Sera shot him a suspicious glance, but there was no trace of a leer on his face, and he seemed quite sincere—even detached. Inexplicably, disappointment flared within her. Though she had no intention of becoming distracted from her dream by another charismatic male, she found herself wishing that this one was flirting with her. But if there was any trace of chemistry in the air, it was apparently one-sided. He was being charming—engaging even—but definitely not suggestive.

“Well, kiddo,” Pauline continued, “the sad fact is, since Hortencia, I’ve lost a bit of my customary mojo. And I ain’t getting any younger. I haven’t got the energy—and let’s face it, I never had the business savvy—to keep P-HOP going the way it should, but I’d be sorry to see my dream die out entirely.” A hint of deliberate mystery colored her voice, telling Sera she had something on her mind.

Her aunt might look like a Grateful Dead camp follower, but Sera was beginning to suspect the old gal hadn’t lost her edge.

“Spill it, Pauline,” she commanded.

“We-lllll,” Pauline drawled, enjoying the moment, “your specialty is giving people pleasure, right?” She waited expectantly, like the retired professor she was.

Sera was willing to bite, despite her awareness of the interested audience observing their exchange. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. My desserts are definitely made to invoke all the senses and delight the palate.” She hoped she didn’t sound like too much of a prima donna. Still, her confections did deserve a certain gravity. They were that good. Modest Serafina might be about her own attributes, but her baked goods were out of this world.

Pauline wasn’t put off by Sera’s hesitance. She beamed at Sera and Asher alike. “The way I see it, I’ve been doing the same thing, just working in a different medium. So I thought, what if your new shop included both sinful desserts and earthly delights?”

“You mean… cupcakes in the front, climaxes in the back?” Sera asked incredulously.

“Chocolate produces the same endorphins as sex, I’ve heard,” Asher put in helpfully from his perch on the counter.

“Oh, is that what you’ve heard?” Sera shot back, a smile quirking her lips when Asher mugged an innocent expression. But only half her mind was on her new neighbor, for a wonder.

She was beginning to see the possibilities…

Considering her “shortcomings,” Serafina had never had the slightest inclination to frequent a pleasure palace, let alone become the proprietor of one, be it ever so genteel. But now… Ever since her aunt’s distress call, Sera had sensed she was facing another crossroads in her life—not as dramatic as her decision to get sober, certainly, but perhaps even more profound. Her life in New York was unsatisfying, to say the least. She had gotten her one-year chip just a couple months ago, and was only just beginning to see the “promises” spoken of among the recovery community come true in her own life. She’d stabilized, sure—but in a lot of ways she was still the same scared, insecure girl she’d been before she’d picked up the bottle and lost so many years to it. One of the things she had learned, watching others who had the sorts of lives she wanted for herself, was that those who were happiest were the ones who were open to life’s possibilities, and who challenged themselves to accept new things, however scary they might be.

Maybe it was time to live up to her surname and do something wild. Something totally out of character. Never mind that she was hardly one to speak on the subject of orgasm aids—Pauline could take care of that aspect. Sera had absolutely no intention of letting Pauline retire, gracefully or otherwise, and she suspected Pauline herself wouldn’t have it any other way. They’d be the dynamic duo of sensual gratification! And Sera would be someone who proudly owned a streak of mischief, instead of someone who buried her joie de vivre beneath a stifling blanket of timidity.

Yes. This is what I want.

Sera’s inner certainty, absent for the last several years—hell, since she’d met Blake Austin—returned. It didn’t sneak back a bit at a time; it flung open the door, tossed its hat and coat on the sofa, and announced itself “home!” in a loud, Ricky Ricardo voice. She could do this. And she could have the time of her life in the process.

“Two great tastes that taste great together, huh?” she said with a grin spreading across her face.

“Exactly, kiddo.”

“But what would we call it?”

“How about Climactic Cupcakes?” Pauline offered.

“Little Death by Chocolate?” Sera countered.

They both smiled.

“Bliss,” said Asher.

“Yes? You want to weigh in, Mr. Wolf?”

“I thought I just did,” he corrected with a smile. “And please, no need to be so formal. Call me Asher, or Ash—I won’t bite.”

Said the wolf, thought Serafina.

“What I meant was, I think you should name the store after what it offers, and who’s offering it. Call it Bliss.”

There was a moment of silence.

“It’s perfect!” Pauline cried. She clapped her hands with girlish glee. “Leave it to the stud to call it like it is. Good job, Gorgeous.”

Asher just grinned that stupendously engaging grin, tipping his hat once more.

Sera had to admit, the name was perfect. But she didn’t want to give Asher a big ego—his looked healthy enough as it was. “I’ll think about it, you guys. We still have a lot to consider before we can be sure this will work out. Permits, zoning, financial stuff—I’ve got a lot of research and number crunching to do.”

Sera dusted off her hands and took a last look around. She didn’t want to admit it aloud just yet, but her heart was soaring. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the future looked exciting. Challenging, sure. But so, so promising. Eyes sparkling, she gestured for the others to precede her out of the shop and then shut off the lights after them. As the door closed behind them, she felt a sense of rightness—of certainty. She’d be back soon to honor the gift—and opportunity—Pauline was providing her with.

“I would be happy to help with the store in any way I can. Please, be welcome to visit me at any time, Bliss,” Asher said as he locked up after them. “I’m always just next door.”

“I’ll do that,” Sera promised. As she watched him retreat—no hardship there—she had a feeling she’d be making an excuse to do so at the earliest opportunity—just to be neighborly, of course. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to fly so close to the flame with a guy that hot, but hell, a girl could look, couldn’t she? No harm pursuing a friendly acquaintance, Sera told herself staunchly. She’d just have to keep her… limitations… in mind, and she’d be fine.

“Wow,” she said to Pauline, “what’s the deal with that dude?”

“What do you mean?” Pauline asked innocently.

“Well, for starters, why does he have a key to your place?”

“Oh, that.” Pauline waved a hand dismissively. “Why wouldn’t he have a key to his own building?”

At Sera’s uncomprehending look, she continued, “Oh, didn’t I mention that? Asher owns the place. If you decide to reopen the shop, he’ll be your landlord, kiddo. And he’s single, too, you know.” She leered in that signature Pauline Wilde way—almost too cute to be obscene. “Maybe if you two start schtupping, he’ll give us a break on the rent.”

Chapter Five

It wasn’t the next day, or even the next, before Sera got back to Placita de Suerte y Sueños. A full week passed in a haze of logistics and alarmingly grown-up concerns before she was able to visit her dream shop again.

Armed with advice from accountants, recovering from cauliflower ear after several marathon phone sessions with local officials, and newly expert in the bylaws of Santa Fe’s small business association and community boards, she finally felt prepared to say with reasonable certainty that, yes, opening Bliss might work out. But first, she’d have to talk to her landlord.

And Sera was feeling a wee bit woozy at the prospect.

The jungle around both Pauline’s shop and its neighbor had been pruned back a bit, she noticed as she arrived. But from under the slightly more manicured curtain of foliage draping Lyric Jewelry, a series of alarmingly animalistic yips, snorts, and whines was emerging.

Too bad I couldn’t get my pepper spray through airport security, Sera thought with a twinge of unease. But whatever it was doing the Animal Planet impression under there, she’d have to get past it to see Asher Wolf. And she hadn’t come all this way to get fainthearted now.

Leaving the package she’d brought with her balanced on the porch railing, she stepped up on the dusty boards, ducked under the canopy of leafy growth, and discovered that the source of the sounds appeared to be a… hm, is that a doghouse? Yes, definitely a handmade wooden doghouse, more old-school Snoopy-style than prefab pooch palace, tucked in a corner of the storefront beside a series of potted plants that were exuberantly climbing the walls and door lintel of the jewelry store.

A white, distinctly wolfish muzzle peeked out from the doghouse.

Oh, man, my landlord isn’t seriously a wolf wrangler, too, is he? she wondered. She had enough mental nicknames for Indiana Jones as it was; Dances with Wolves was just one too many.

Sera was uneasy with dogs. Cats were okay by her—the more aloof, the better—but if truth be told, she’d always been more of a turtle or sea monkey person than a fuzzy animal advocate. Sera preferred a pet that could be contained in a tidy display case, look decorative, and require little to no maintenance. Taking her neighbor’s wheezy pug out for its nightly walk had been about as much commitment as she’d ever wanted to offer a canine. With her baking schedule—up before dawn most days; elbow-deep in flour, butter, and sugar for most of her waking hours; and catering events all over the city—pet ownership had pretty much always been out of the question. Dogs, with their constant needs and shameless attention seeking—not to mention their droolly, treat-begging ways—had just never been her bag.