound convincing. “It’s surreal, after all those years of talking about it, but um, yeah.” I swallow down the nerves. “It’s finally happening. I just hope the bank sees it that way, too. I, uh, got a little nervous when the lender kept calling, asking for so many last-minute documents I thought we’d already sent over.”

Tessa rolls her eyes. “They will; they already have. They’re just doing their due diligence, and with how many people touch the lending process, it’s bound to have some hiccups. Besides.” She smiles broadly. “How could they resist? Our business plan is flawless. Well, mostly because I wrote it.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m Boss Barbie, remember? Should I pull that Halloween costume out of hiding and wear it to our final loan meeting? I think Todd might like it.”

“Todd would have a heart attack.” I laugh, an image of our sixty-eight-year-old loan manager clutching his chest if he saw Tess walk in with her tits up to her chin. I throw a dishtowel at her, and she catches it, laughing.

“I’m kidding, but seriously, our plan is solid. Plus, we’ve both lived in shoeboxes and saved every spare penny for the last seven years to make this happen. We’ve got this, babe.”

Tessa’s confidence is something I envy. Even though she’s been my best friend since we were seven, it never quite rubbed off on me. While she’s the one who can charm a room with just her smile, I’ve always been the quiet one, preferring the comfort of books and recipes to networking events.

She was the one who marched over to my front yard when she saw us moving in and said, “Hey, I’m Tessa,” with her hand outstretched and a smile plastered across her face. “I’m seven, and I live over there. I have two cats—do you like cats?” 

We’ve been inseparable ever since. Even through high school, when she was the head cheerleader, prom queen, and student body president, while I was—invisible. Not that I minded it. I never felt the need to try and blend in with her popular friends, and she never once excluded me from anything.

I was happy to hang back at home on weekends when she’d invite me to a party at one of the football players' houses or another cheerleader’s sleepover—until Asher Mercer joined the team, and I fell head over heels for a guy who probably wouldn’t have said a word to me if I hadn’t been Tessa’s shadow.

The Mercer brothers were well-known even back then—practically small-town royalty. 

Asher was the golden boy, the quarterback with a dazzling smile who seemed to glide through life with everything falling perfectly into place. And Zane, his older brother, was the opposite—brooding, mysterious, always on the outskirts of the social scene. 

If Asher was the sun, Zane was the dark, uncharted side of the moon. He got into trouble, skipped classes, and even managed to get kicked out of college. Rumor had it he ran some kind of resale business out of his parents’ garage in high school, making bank basically helping businesses find tax breaks and what not but no one really knew what he was up to.

They were like us in a way. Tessa, the ever exuberant and outgoing center of attention, and me. While I wasn’t the brooding troublemaker Zane might have been, we were both the outsiders. The weird kids at school who kept to ourselves and had maybe one real friend who understood us. Although with Zane, I’m not sure he had anyone besides Asher that understood him. And if memory serves me right, it wasn’t just the school and local authorities that felt Zane was a screw up, his dad fired him from working at their family insurance company when he was only sixteen. 

I remember watching Asher from a distance, how he’d joke with his friends and turn the whole school into his audience. But he wasn’t just popular; he was kind, even if he didn’t realize it at the time. 

Once, when Tessa dragged me to a bonfire party after a football game, I spilled my drink all over myself and wanted to disappear. Asher had handed me a towel, smiling in that easy way of his. “Happens to the best of us,” he’d said with a lopsided smile, and for a second, I thought I might melt right into the ground. 

My hand actually shook when I reached out to grab the towel from him. And in that brief second, the way his eyes met mine, I felt seen and even though I was covered in sweet, sticky who knows what—for once, I didn’t want the ground to open up and swallow me.

Tessa had teased me about it for weeks after it happened, and I’d blushed every time his name came up. I convinced myself that it was just a silly crush—nothing more than admiration from afar. But there were moments when I’d catch Asher looking my way, and I’d wonder if maybe he saw me as more than just Tessa’s quiet friend.

But that delusion quickly vanished when I’d see his arm wrapped around Josie Callaghan’s teeny tiny waist, a flirtatious giggle tumbling from her perfect bubblegum lips whenever he leaned in to whisper something to her.

“You’re right,” I say more confidently, bringing myself back to the present, “and we really do make some damn good cookies.” I take a bite from a warm double chocolate peppermint cookie I’ve just pulled from the oven and close my eyes, a soft sigh slipping past my lips.

“You make a damn good cookie.” Tessa laughs. “I’m just the business bitch.” I’m only half listening, my eyes still closed as I savor the final crumbs of the cookie.

“You sure you don’t need a moment alone with that?” she asks, laughter in her voice.

“I was having one, but you ruined it,” I say, rubbing my hands against my apron. “You know I like to savor the first test bite of every batch—it’s how I can tell if any of the ratios are off.”

“So scientific,” Tessa mocks playfully.

“I am, in fact, a scientist,” I remind her, “and baking is chemistry.”

“For now,” she says, her tone turning more serious. “Soon, your only titles will finally be baker and business owner.” She smiles.

“Crazy to think, huh?” 

I glance around my kitchen, the same one we’ve been baking out of for the last five years while I worked in research and Tessa jumped from one marketing job to another, continuing to climb the ladder but always with our bakery dream in mind. That pang of nostalgia tightens my throat, making it grow thick with emotion.

“Hey,” Tessa says, her voice softer as if she’s trying to pull me out of my own head. “Remember that time.” She starts to laugh. “That time that you mel—” Her laughter keeps interrupting her. “Melted the spatula to the cookie sheet because—” She’s laughing so hard she can’t get through the story, and it’s starting to spread to me.

“It was three a.m.!” I say through tears as we both relive the memory of staying up until the most unholy of hours to get a few more final batches of cookies done for the holidays. We learned the hard way that year that you cannot, in fact, design, bake, cool, decorate, and package fifty dozen cookies in a weekend with only two people—unless you want to end up so sleep-deprived you almost burn your apartment building down.

“Oh God.” I clutch my stomach, a cramp starting to form from laughing so hard. “And we can’t forget that one and only time we rented a commercial kitchen place and somehow managed to mangle the mixer arm.”

I cringe at the memory of the $600 mistake that night cost us. Yet another sobering reality that we can’t afford to be making those kinds of mistakes anymore, not with so much riding on our back.

“You know what I love thinking about?” She pushes away from the couch, walking over to the island. “Watching everyone’s reaction the first time they bite into one of your cookies.” She grabs a spatula and begins to remove the fresh cookies, placing them onto cooling racks. “Not just because they’re delicious, always with the perfect amount of softness to the inside but because you put your heart and soul into each recipe and it shows.”

The silence hangs between us for a moment, a tear teetering on the rim of my eye. 

“Thank you.” I laugh through the sentiment, shaking my head and wiping away the tear that eventually tumbles down my cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying over it.”

“Because this is huge; we’re about to change our lives.” 

We reminisce even more about the nights in our tiny, cramped studio apartment after college. How a huge weekend for us that first year was making enough money to buy beer and a bottle of vodka if we were lucky. 

But eventually, the conversation drifts to the familiar, a topic I’ve tried to avoid for years—men, or more specifically, the lack of them in our lives.

Tessa tosses her oven mitts onto the counter, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her hip against the counter.

“Ivy, we need dates. I’m serious. We’re like two steps away from adopting cats and talking to them about our feelings.”

I snort. “There’s nothing wrong with cats. You love cats. You had a cat until last year, actually. Rest in peace, Meatball,” I say softly. Tessa smiles at the mention of her eighteen-year-old cat—a tender topic to this date.

“Yeah, but there’s something wrong with spending another holiday season alone, right?”

I shrug, focusing on the dough in front of me. “Hardly seems like the time to jump into trying to find a relationship when we’re opening a business.” 

The truth is, I’ve never really had the patience for dating, and the idea of putting myself out there is terrifying. Besides, I’ve always convinced myself that guys like Asher Mercer—the smooth-talking, always-smiling CEO of Mercer Enterprises, the center of my secret little high school crush I’ve continued to harbor—don’t go for girls like me.

“I’m not saying we need to find Prince Charming by New Year’s, just a guy who doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin or gnaw your own arm off trying to get out of the date.”

“Wow,” I say dryly, “the bar is literally in hell.”

“I’m just saying we deserve to have some fun is all. We’ve been busting our asses for years and it wouldn’t kill either of us to get laid more than twice a year.”

“I can agree to that.” I knead the dough a little harder, my tension ratcheted up to eleven. 

Tessa suddenly perks up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of dates, I bet you haven’t forgotten about Asher Mercer.”

I freeze, my cheeks burning as I try to keep my expression neutral. “What? Why would I remember him?”

“Because you had the biggest crush on him in high school,” she teases, leaning forward. “Don’t even try to deny it, Ivy. You used to turn into a blushing mess whenever he was around.”

I roll my eyes. “That was years ago, Tess. And it wasn’t whenever he was around. It was one time that I got a little— And besides, he’s not exactly my type.” I focus my attention on rolling out the dough to the perfect thickness, then I grab my holiday cookie cutters and stamp out a dozen shapes. 

“I too hate it when my crush is a six-three blue-eyed god that could make angels weep with his jawline.” 

I roll my eyes, placing the cutouts onto the cookie sheet. “I’m just saying he’s very famous, out there on social media and celebrity events. He’s an extrovert to the fullest.” 

“Sure, whatever you say,” she singsongs, but there’s a knowing smile on her face. “It’s just funny because I happened to connect with him on LinkedIn recently. And I was thinking… since we’re about to open a business, why not get some advice from a local expert?”

I nearly drop the cookie sheet. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! They run one of the fastest-growing companies in the Midwest according to Forbes. Plus, they’re both on the 30 Under 30 list of richest US bachelors. They could look over our business plan before we make an offer on that building.”

I pause, considering it. As much as the idea of seeing Asher again sends my nerves into overdrive, Tessa isn’t wrong. The Mercer brothers know what they’re doing. And if there’s even a chance they could help us, we’d be foolish not to take it.

I sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to do the talking.”

“Ivy.” Her tone changes. “Stop saying shit like that. You know this business inside and out. Hell, it took me four years of college to learn what you’ve picked up from reading over contracts and talking to our lawyer.”

“You’re right. But still, I’ll let you take the reins since you’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Tessa grins and picks up her phone, typing out a message. My heart pounds as I watch her hit send, half hoping he won’t reply. But barely ten minutes later, her phone dings.

I freeze, my hand clutching a spoonful of batter. 

“He says he’d love to meet! Tomorrow at three at their office. Oh shoot…” Tessa’s face falls as she glances at her calendar. “I totally forgot—I have that meeting with Suzette.”

I swallow hard, the realization sinking in. That meeting with the real estate agent is equally important. I resign myself to my fate, once again seeing Asher Mercer. “I’ll go. I promise, I can handle it.”

Tessa’s smile returns, bright and hopeful. “You’ve got this, Ivy. Besides, it’s just Asher.”

Just Asher. If only it were that simple.

***

My hands shake as I smooth down another page in my planner, double-checking tomorrow's meeting time with Asher. The bakery numbers swim before my eyes - projected costs, revenue forecasts, everything Tessa insisted we have ready. But I can't focus.

I need to organize my thoughts, gather every scrap of documentation for our business plan. That's what leads me to the storage closet, searching for an old receipt box that might help prove our holiday sales history. Instead, my fingers brush against something else - a sturdy, fabric-covered book wedged between banker's boxes.

My heart stutters when I pull it out.

"Oh god," I whisper, sinking down onto my bedroom floor. The weight of my senior yearbook feels heavier than it should as I settle it in my lap. I haven't looked at this in years, but suddenly I'm seventeen again, pulse racing every time I passed him in the hallway.

I trace my fingers over the glossy cover, remembering how I used to flip through these pages during lunch breaks, pretending I was just killing time while secretly searching for glimpses of him. The spine cracks as I open it, and there he is.

Asher Mercer. Golden boy. The guy every girl wanted and every guy wanted to be.

He's grinning in his football photo, that same devastating smile he still has. But it's his candid shots that make my chest tight - Asher laughing with friends by his locker, Asher focused during a student council meeting, Asher giving his valedictorian speech. I was there that day, watching from the bleachers as he talked about dreams and futures. His voice had carried across the football field, making everyone believe anything was possible.

"Get it together, Ivy," I mutter, but I can't stop turning pages. There - a picture I'd almost forgotten. Advanced English, junior year. We were reading Macbeth, and Mr. Peterson had asked for volunteers to act out the dagger scene. Asher's hand had shot up immediately. He'd performed it with such intensity that the whole class sat mesmerized. Even Mr. Peterson looked impressed.

I'm in the background of that photo, half-hidden behind my textbook, but you can see I'm staring at him. God, was I always that obvious?

My fingers drift to the messages section at the back. Tessa's sprawling note takes up a whole page, full of inside jokes and promises to be best friends forever. But there, in the corner, is the one that still makes my stomach flip:

"Thanks for always having the best notes in English! Hope you have an awesome summer. - Asher"

Such a simple message. He probably wrote the same thing in twenty other yearbooks. But I remember how my hands trembled when he asked to sign mine, how I'd stayed up half the night analyzing those two sentences for hidden meaning.

"This is ridiculous," I say out loud, trying to snap myself out of it. I'm not that shy, awkward girl anymore. I'm successful, confident. I'm about to open my own bakery, for heaven's sake. Tomorrow, I'm meeting with Asher as a businesswoman, not some tongue-tied teenager with a crush.

But as I close the yearbook, I catch one last glimpse of his smile, and my heart does that same stupid little somersault it did all those years ago.

Some things never change.

I tuck the yearbook away, forcing myself to focus on gathering the documents I actually need for tomorrow. But that familiar ache lingers in my chest - the one that whispers of missed chances and what-ifs. Tomorrow, I'll be professional. Calm. Collected.

Tonight though, just for a moment, I let myself remember the girl who used to dream about the boy with the heart-stopping smile.

Who knew I'd end up right back where I started - hoping Asher Mercer might finally see me?

Chapter 2 - Asher

“Are you going to that party at Tilt?” 

I squint, staring at the cars that look like toys on the street down below. When I don’t hear an answer, I look back over my shoulder, my brother completely oblivious to my question. 

“Guess not,” I mutter to myself, turning my attention back to the view from the window. 

My office overlooks the city, the snow-covered Chicago skyline stretching out like a picture-perfect postcard. The afternoon sun reflects off the glassy buildings, casting everything in a soft, wintry glow. Normally, I’d lose myself in the view, but today, my mind keeps wandering back to the message I got earlier. 

Tessa Marlow, of all people. Her cherubic face pops into my head, all my memories of her still from high school. It’s been years since I saw her last, but apparently, she and lifelong friend Ivy Calloway, are opening a bakery and looking for my advice. 

It’s been a while since I thought about those days. Tessa was always sweet and friendly, the kind of person who had a kind word for everyone, even a guy like me who didn’t always deserve it. I find myself wondering what she’s been up to since then, how life has treated her.

I glance back over at my brother, Zane, who’s pacing around my office with a stack of notes in his hand, looking like he’s about to wear a groove into the floor. I chuckle, memories of him trying to pretend he wasn’t checking Tessa out when she was round popping in my head. 

“Hey, guess who reached out to me?”

He barely looks up, focused on whatever calculations he’s running through in his head. “Who?”

“Tessa Marlow. She wants to catch up and talk about a new business she’s starting with her friend.” He stops in his tracks, his movements pausing at the mention of her. A name I’m sure he hasn’t heard for almost ten years—one that I know brings a rush of memories back to him, even if he’ll never admit it.

Zane snorts, finally looking my way. “Old high school buddy, huh? What’s she need—investment advice? Or just hoping to rub shoulders with the Mercers?”

I roll my eyes at his usual cynicism. “Maybe a little bit of both. But come on, we’ve been in their shoes. It wasn’t that long ago we were hustling to get this company off the ground. Plus, she and her friend have been running a side baking business for years. I looked into it—they’ve got potential based on their strong social media presence and the extensive reports she sent over. I just have to see if the numbers are there, would love if you would go over them as well since you’re the numbers guy.”

He stops his pacing, leaning against my desk, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Her friend… Ivy, right? The quiet one?” He asks, completely ignoring my other comment. 

I shrug, keeping my expression neutral even though the mention of her name sends a jolt through me. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Zane raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “No reason. Just curious.”

I shake my head, but my mind drifts back to Ivy anyway. Back in high school, she was different—edgy, smart, and focused on things far outside the football field social circle I ruled. While I was busy with practices, parties, and being crowned prom king, she was buried in books, lost in her own world. We barely interacted, but I always noticed her. She was the kind of girl you noticed, even if she never realized it. 

She had this way of moving through the halls, head down, a look of determination on her face like she had more important things on her mind than high school drama. She didn’t care about fitting in or being liked, and maybe that’s what intrigued me. I admired that about her—maybe even envied it a little. She had this quiet, I don’t give a fuck about your opinion way about her. But back then, I was too caught up in my own image to do anything about it. 

Zane watches me for a moment longer, his gaze too knowing for my liking. I clear my throat, pulling my thoughts back to the present. “Anyway, I told Tessa we could meet tomorrow afternoon.”

“Kind of fucked up to be thinking about a girl you went to high school with at your age.”

“Jesus.” I roll my eyes, his boisterous laugh echoing around us. “You’re fucked up, you know that? I was just remembering what she looked like; the only memory I have of her is from high school.”

“Still trying to get the nerve up to talk to her?” 

“Why do you remember her name? You’re the older brother; you were barely even around when we were in high school,” I remind him, the only time we ever really crossed paths as students together in high school was the off chance we bumped into each other in the hallway when he bothered showing up, or the few times Mom made him give me a ride. 

“We both know why I remember her—” He smirks and for a second, I think he’s going to say something about his not-so-secretive crush on Tessa. “Ivy was the one girl who scared you growing up.”

“I wasn’t scared of her,” I clarify, feeling a touch defensive. “She was best friends with Tessa, whom I thought had a crush on me, so I wasn’t about to fuck that up.”

It’s a lie. He knows it; I know it. The truth was, I was terrified of a girl like Ivy in high school. The smart ones who had their shit together always saw through my facade and, sadly, not much has changed. 

At twenty-eight, I thought I’d have my personal life just as figured out as my professional life, but to date, that couldn’t be further from the truth. The last three dates I’ve had ended with zero promise. One ended with me dropping the woman off at a club to meet up with her friends and the other two… I let my dick do the thinking—one turning into a friends with benefits thing and the other telling me she thinks she’s in love with me after two hookups which left me having to break her heart that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

His movements pause, his gaze still focused on the paper in his hand for a few more seconds before he chuckles. “Whatever you say, little brother.” Then he just shrugs and heads back to his office, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and that uncomfortable flicker of anticipation I can’t quite shake. 

***

“Michelle, can you send me the report that shows how we did Q4 last year?”

 I’m in the middle of a conference call, going through the latest financial reports, when I hear a knock on my office door. 

“Of course,” Michell replies, “I sent them over to Zane last week but I’ll forward them to you as well.”

I glance at my watch—time completely getting away from me. 

“Your three o’clock is waiting,” Keri, my assistant, whispers, tapping her wrist. It’s not often she has to walk in and physically remind me to hang up the phone but with year-end right around the corner, business never sleeps. 

“Sorry, everyone, I have to drop. Thanks again for your time.” I hang up, standing from my chair and buttoning my suit jacket as Keri steps aside, widening the door. 

“He’s ready for you now.” She smiles toward the person behind the door, then steps aside, ushering for her to step in my office. 

“Good afternoon,” I say preemptively, “I’m sorry I ma—”

I expect to see Tessa, with her bright smile and easy demeanor, but when the door swings open, it’s not her.

It’s Ivy.

For a second, I just stare. She’s changed—or grown up rather. She still has that alternative edge, but there’s a subtle confidence in her stance that wasn’t there before. My mind instantly flashes back to her in high school, her shoulders up to her ears, her eyes cast down as she practically scurried down the hall to her next class. She was shy, that was obvious, but there was always something so much more behind those eyes, some far off look like she was already planning out her life five years ahead of the rest of us.

Her hair, once kept just beneath her chin, is long, dark, glossy, and straight, falling over one shoulder, and she’s dressed in a sleek dark-green coat that brings out the warmth in her hazel eyes. Those eyes, the ones that always seemed to see more than anyone gave her credit for, flick up to meet mine, and I’m caught off guard by the way my heart stumbles in my chest.

I clear my throat, pasting on my easygoing smile. “Ivy, hey. I-I—” I chuckle at myself stumbling over my words. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. It’s been a long time.” I extend my hand toward her. “Where’s Tessa?”

She hesitates, then steps farther into the room, and I catch the faintest hint of vanilla and cinnamon as she moves to clutch my hand with her own. Her skin is warm, her touch so gentle I look down to make sure she’s actually touching me. 

“She had a last-minute meeting with our real estate agent, so I’m here instead.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing her neck. “I hope that’s okay.” Her voice sounds familiar, it’s definitely still Ivy’s somewhat monotoned cadence but there’s a maturity to it now, an almost whisper like rasp to it. 

“Of course. Sorry, I just meant that I was expecting to see her—I’m pleasantly surprised that it’s you.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicks up a notch when her fingers gently pull back from mine. “Have a seat, please. So, you two are starting a bakery?”

Ivy sits down, smoothing her hands over her coat, and I notice the way she bites her lip before answering, like she’s weighing every word. “Yes, technically. We’ve actually had this baking business for some time. So taking the next steps of getting a brick and mortar bakery, well, it’s been in the works for a while now.” She smiles hesitantly. “When Tessa mentioned speaking with you and your brother, we both thought it could be beneficial. So, thank you for taking the time.” Her fingers nervously tap against her leg. She is wearing black tights beneath the coat, her feet encased in Dr. Martens boots. 

“Happy to.” I smile back at her. Her eyes shift slightly away from me, then bounce right back. There’s still a hint of that shy young girl from days past, but she squares her shoulders, clearing her throat like she’s fighting it. “How far are you along in the process?” 

“Pretty far. We have a building we’d like to put an offer on and we’re in the final stages of the pre-approval process.” Her movements are rigid, her answers sounding programmed. 

“Hmm, pretty far is right, then.” Her fingers stay interlaced in her lap and I can’t help but wonder if she’s excited at all. “Tell me more about it, Ivy.” I settle my eyes on her, hoping my openness will allow her to feel more at ease. I lean back in my chair, my posture relaxing as my tone becomes more engaging. I want to know everything about her, what she’s been up to the last decade, if she’s happy, what she’s doing after this. But I don’t ask those questions, instead I keep it professional. “What made you want to open a bakery? What’s your specialty? Is baking your passion?” 

“Oh.” Her shoulders relax a touch, a smile starting to spread across her lips. “Actually, it’s been a dream of ours since college. We—er, I started baking as a hobby, a way to channel some energy into something other than school and it just grew from there.”

“I can’t imagine needing other things to keep me busy in college,” I share. “I was lucky to get the bare minimum done between parties.” I laugh at the confession, then suddenly feel immature. Ivy doesn’t strike me as the type that ever partied. I think I was saw her at one, maybe two in high school and that was only because of Tessa, I’m sure. 

“I was usually in the science lab.” She blushes. “Chemistry major.” 

“Chemistry?” I whistle, “I knew you were smart but damn.”

“It was fun,” she shrugs with a small laugh, “plus it translated to baking very well.”

“So, you’re the baker?” I ask, changing the subject. She nods enthusiastically, her natural demeanor peeking through more and more. “What are you going to call it—the bakery?”

“Sugar & Spice.”

“Cute.” I chuckle and a pink blush creeps up her delicate neck. My cock instantly stirs, my brain wondering how far that blush goes down her chest. I wince at the thought, guilt creeping in. This isn’t a woman in a bar I’m attempting to pick up, this is Ivy Calloway—a woman that wants my input, not my dick. 

“So you said you’ve been running this business for years, did it start in college?”

“Thanks and yes, we’ve actually been running this holiday cookie business out of my apartment for years, and we finally decided it’s time to make it official. Well, technically— “she gestures, her movements growing more confident—“I started it by making holiday cookies in my dorm during finals to relieve stress, which led into cookies for big game days when I would bake too many or someone’s birthday.” She sighs, “and then the frat boys found out and unknowingly blew up my business by telling all their friends while they smoked weed.”

“Really?” I laugh, my head falling back as I picture a group of stoned-as-fuck frat boys banging on her door, begging for cookies.

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “It was a crazy time which is why I roped Tessa into helping me.”

“They ever get you to smoke with them?” I joke but her cheeks flush again, “Oh? Little Miss Good Girl Ivy Calloway smoked weed in college?”

“I never said I did,” she smiles, attempting to keep a straight face before bursting into laughter. “Okay, okay, maybe once or twice but it made me too hungry. I was eating my baking supplies so it wasn’t going to work.”

I’m laughing so hard my belly hurts at this point. “Well shit, I never imagined you breaking the rules at all, let alone the law.”

She shrugs, a playful smirk on her face, “I guess I grew up a little in college.”

“I guess you did.” I don’t mean for the words to sound seductive, but they do. I also don’t mean for my eyes to linger on hers, dropping down to her perfectly shaped lips either, but they do. 

 “Once we both saw the kind of money we could make from it, we decided to try and do it every year, making enough money that we were both able to pay down a significant amount of our student loans before we even graduated. And the best part was—is, we both love it, it’s truly our dream.”

“Damn, sounds like Zane and I could have probably taken some advice from you two when starting our business.”

“I doubt that.” She blushes again, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You two seem to be light-years ahead of us… which is why I’m here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” I smile. “Apart from any advice I might be able to give you, it’s nice to see you again and reconnect.” Her eyes shift nervously away from mine for a second and I worry I’ve been a little too bold. But something tells me that the energy I’m feeling between us, goes both ways. “How have you been otherwise?”

“Good.” She nods. “Pretty focused on the business up till now, so not much has changed for me since college. You?” I watch her throat constrict as she swallows, she’s nervous.  

I wonder if this is our way of each of us trying to sniff out if there’s a significant other in each other’s life. “Good.” I nod, our eyes lingering on each other. “Pretty focused on work as well.” I laugh. “Actually,” I admit, “completely focused on nothing but work sadly.”

“I guess what they say is true, then—you have to be willing to make sacrifices for what you really want.”

“I’d say that’s pretty accurate, but I’d like to think it won’t be this way forever—for either of us.” Her smile is slight, her hands nervously tangling with each other again. “Anyway,” I say, sitting more upright in my chair, “back to your business. Tell me about your recipe process. I’m curious how you went from chemistry to baking.”

Her eyes light up again, her expression becoming more animated as she launches into a twenty-minute monologue all about her process, how she discovered her love for it, and her favorite flavor profiles. 

She’s passionate about it—I can see it in the way her eyes light up when she talks about their recipes, how she leans forward just a little when describing the concept for their bakery. It’s infectious, and I find myself wanting to know more, to ask her a thousand questions about the flavors and the process, about what drives her, what makes her happy, how she likes to spend her spare time, if she ever wondered about me all these years the way I wondered about her. 

Instead, I focus on keeping things professional, turning the conversation to the details of their business plan.

“And you’ve been profitable since the start?” I ask, impressed. 

“Yes. We’ve kept track of all of our financials meticulously over the last five years. I think Tessa sent them over to you along with our business proposal? She manages the business side of things mostly, but we both go over the numbers, budgeting, the ROI, etc. so that we’re on the same page.”

“She did and I spent some time going over them last night, not too in-depth but enough to get an understanding of where you stand.” I nod, leaning back in my chair. “You’ve got some strong ideas here and the numbers to prove it. You obviously don’t have a problem with the baking aspect, getting repeat customers and rave reviews. And you both understand it’s smart to expand on what you’ve already built, not making it too complicated. And your niche—traditional recipes with a twist—has potential. But…”

I see her tense, bracing herself for criticism, and I have to fight back a smile, wanting to tell her to relax, that she’s most likely being too hard on herself just like she was in school. Even now, she’s so serious, so determined to prove herself. 

“But what?” she asks, her voice carefully controlled.

“You’re underestimating your projected costs. Chicago isn’t cheap, especially if you’re looking to set up in the neighborhoods you’re targeting. Rent, marketing, permits—those numbers add up fast. And the competition is fierce. You’ll need to differentiate yourselves, build a brand that people can’t ignore.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing as she considers my words. Then she nods, a small, determined smile pulling at her lips. “You’re right. It’s something we’re still working on. But we’re ready to put in the work. Tessa’s handling the marketing side, and I’m focusing on the recipes and like I said, both of us helping with operations. It’s a good balance.”

There’s a fierceness in her tone that catches me off guard, and I realize she’s not just trying to convince me—she’s trying to convince herself. It makes me soften, just a little. I know that struggle, of trying your hardest to believe in what everyone else sees in you, even when you’re struggling to see it yourself. 

“Well, you’ve got my attention,” I say, leaning forward. “I think you two might have more than just a shot at this. I think you’re going to be wildly successful.”

Her eyes widen slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that, and I find myself wondering how many times she’s been underestimated. Probably a lot, considering how many people overlooked her back in high school. I feel a flicker of guilt, remembering how I never made an effort to know her better back then, always too wrapped up in my own world.

Ivy shifts in her seat, glancing out the window before turning her gaze back to me. “It’s still hard to believe sometimes. Tessa and I used to joke about opening a bakery when we were up until three a.m. decorating cookies in our cramped college apartment. Now we’re actually doing it.”

I nod, my curiosity getting the better of me. “You two have always been close, haven’t you? I remember you being pretty inseparable back in high school.”

She smiles softly, a wistful look crossing her face. “Yeah, she’s… she’s been my best friend since we were kids. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve made it through high school without her dragging me to all those games.” She blushes, her eyes drifting from mine briefly. “And a few parties.” She glances at me, a touch of amusement in her eyes. “I think you were at most of those, weren’t you?”

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess I was. It’s kind of embarrassing to think about now, but back then, it felt like the most important thing in the world. Football, prom, being the life of the party.”

There’s a pause, a moment where something unspoken hangs between us. She’s watching me carefully, like she’s trying to decide if she should say what’s really on her mind.

“You seemed… happy,” she says finally, a softness in her voice. “Confident. Like you had everything figured out.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “You’d be surprised. Turns out, playing a part and actually knowing what you’re doing are two different things.”

She blinks, clearly surprised by my honesty, and for a second, the distance between us feels smaller. She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something, but then she catches herself, looking down at her hands instead.

I realize suddenly that I don’t want her to feel like she has to hold back. Not with me. “You know, our company is throwing a holiday party in a few days,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual even though my heart is pounding a little too fast. “You and Tessa should come. It’d be a good chance to network, meet some potential investors, maybe even show off a few of your cookies. I know I’d love to taste them.”

She hesitates, her pink cheeks glowing again and I can see the wariness in her eyes, the way she’s weighing her options. I hold my breath, wondering if I’ve pushed too far, if I’ve misread her completely. But then she nods, offering me a tentative smile.

“I’ll talk to Tessa. Thanks for the invite, Asher.”

I nod, feeling a strange sense of relief, but also… something more. Something I don’t want to name yet. As she stands and gathers her things, I can’t help but watch her, wondering what she’s thinking, if she’s as surprised as I am by this unexpected connection.

She reaches for the door, hesitating for a moment before glancing back at me. There’s a question in her eyes, one she doesn’t quite ask, and I find myself wishing she would. But then she just nods again, a little awkwardly, and slips out of the room.

As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My mind is spinning, filled with thoughts of Ivy Calloway—how she’s different now, but still has that quiet intensity that used to draw my attention even when I pretended not to notice.

And for the first time in years, I find myself wondering if maybe the guy who peaked in high school could have a second chance to prove himself. Maybe this holiday season has more surprises in store than I thought.

I glance at my watch, remembering a meeting across town I’m most likely going to be late to now that I spent so much time with Ivy. Something I don’t regret in the slightest. I grab my jacket, sliding it on and walking straight to my office door, yanking it open in a hurry.

“Oh,” Ivy gasps, a startled expression on her face which I’m sure is mirrored on my own. I had expected her to be gone by now, at least in the elevator and not still standing outside my office door. She blushes, like I’ve caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “I—I couldn’t find my phone,” she finally says, holding it up after finding it in her bag. 

“Ivy, sorry.” I apologize, watching that flush creep back up her neck. “I just remember I have to head out, hope you don’t mind if I join on the elevator ride down?”

“Of course not,” she shakes her head, walking next to me as we make our way toward the elevator. I hit the button and the doors slide open, both of us stepping inside in silence. 

Writing as a romance author

The numbers tick down with excruciating slowness as the elevator descends from my office. Ivy stands exactly twenty-three inches away from me - not that I'm counting - and the small space is thick with something that feels dangerously close to attraction.

I'm too aware of her. The subtle vanilla scent of her perfume. The way she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear. The flash of skin where her blouse gapes slightly at her collarbone.

Fuck.

"So," I break the silence, desperate to think about anything except how soft her lips look. "The projections you showed me for the bakery's first quarter-"

The elevator lurches. Ivy stumbles forward with a small gasp, and instinct takes over. I catch her around the waist, steadying her against me just as the lights flicker and dim to the emergency setting.

"You okay?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. She's warm in my arms, her hands pressed against my chest, and I swear I can feel her heart racing - or maybe that's mine.

"I'm fine." She doesn't pull away. "Just... startled."

The emergency lights cast everything in a soft red glow, turning the moment dreamlike. In the mirrored walls, I can see us from every angle - how perfectly she fits against me, how her dark hair contrasts with my white dress shirt where her head nearly rests on my shoulder.

"I'm sure it's just temporary," I say, but I'm not sure if I'm talking about the power or this moment between us. Her fingers flex slightly against my chest, and I fight back a groan.

"Right." She glances up, and Christ, I'm not prepared for how she looks in this light - all wide eyes and parted lips. A strand of hair falls across her face.

Without thinking, I reach up to brush it back. My fingers graze her cheek, and I feel her slight shiver. The air grows thick, charged with possibilities.

"Ivy..." Her name comes out like a prayer.

She wets her lips, and my restraint nearly snaps. I want to back her against the elevator wall, taste the curve of her neck, find out if she's as soft everywhere as she feels in my arms. I want to—The elevator hums back to life. The regular lights flicker on, harsh and unforgiving.

Ivy steps back, smoothing her coat with trembling hands. I immediately feel colder without her pressed against me. We're both breathing harder than the situation warrants, and the tension between us is a living thing.

"Thanks," she says softly. "For catching me."

I clear my throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Anytime."

The elevator dings open at the lobby, and she hurries out with a rushed goodbye. I watch her go, my body still humming with awareness, desire, and frustration.

Running a hand through my hair, I pull out my phone to text my assistant. "Cancel my next meeting. I need some air."

Because right now, all I can think about is Ivy Calloway and how close I came to kissing her. How much I wanted to. How much I still want to.

The worst part? This isn't just attraction. The way my chest tightens when she smiles, how I can't stop thinking about making her laugh - this is dangerous territory for a guy like me. This is the kind of feeling that could change everything.

And standing in this elevator, still warm from her touch, I'm starting to think maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

I press the button for my floor, already counting the minutes until I see her again. One thing's for sure - I'm taking the stairs next time.

Who am I kidding? I'll be riding this elevator every chance I get, hoping for another power flicker, another moment alone with her.

I'm so screwed.