Scrumptious: A Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Camos and Cupcakes Book 3) Read online

  Scrumptious

  Melissa Schroeder

  Edited by

  Noel Varner

  Cover Art by

  Moonstruck Cover Design & Photography

  Harmless Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Melissa Schroeder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Melissa Schroeder

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  What’s Up Next???

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa Schroeder

  HARMLESS:

  A Little Harmless Sex

  A Little Harmless Pleasure

  A Little Harmless Obsession

  A Little Harmless Lie

  A Little Harmless Addiction

  A Little Harmless Submission

  A Little Harmless Fascination

  A Little Harmless Fantasy

  A Little Harmless Ride

  A Little Harmless Secret

  A Little Harmless Revenge

  A Little Harmless Scandal

  A Little Harmless Faith

  A LITTLE HARMLESS MILITARY ROMANCE

  Infatuation

  Possession

  Surrender

  THE SANTINIS

  Leonardo

  Marco

  Gianni

  Vicente

  A Santini Christmas

  A Santini in Love

  Falling for a Santini

  One Night with a Santini

  A Santini Takes the Fall

  A Santini’s Heart

  Loving a Santini

  THE BUNDLES

  Vol 1

  Vol 2

  Vol 3

  CAMOS AND CUPCAKES

  Delicious Luscious

  SEMPER FI MARINES

  Tease Me

  Tempt Me

  Touch Me

  The Semper Fi Marines Collection

  THE FITZPATRICKS

  At Last

  TASK FORCE HAWAII

  Seductive Reasoning

  Hostile Desires

  Constant Craving

  Tangled Passions

  Wicked Temptations

  Task Force Hawaii Vol 1

  TEXAS TEMPTATIONS

  Conquering India

  Delilah’s Downfall

  HAWAIIAN HOLIDAYS

  Mele Kalikimaka, Baby

  Sex on the Beach

  Getting Lei’d

  TEXAS HEAT

  Scorched

  SPIES, LIES, and ALIBIS

  The Boss

  ONCE UPON AN ACCIDENT

  An Accidental Countess

  Lessons in Seduction

  The Spy Who Loved Her

  Once Upon an Accident Bundle

  THE CURSED CLAN

  Callum

  Angus

  Logan

  Fletcher

  Anice

  BY BLOOD

  Desire by Blood

  Seduction by Blood

  BOUNTY HUNTER’S, INC

  For Love or Honor

  Sinner’s Delight

  TELEPATHIC CRAVINGS

  Voices Carry

  Lost in Emotion

  Hard Habit to Break

  Bundle

  CONNECTED BOOKS

  The Hired Hand

  Hands on Training

  A Calculated Seduction

  Going for Eight

  SINGLE TITLES

  Grace Under Pressure

  Her Mother’s Killer

  The Last Detail

  Operation Love

  Chasing Luck

  The Seduction of Widow McEwan

  Snowbound Seduction

  Hawaiian Holidays

  Sweet Patience

  COMING SOON

  Scrumptious

  Acknowledgments

  Every time I write a book, I know that I would not be able to do it without the support of so many people.

  First off, a big shout out to my besties, Joy Harris and Brandy Walker, who constantly let me whine in texts—most of them not good for public consumption.

  Thanks to Noel Varner for the magnificent editing and Moonstruck Cover Design and Photography for all of the Camos and Cupcakes covers.

  Hey, Addicts, you maniacs. Thanks for cheering me on and always being there to support me.

  And, last but not least, to Les and my girls, thanks for dealing with the crazy author you live with.

  Mel

  For Noel Varner

  Because you love Savannah and Fritz even more than I do.

  Love, Mel

  Chapter One

  Savannah

  Someone is going home in a body bag.

  That’s the only thought running through my mind at the moment and, seriously, it could be me. More than once I’ve had to deal with some problem that a head chef shouldn’t have to deal with. But, thanks to Frontiere stealing my manager—who walked out without notice, by the way—I’m now stuck dealing with my employees. All of which either have some kind of stick up their butts or are involved with someone else who also works in my restaurant.

  “Now, let me get this straight, Toby.” He smiles at me because he isn’t the sharpest of tools—and he is a tool—and has never seen me lose my cool. “You feel you can’t work on the same shifts as Laurel because you went out on three dates and then she decided not to go out with you again? Did I get that right?”

  The boy definitely hasn’t been around long enough because the fucker nods and smiles as if he thinks this is something that I really give a fuck about. We have an hour before the rush of a Friday, and he’s acting like I’m his therapist.

  “Okay, boys and girls, let me give you a little lesson. When Chef—that would be me, by the way—is at work in the kitchen, she doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, your feelings, or basically anything in your life that has nothing to do with this kitchen. There are only three things that I care about in my kitchen. Mario,” I point at my sous chef, “do you think you could give everyone those three things?”

  My sous chef smiles the beautiful smile that shows both of his damn dimples because he likes when I go in for the kill.

  “Okay, folks, you
can come to Chef about anything in the kitchen. When it comes to the food, Chef is fine with you coming to her. But there are only three things she cares about outside of that. One, if you are sick, you can tell her. If it is something that can also make her sick, yell across the room but don’t come within ten feet of her. Texting is preferred. Second, if there is a threat to life. That includes any kind of situation with a weapon and only credible bomb threats. Third, sexual harassment. Chef doesn’t put up with that in her kitchen. You have a problem with a coworker—no matter who that person is in the food chain—let her know. She will kick ass. That’s it.”

  “Thank you, Mario.”

  “Anytime, Chef.”

  “So, next time you want to date or bump uglies remember this: I. Don’t. Care. Keep it out of the workplace. Your feelings are hurt? Get. Over. It. Don’t date here if you can’t deal with that. Now, please, let’s get our asses in gear.”

  Mario and I share a look when they all just stand there.

  “Go!” he shouts.

  They scatter like roaches. I draw in a deep breath and try to get my blood pressure under control.

  “I think Freddy might have hired a bunch of assholes in the last couple of months to really screw us,” he says.

  I open my eyes and smile at him. “Might be. Might be that they’re just young and inexperienced.”

  “Half of them are older than you.”

  I roll my eyes. “My Uncle Tito used to say I was born old.”

  I walk back to the office. I’m already getting one of those headaches that will stay with me for the next few days if I’m not careful.

  “Stop trying to change the subject,” he says.

  “I wasn’t. Just…some people never mature. Look at my brothers,” I say digging through my purse. Please, I really can’t have a migraine today. Or tomorrow. I can have all the migraines on Sunday, but I have two twelve-hour days back-to-back, and I can’t deal with this shit if I’m in that much pain.

  “You need to spend time outside of the restaurant.”

  When I find my prescription bottle at the very freaking fraking bottom of my purse, I smile—but even that hurts. Fuck. This is going to be bad.

  “Savannah,” he says, and I look up at him. Mario is about five years older than I am. He worked his way up through our organization of Hispanic and TexMex restaurants and I love him. Ugh, not like that. He’s pretty, but too pretty for me. Also, he prefers dicks to vaginas. He’s also married to a big ass bruiser who would kick my ass.

  “What?”

  He looks at the bottle in my hand. “Have you talked to your parents?”

  I roll my eyes as I toss the pill in my mouth and take a long swallow of water. “You know that’s useless.”

  “You have to start standing up for yourself.”

  I hate the way I feel when he says that. He says it a lot, and I know he’s worried about me. It comes from a place of love, but it still makes me feel small.

  “I will. I just…I have to get through spring.”

  “And before this, you just had to get through the winter. Before long, you’ll look back on all those lost days and realize you didn’t have a life.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  He pats my shoulder. “I just worry about you.”

  I nod and look over on my desk at the picture of my Uncle Tito. I know it’s old school, but I need him there. It’s the picture I took the day I left for culinary school. He was so happy for me, so hopeful that I would escape the pull of tradition. I just wish I had.

  “He must have been a force of nature,” Mario says. I glance up at him and smile.

  “He was.”

  The sound of a large crash comes from the kitchen, and the noise of it reverberates through my brain. I close my eyes and swallow the bile that rises up. I might have let this headache go a little too long.

  “Sit here for a little bit,” Mario says.

  I open my eyes. “Dude, I’m the Chef. I can’t just sit here.”

  He rolls his eyes and I rise; thankful the room doesn’t spin. “Let’s get our asses in gear. We’ll have a ton of obnoxious tourists in tonight.”

  “Thank god we’re working in the kitchen.”

  It’s close to eleven that night when I step out of the kitchen to survey the room. The influx has slowed down, although we have quite a few people at the bar. I walk over to talk to my brother Austin.

  “Hey, Chef,” he says with a smirk.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Sorry. I thought maybe the ‘Chef only likes three things’ speech made it a rule that we had to call you Chef.”

  I roll my eyes. “I just can’t right now.”

  He frowns. “What’s up?”

  I sigh. “Migraine at the start of shift.”

  “Why didn’t you let Mario handle it?”

  “Because he’s working Sunday and Monday.”

  “You’re off?”

  “Yep.”

  “So you’re gonna what…lay around?” he asks, a thread of sarcasm just thick enough that it leaves me a little irritated. Over the last year, he’s grown increasingly belligerent. Granted, it’s in a passive aggressive way because we were raised by two people who take passive aggression to Olympic levels. If it were a true sport, my mother would be the Michael Phelps of passive aggressive competitions. Truthfully, I’ll take that over the times she goes in for the kill. It always leaves someone bloody.

  “Of course.”

  The truth is I’ll be working from home. I have to plan the new summer menu items, and I have to go through a lot of names for the new manager job. I’ll be doing it from home at least.

  “One of your cupcake bros is here.”

  He motions with his head and I follow the movement. Fritz O’Bryan, one of the three men who opened up the cupcake shop a couple years ago. My breath catches and I hate that. I know it is due to his pretty face, not to mention those cobalt eyes. All of the men who co-own the Camos and Cupcakes shop are attractive but for some reason, it’s only Fritz who makes me nervous.

  He’s sitting in one of the round booths. Actually, it’s my table. Well, yeah, more than my table because it’s in my restaurant. It’s the one that I always sit at with EJ and Allison.

  I take in the thick dark hair, his light beard, and those twinkling eyes. He’s with a woman—of course. I believe there has been some group message texts discussing the fact that his dick will fall off thanks to all the women he sleeps with. The woman sitting beside him is pretty typical for him. She’s one of those blonde Barbie doll looking kind of women. All plastic. Her clothing leaves a little to be desired. It just looks so…tight. Having a great body and wanting to show it off is one thing. That’s a woman’s prerogative. Her clothes are so damned tight, I think they might be bruising her ribs.

  The makeup is kind of scary on a few levels. The fake lashes, the excessively glossed lips—with injections to make them overly plump—and the smoky eye that rivals any drag queen at Illusions. Again, nothing wrong with that, but it just looks so…ugh, gross. It will take a chisel and hammer to get that crap off her face.

  Fritz notices me and gives me a wave and a smile. I decide I’ll be nice for once this month. Yeah, I’m only nice once a month and this is it, so don’t any of you people think you can ask me for a favor for the rest of April.

  I walk over, not understanding why I suddenly have butterflies in my tummy. I don’t get giddy about men. I don’t have crushes, but nonetheless, my mouth is dry, and my heart is thumping against my chest so hard I’m afraid I’ll pass out. It’s probably due to forgetting to eat dinner—again—and the fact that Fritz looks especially pretty tonight. He’s wearing a dark red button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up so I can see his ink. The cotton fabric stretches across his massive chest. I see him so often next to Ed and Harry—who are in the giant category—that I forget Fritz is no peewee.

  “Savannah, you’re here,” he says. I quirk an eyebrow because I am pretty sure most of my friends kn
ow I practically live at La Trinidad. “Savannah, Gwen.”

  “Nice to meet you Gwen,” I say.

  “Oh, are you one of the people who works here?” she asks. Jesus, her teeth are so bright, I think I was just blinded by them.

  “Yep,” I respond, popping the “p”.

  “Savannah is the head chef here,” Fritz offers.

  “Oh, so you’re a cook.”

  I feel my headache returning, along with the twitch behind my eye. “No. Cook’s aren’t chefs.”

  She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You don’t say.”

  When I look at Fritz, his eyes are dancing with humor. This is when he is his most attractive. And, those are the kinds of thoughts that get a girl in trouble. Especially with a manwhore like Fritz.

  “Actually, Gwen, Savannah runs the entire family business of—how many restaurants?”