by C. S. Poe
Miles nodded and touched my arm briefly. “I’ll be right back.”
I stood just inside the tent, watching them outside. Miles had his hands in his coat pockets, saying nothing as Sam spoke animatedly, pointing this way and that, but more often than not in my direction. A few people glanced at them, but Miles didn’t flinch under the curious looks or Sam’s growing volume.
When Miles finally did speak, of course I couldn’t hear it, but it shut Sam up fast. I might have only lived in this town for a few weeks and had known Miles for a total of five days, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Sam was an ex who clearly wasn’t over a breakup. I felt a little bad, because even though I thoroughly disliked him for wanting to take my job and bulldoze down the library, Miles was swoonworthy and I could see how not having him anymore would hurt.
Miles patted Sam’s upper arm and walked back toward me. Sam watched him a moment longer, then turned and quickly walked away.
“Cider?” Miles asked, picking up our conversation like nothing with Sam had happened.
“Uh…. Everything all right?”
“We dated for two years. I broke up with Sam three months ago. It wasn’t an amicable end.”
“Why?”
Miles took my hand and led the way out of the tent and toward the vendor booths. “Someone who loves you shouldn’t want to change you. Sam didn’t like how I expressed myself.”
“Yeah, well, he’s nuts.”
“Why do you say that?”
Because Miles wasn’t the sort of man who needed to speak in order to express himself. Like that shower we’d shared—I’d understood so well what he was feeling. His pleasure, joy, contentment. And clearly Sam hadn’t spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Miles, because he’d have seen the difference it made when Miles was somewhere that he felt safe and happy.
“I think you do just fine,” I said simply.
The fair had taken over the entirety of Main Street, effectively shutting down traffic for the day. Loud music came from an open lot nearby where a band played on an assembled stage. We walked hand in hand down the middle of the road, passing roaming groups of kids, families, and other couples. We stopped at the Snowy Ridge Apple Orchard booth for cider. The line was ridiculously long, but after taking my first sip of the hot beverage, I understood why. It was like spiked liquid gold.
“I really like living here,” I said after a moment.
“I’m glad,” Miles answered. He let go of my hand and moved to stand in front of me. “Christopher?”
I squinted a bit, looking up at Miles’s weirdly serious expression. “Something wrong?”
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
Oh.
“We aren’t already?”
Miles’s brows knitted together. “No….”
I laughed suddenly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been asked so formally before. I guess I assumed. We’re in such good sync together, aren’t we?”
His face softened, and Miles let out a held breath. “Yes, very much.”
“I would absolutely love to be your boyfriend,” I replied. I stood on my toes to kiss his mouth. “The deal has been sealed.”
“Hey-ho, folks!” A man’s voice thundered through the sound system. “Come on over to the stage! We’re gonna be announcing the winners of the cooking contest here in just one minute! Come on down, come on!”
“That’s your cue,” I said, grabbing Miles’s hand and hauling him away from the cider booth.
Miles was dragging his feet. “I’m not going to win. I’d rather—you said you wanted to do the hayride.”
“Nope, not until they announce your name. Pardon me, excuse me,” I said, weaving through the growing crowd to get a good place near the stage.
I hadn’t tried samples from the other cooks, but I liked to think I wasn’t biased in my belief that Miles was phenomenally talented. I wanted to see him win so badly, just so he couldn’t deny the recognition.
“Thank you all for entering,” the man on stage said as he was handed a sheet of paper. “I know the judges certainly enjoyed the competition.” The crowd chuckled. The announcer cleared his throat. “Third place goes to Lucy Black for her blueberry pie.”
“Old lady?” I whispered to Miles.
He struggled to keep his amusement under wraps. “Yes.”
“See? She got third.”
“Second place,” the man continued, “goes to George Albertson for his beef stew! And, drumroll, please…. The winner of the forty-sixth annual winter cook-off is Miles Sakasai for his sourdough bread! Congratulations!”
Miles looked confused for a beat, almost as if the words failed to sink in. But then a few people surrounding us urged him forward while clapping him on the shoulder. Miles left my side, climbed the steps of the stage, and accepted a blue ribbon and envelope from the announcer.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Go Miles! I told you!”
“He’s a lucky bastard,” the woman beside me said.
I glanced at her and couldn’t help but ask, “Why’s that?”
“The prize money,” she replied. “If I could cook to save my life, I’d have entered in a heartbeat.”
“There’s prize money?” I repeated.
Her companion peered around her at me. “Hell yeah, there’s prize money,” he declared. “Five thousand dollars! If I had that, I’d go on vacation. Go to Florida for a few weeks.”
“Oh yeah,” the woman agreed. “Treat yourself to the snowbird life.”
I looked back at the stage. I guess that was why Miles had been so nervous about the results. But he was smiling—a big, bright grin on his face as he made his way back through the crowd.
It melted my heart.
LOGAN FIELDS ordered the bar code system as promised. I’d received it a few days after the food fair and was at the library, trying to install the system on my laptop and figure it out. The front door opened and I glanced up from where I sat at the checkout desk.
Miles walked inside. “Good morning, angel.”
The angel thing had started the other day. I was smitten all over again because of it.
“Hello, handsome.” I held up the manual. “I got my bar code system.”
“Good,” Miles replied. He walked across the room, set his backpack down on the chair in front of the desk, and removed his coat.
“Will you be able to finish the hot mess room today?” I asked, watching as Miles reached into his backpack next.
“Yes. I’ll help you carry the books down from storage after.”
“Thank you.” I raised an eyebrow as he took out an unassuming cardboard box.
“Here you are.” Miles thrust it forward.
I pushed up my glasses and took the package. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
I smiled and grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer to cut the tape securing it shut. “What could it be? New Hampshire travel brochures?”
“No.”
“Oh! A phone book?”
“Just open it.”
“I am, I am,” I laughed. “I bet it’s—Satchel’s Digital Inventory?” I held up a manual for the computer software, briefly shuffled through the contents in the box, then looked at Miles hesitantly.
“This is what you needed, right?” Miles asked when I didn’t offer an immediate response.
“Y-yes, but, how did you get it?”
“I bought it.”
“You bought it? Miles. This is two thousand dollars!”
“It was the prize money,” he said “You’re so passionate about saving this library. You care about the well-being of everyday people.” Miles shrugged, put his hands on the desktop, and leaned over. “I promised I’d help in any way I could. Before we met, I was thinking about entering that cooking competition. On the off chance I won, I was going to get some new power tools. But I think this is a better investment.”
I felt tears coming on hard and fast, and my vision started getting blurry.
I stood, moved around the desk, and nearly knocked Miles down with the hug I gave him. “I’m not,” I cried. “You’re so perfect. Thank you!”
Miles leaned back to kiss my forehead. “Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “And this.”
“God, what else did you get me?”
“Estimations on cost and time from a few web designers. I overheard you tell Mr. Fields what you wanted to make, so I emailed some freelancers with your ideas. You can contact them if you want. I’ll make the donation to the library to pay for it.”
I took the printout and studied the information. “Some of them should be able to get the bare bones up and running before the state’s final decision is made.”
“Yeah. I said we’d pay to be a priority.”
I sniffed again and wiped under my glasses with my free hand. “What if they end up closing this place? You’ll have wasted all this money.”
“It wasn’t wasted,” Miles said. “I only got it because I baked some bread.”
“The best bread,” I corrected. I reached up and pulled him into another hug. “Thank you, Miles.”
WE SPENT nearly every day for the next three weeks at the library. Miles, of course, had to work other jobs as they came up once he finished the repairs I’d hired him for, but he always returned to help in his free time. We deep-cleaned the entire building. The wood sparkled and the air was fresh and clean. We organized the back alcove and prepared the side room for use again. We scanned every single title into the inventory, then forwarded that information to our web developer so she could upload it to the site being built. Miles even used the very last of his prize money to buy one desktop computer for community use, which we set up in the study room beside the bay windows.
By the time the Selectmen met with the state about funding, there was nothing more we could possibly do. The library, for what it was worth, was beautiful again. It was catching the attention of residents, and during the final days we had been working to finish before the funding debacle, I opened for customers. Even if it was short-lived, it was gratifying to see so many people come in and out during all hours of the day.
I paced back and forth from the front door to the checkout desk and back again.
Miles was sitting, calm as ever, at the chair in front of the desk. “The floor is already worn out there, angel.”
“What?”
“You’re going to walk right through it and into the basement.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“Why hasn’t Mr. Fields called? What’s taking so long? Is the heat too high in here?”
“I think it’s you,” Miles suggested.
I grumbled and loosened my tie. The anticipation was worse than a kid on Christmas morning being told to wait to open presents, combined with the dread that accompanied a dentist’s drills just before getting a root canal. I was halfway to crazy, waiting for Mr. Fields to call and tell us the results of his meeting, when he actually showed up at the front door instead.
“Christopher!” he shouted gleefully, face beaming.
“Oh my God,” I said, holding my hands up. “Yes? Yes?”
“Yes!” he declared. “They’re keeping the library open!”
I screamed, which of course one should never do in a library, and jumped up and down like a damn kid. I gave him a hug and then embraced Miles as he joined us.
“Now listen,” Logan said with a grin. “Twenty thousand was shot down, like I told you, but they agreed to seventeen annually, plus your salary. In two years, they want to review your progress. If significant usage proves a larger budget is needed, it will be taken into consideration then. And now that we have time on our side again, we can pursue grants for additional major purchases.”
I couldn’t believe it. This was all a dream come true. I had my home, my boyfriend, and my job!
“I’ll take that as a major win,” I said happily. I shook Logan’s hand again. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Thank you, Christopher. Otherwise I’d be locking this door for a final time.” Logan looked at Miles. “And thank you for your generous donation, Mr. Sakasai. I hear it was all due to your cooking skills?”
“Ah, well… yes,” he said quietly.
I grinned and looked up at Miles. “Books and Bread: A Love Story.”
He laughed. “Dork.”
More from C.S. Poe
Bowen Merlin—yes, that’s his real name—accepts a position in the quaint town of Lancaster, New Hampshire, as the high school band director. He leaves New York City for the snowy countryside of New England just in time for the holidays. With class, homework, after-school activities, and a surprise Christmas concert to plan and rehearse, Bowen is plenty busy. And since he’s never had much luck with romance, factoring in time to find Mr. Right isn’t a priority….
Until he meets the proprietor of Snowy Ridge Apple Orchard, Felix Hansen. Suddenly, true love seems like a possibility for the first time in Bowen’s life. The two are a perfect match and fill the skipped beats of each other’s hearts. But as wonderful as Felix seems, he’s harboring scars that could end their budding relationship when someone in town goes to great lengths to sabotage their careers.
If Bowen is to survive the holidays, he’ll need to lean on old friends and new, convince Felix he’s worth any hardship, and prove they can come out of the catastrophe stronger if they do so together.
Down on his luck is Gideon Joy’s default state. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different on his cross-country trip, but not surprisingly, the hits keep coming—literally this time. Gideon strikes a moose with his car in New Hampshire, not only totaling his own vehicle, but damaging one belonging to local construction worker Silas Bright. He has no choice but to stay in Lancaster and take a job that’ll pay for the repairs. And in a town so small, Gideon’s always running into Silas. What starts as annoyance between them soon blooms into something much more romantic. But when Gideon’s notorious bad luck rears its head yet again, how many disastrous dates will Silas be willing to weather before realizing Gideon’s not worth it?
Despite Gideon’s desire to remain in the quaint community that has accepted him as one of their own, past fears of inadequacy threaten the very joy he left Los Angeles to discover. If he’s to find a happily ever after with Silas, Gideon must learn that sometimes it’s okay to not be the best. And true happiness might be waiting in a small town nestled among the great White Mountains.
C.S. POE is a Lambda Literary and two-time EPIC award finalist, and a FAPA award-winning author of gay mystery, romance, and paranormal books.
She is a reluctant mover and has called many places home in her lifetime. C.S. has lived in New York City, Key West, and Ibaraki, Japan, to name a few. She misses the cleanliness, convenience, and limited-edition gachapon of Japan, but she was never very good at riding bikes to get around.
She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful and a major weakness for toys. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats. She’s rescued two cats—Milo and Kasper do their best on a daily basis to distract her from work.
C.S. is a member of the International Thriller Writers organization.
Website: cspoe.com
By C.S. Poe
Color of You
Joy
Kneading You
Love Has No Expiration
Love, Marriage, and a Baby Carriage
New Game, Start
Once Upon a Time in the Weird West Anthology
That Turtle Story
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of
author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Kneading You
© 2019 C.S. Poe
Cover Art
© 2019 Brooke Albrecht
http://brookealbrechtstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-249-5
Digital eBook published July 2019
v. 1.0
Previously published by Dreamspinner Press in the Simmer anthology, 2016.
Printed in the United States of America