by Piper Rayne
Zoe is a sassy and quirky young genius, feeling lonely and out of luck on love. One particularly low-spirited day, she meets Mac, a sexy mechanic whose difficult childhood led him to believe he isn't good enough to deserve real love.
Their attraction is instantaneous despite not being each other’s usual type, and they give in to the lure knowing it’s a one-time deal.
But what was supposed to be a steamy one-night stand quickly turns into a blooming romance.
However, Mac's insecurities and guarded nature weigh heavily on his and Zoe's newfound connection. And when the past comes crashing into their bubble, their fragile bond may not survive.
One-click PASS ME BY
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Also by Kyra Fox
The Dare to Desire Bookverse
All the stories listed below exist in the same imaginary universe I created, and are, to some extent, connected. They are listed by date of publication, and are best read in that order.
Heart Stopping Romance by Kyra Fox:
Laundry Day: A Dare to Desire Novella
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BFF Series
Pass me By
Dare to Look
Remnants of You
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Christmas Treats: A collection of Holiday Rom Coms
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Harmony
About Kyra Fox
Hi, I’m Kyra Fox (pen name).
A big city gal through and through, who once upon a lifetime ago, was a corporate lawyer. But the characters in my head wouldn’t let me be until I finally sat down one day and brought them to life, and they’ve kept on coming ever since.
An author of heart stopping romance, I aim to break the taboo around women's sexuality and toxic masculinity.
I write women who Dare to Desire, explore their sexual boundaries and just plain enjoy a good f*** without apologizing for it, and make a point of writing men who dare to feel and be considerate while still being panty-melting man candy alpha's.
www.KyraFoxAuthor.com
Baker’s Dozen
Kali Brixton
Synopsis - Baker’s Dozen
Scott Baker has nearly mastered the fine art of juggling a struggling small business and single parenthood. But as luck would have it, while he's creating new treats for his own shop, fate may be whipping up a recipe for new love and second chances.
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Staying with her young-at-heart great aunt promises Nova Whitmore an adventure, but a curveball in the form of a local coffeehouse owner and his brood of kids may prove to be the greatest one yet. As new girl Nova and widower Scott soon learn, the Columbian drip isn’t the only thing brewing hot around there.
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Sparks fly as laughter and lessons are doled out by the dozen, making Scott wonder if the missing ingredient to a happy family lies within a pixie who has a little magic hidden in her apron strings.
copyright @ 2020 by Kali Brixton
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews.
For information, please contact the author.
This a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
1
Scott
“Daddy?” A soft, sweet voice and a slight tug on an apron that’s seen its better days draw me from the escape of my mid-afternoon espresso pick-me-up. Halle’s bright eyes, round with curiosity, stare at me.
“What is it, honey?” I chase down the question with my last drops of much-needed energy.
This could be really good or really—“What’s a dil-do?”
The large sip of espresso I had just taken half-spews on the back counter, half-trickles down my throat from my quick inhale of surprise. Placing my coffee cup onto the counter as I continue to choke, I hunt for towels and the seconds that just passed by before my daughter uttered the word dildo. Where the hell did my eight-year-old hear that? I glance around the nearly empty coffeehouse and locate the culprit.
Haberdasher.
Or more accurately, her open laptop sitting innocently and unguarded at her usual table, as she is probably on her fifth bathroom break of the day.
I sputter between trying to catch a breath and regretting it more after each inhale sends dry air over my already scalded throat. Searching for relief, I grab a bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter and take a big drink, trying to buy a moment and to soothe the burning in my throat. My daughter stands there patiently, wide-eyed and ready for an answer. She is the sponge of the Baker clan, after all.
“Halle,” I form my words carefully, as to deflect an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for at least another eternity, a conversation I never want to have with any of my daughters. Ever. “What have I told you about reading Mrs. Haberdasher’s…private thoughts?”
“I didn’t mean to look,” she pouts as her head bows sheepishly. “I just saw it when I left her biscotti on the table.”
I can’t fault the cookie fiend for having her three-a-day fix, but I’d rather Halle not be exposed to things she doesn’t need to know about until later in life.
Preferably after I’m dead and gone.
Millie Haberdasher’s a little ol’ grandma in her seventies who looks like her idea of a rousing Saturday night is knitting her “granddog” Leonard another sweater. Millie Haberdasher is also a wild storyteller who loves to read those paperback novels with half-naked men on them, typically a pirate or a Scotsman. The same type of paperbacks that she has recently taken to writing about said swashbuckling bandits and kilt-wearing warriors herself.
Let the record show I only know this because when she celebrated her 68th birthday a couple of years ago, she decided her final act in life would be writing “bloomer-burners,” as she put it. It was way more information than I needed, especially when I only asked, “Did you have a good birthday, Miss Millie?”
I’m never asking that question again.
However, I don’t know why Halie saw that word if her story takes place on a 17th-century pirate ship or in the Scottish Highlands. “I think Mrs. Haberdasher may have made a typo.” Yeah, a typo. Quick thinking, Baker. Even pushing forty, you haven’t lost your touch.
I can still see the wheels turning in her mind. Not good. “How are you supposed to spell dildo?”
Crap on a cracker. “I think Miss Millie meant to say a dodo,” my voice drops to a low whisper as I reply in hopes that she’ll get the hint that she can’t say that word out loud.
“What’s a dodo?” she whispers hoarsely and a bit too loudly.
I believe we’re going to need some lessons in whispering in addition to why we aren’t supposed to snoop. “A type of prehistoric bird.”
She thinks about my answer for a moment. “Does she always write about birds?”
In a manner of speaking. “I don’t know, honey. We aren’t supposed to spy on people’s writing, remember?” An arched eyebrow punctuates my point.
Her blonde head shakes furiously as she nods in agreement. Please God, let this be the last time I have to talk about dildos. Amen. I turn to get her afternoon snack—always an apple—only to feel another tug at my apron. “Should we tell her she made a mistake?”
“No!” I utter loudly, drawing the attention of the two other patrons in the room. My knee touches the nearly spotless wooden floor as I squat down to get on my daughter’s level and lower my voice once more. “No, she likes to find them herself. We don’t want to take away her fun, do we?” The jingling of the doorbell signals a newco
mer as that very welcome distraction comes into view. “Look who it is, Halle? Miss Vera Kay just got here.”
Vera Kay happens to be my landlord at Baked & Brewed, but the way she’s been here for us the past three years has solidified her as an honorary Baker. Tragedy is no stranger to our family or hers, yet it’s the reason we’ve created this new unit of love.
My wife’s death three Augusts ago left us all adrift at sea without a rudder. Emma was the cement that held us all together, while I’m little more than a cheap glue stick, doing my best to make this web of impossibility hold firm. After she passed, I struggled with juggling a huge family's demands, being alone after almost two decades of marriage, and running the business she adored with every fiber of her being.
Enter Vera Kay Jenkins.
Her husband Glen also passed away a couple of months after Emma, so grief took pity on us all and adhered us all together little by little, forging a strong bond between her and our children. Although she’s in her sixties, she’s always full of energy and willing to help with getting the kids to practice and recitals as well as pitching in around the shop.
In the simplest of terms, she’s been a godsend.
“Millie still not wanting to budge from her perch?” The perch in question is a seat in the middle of the coffee shop, where she can “be in the action,” to quote her. It also puts other things in action, meaning while she takes her frequent restroom breaks, I have to hawkeye her belongings and make sure my kids don’t happen to see anything that could cause embarrassment for her.
Okay, let’s be honest. She’d probably think it was hilarious.
However, I don’t need my kids going to school and divulging what they’ve learned from Millie’s latest bodice ripper. I can just imagine the phone calls… “Nope. Says the corner feels claustrophobic, and she wants to be in the thick of things.”
“I believe she covers enough thick things in those books of hers, don’t you?”
Halle bounces her attention back and forth between us, trying to understand the joke. That is before she starts into her new line of questioning. “Do you like dodos, Miss Vera Kay?”
Vera Kay shoots me an odd expression, which I try to ignore at the moment, not needing any more questions. “Halle, that’s enough about birds for today. Why don’t you go over there and do your homework?”
Halle shrugs and goes to the corner booth with her backpack, craning her neck as she passes behind Millie’s chair, obviously hoping to catch a glimpse of anything else she can on her screen.
Vera Kay watches as well, laughing as she turns back to me, adopting a quieter tone. “I see someone’s discovered some new material to ask uncomfortable questions about again.”
I groan as I shake my head while wiping down the countertop. “Please don’t remind me. Or encourage her.”
Halle looks over at us, trying to figure out what we might be discussing because that analytical mind never shuts down. Taking my daughter’s quizzical nature into consideration, Vera Kay thankfully broaches another subject. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
With a quick peek at the clock, I finish stacking the recently washed plates and cups in their rightful place, i.e., somewhere Lincoln can’t reach them. He’s such a great helper. Unfortunately, he’s also as accident-prone as the day is long, so proactivity is a must.
Thankfully, he’s never touched the porcelain bowl Emma brought here—an heirloom from her grandmother’s kitchen and a remnant of her presence here. All the kids know how precious that bowl is, so they try to keep it out of harm’s way. I once told the kids that so long as we guarded that bowl and kept it safe, Emma would always be near. Fort Knox isn’t as protected as that bowl is. “Harper should be here soon with the youngest ones. Griffin’s getting the rest together for practice.”
Vera helps herself to the coffee pot sitting by the edge of the counter, pouring a cupful and settling onto one of the barstools. “I don’t know how you keep it all straight, Scott.”
“It’s a day-to-day thing. I’m so thankful Harper and Griffin have been able to step up and help the way they do.” Harper is our eldest at sixteen, with Griffin in a close second at fourteen. Both are in high school now, so the family’s schedules have changed somewhat. Now that all ten kids are enrolled in school, it’s made things a bit more chaotic, but we’ll adjust along the way.
Always have, always will.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Oh, dear God, no. “Please don’t tell me you’re leaving Silverton,” I implore, panic evident in my voice. Vera Kay doesn’t owe our family anything, but not having her around would devastate the kids. It would crush me, as well.
A hearty chuckle leaves her as my heart drops. “Nope. You’re stuck with me for life, Scott Baker.”
Relief coats of my sigh of gratitude. “I’m taking that as an iron-clad promise, not a threat.”
“I have a visitor coming in tonight who’s looking for a job.”
With as slow as business has been the past few months, that’s like asking blood from a turnip. “Vera, you know I’d love to help…”
“I know, I know. I think I have a solution, though.” She sips her coffee as she eyes me closely. “How does free rent sound?”
“Like a dream come true.” I pause, searching for the part of the offer that’s too good to be true.
“How about you cover the insurance and use the rest to hire her part-time?”
My brow furrows. “Her?”
She grins over the rim of her cup. “My niece Nova.”
The memory of her niece was a faint one. “Gosh, I haven’t seen her since…” Since she was in grade school? High school, maybe? She was a tiny thing back then and cute as a button from what I remember. "How old is she now?”
“Twenty-four and in need of a change of scenery.” I scrunch my brows together, which she catches. She waves off the concern, but continues, “Nasty divorce. She’s taken a big hit and needs a clean break.”
My heart goes out to her. So young to be going through such a hard time. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Yet, the mental math doesn’t add up with what Vera’s asking. “But it’s only part-time?”
“There were some…setbacks at her last job. There’s a position coming open at the elementary school in the spring where Deborah McNeely is retiring in December,” she responds, still leaving several questions in the wing. “Can you just take me on my word that she will work hard for you?”
Now, there’s an easy answer. “Since it’s you, of course.”
“Thank you. I know she’ll appreciate it,” she says with an easy smile.
“Wait…” A harrowing thought passes through my mind. “Does she have any experience?”
“Worked as a barista all through college. She made quite a name for herself—in a good way, of course,” Vera explains, pride evident in the way she speaks about her niece.
Nova must be out of this world.
Anxiety slowly lifts from my shoulders. The last three people I hired were—yeesh, where to begin?
The girl who wanted a raise after three days on the job, during which she broke more equipment than her paycheck was worth? Or the guy who only wanted to use the position to scam a date for every Friday and Saturday night each week? Then, he’d ask for every Friday and Saturday off, calling in or not showing up when I could least afford to spare him. Or the last gem in the Triple Crown of hiring failures: the lady who decided that everyone needed to drink the concoctions she designed just for them, ignoring specific instructions and even warnings about severe food allergies?
And now to have a person who may not completely wreck the shop within a few days? It’s the best news I’ve heard all week.
I just hope she’s prepared for the tornado that is the Baker bunch.
2
Nova
As I ease into my aunt’s neighborhood, I’m immediately taken in by the gorgeous architecture and adorable houses. Allan always hated small towns like this.
Two years ago, I accepted a job at a prestigious academy outside of Fresno. I loved my job and had a wonderful experience there, ending with a Teacher of the Year trophy for yours truly this past May. Shockingly enough, my superintendent told me three days before the end of the school year that they would no longer be needing my services.
My principal assured me she would figure something out, but the only thing that was taken care of was her libido and the divorce papers my husband made sure I received when he and Principal Garris ran away together. Turns out, they had been carrying on an affair for five months right under my nose.
Not only did they ensure my marriage came to an end, my benevolent former boss decided to forge a bunch of documentation, claiming I was inept at my job and was written up multiple times for various infractions. Something she claimed she addressed when she wrote me up for insubordination.
As if that wasn’t enough, my loving husband decided the best post-divorce gift he could give me was to leave the bank foreclosure notice on my nightstand—after he cleaned out his things from the house over the weekend I went to visit my college roommate Mel. Coward. Apparently, Kenna Garris wasn’t a cheap fling, so my ex-husband decided to spend it on her instead of making the house payments the last three months we lived together.
They can both go fuck themselves and an ill-tempered porcupine while they’re at it.
Between dealing with my tattered reputation and spending my summer vacation fixing the fallout of Allan’s assholery, I realized Fresno was no longer a place I wanted to be. A few calls to my great aunt—and Melanie too—gave me the courage to leave everything behind in California.