Donuts and Handcuffs

by Haley Travis

  Donuts and Handcuffs

  By Haley Travis

  Copyright 2020 Haley Travis. All rights reserved. Cover design by Lexie Renard.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted or duplicated in any form whatsoever without express written permission of the author. This book is intended for sale to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or specific locations or details is completely coincidental, or intended fictitiously. All characters are over 18, no sex partners are related, all sex is consensual. This is fantasy. In the real world, everyone practices safe sex at all times. Right? Right.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue - Bailey

  Prologue - Daniel

  Chapter One - Bailey

  Chapter Two - Bailey

  Chapter Three - Daniel

  Chapter Four - Bailey

  Chapter Five - Bailey

  Chapter Six - Daniel

  Chapter Seven - Bailey

  Chapter Eight - Bailey

  Chapter Nine - Daniel

  Chapter Ten - Bailey

  Chapter Eleven - Bailey

  Chapter Twelve - Daniel

  Chapter Thirteen - Bailey

  Chapter Fourteen - Bailey

  Chapter Fifteen - Bailey

  Epilogue - Daniel

  Other Stories & About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  *** Two Months Earlier ***

  I’m always early when I’m nervous. At the moment, I was freaking out about my meeting with the real estate agent. This time it was much more than my usual twinge of nerves that someone might somehow see through me and find out who I used to be. This meeting was about my future. My hopeful new, independent life with nothing but sunlight. No more lurking shadows.

  It might not have been a good omen that the sky was currently firing gray rain and sleet at me as if this were a shootout.

  As I jumped a deep puddle while careening around the corner of the sidewalk, the toe of my boot caught, and my face was headed for the concrete at such a speed I realized I was about to be in a gigantic amount of pain. There was no way I could lift my hands to shield my face in time. Remember the drills of my childhood, I dropped. Silently falling into a forward shoulder roll, I soaked my coat in the process but propelled all of the force forward so that I wasn’t injured. An echo of a voice in the back of my mind reminded me that you can’t run away if you’re hurt.

  I stood up from the somersault, holding the wall of the stone building for support as I spun around to make sure nobody saw that. A large man was directly in front of me, in the shadow under the awning, not two feet away. Since the alcove was only about four feet across, there was nowhere for me to go.

  “What the hell was that?” His deep voice sounded shocked. As he stepped closer, I saw his blue jacket with some sort of insignia. The back of my mind automatically screamed for me to run.

  “Are you okay, miss?” he asked kindly. “That was an amazing tumble.”

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly.

  He stepped a bit closer, and I cringed away into the darkest part of the shadows. But the look in his eyes was gentle. He wasn’t expecting any trouble. He was concerned. “How did you learn to roll like that?”

  I tried to fake an innocent little giggle. “Just lucky, I guess. Didn’t want to fall on my teeth.”

  The rain was hammering on my side, and any reasonable person would have stepped farther in from the curb, so I did, edging closer to a man in the dark who was some sort of authority or security. It was unnatural.

  My breath stuttered in my chest as I looked up at him, but not from the cold. He was gorgeous. His face was utterly hypnotic. Those warm eyes were looking straight through me. He smelled like the forest, or maybe it was just the rain beating down on both of us. I’d never kissed a total stranger in my life, but the desire to lean closer was hard to fight. It was like being in a trance.

  I knew I’d been lonely for a very long time, but the urge to kiss someone came out of nowhere. Perhaps I was far more stressed out today than I had realized, since I had so much riding on this meeting. It was likely just the adrenaline rush.

  But then my eyes lowered slightly and I saw through the shadows to the collar of his uniform. Then the tag on the front. He was a police officer. My blood ran colder. Gut instinct made me need to move, and I lurched back a bit, wobbling, but his thick hand gently rested on my shoulder.

  “Easy, miss.” His deep, resonant voice was carefully quiet, as if he were afraid to frighten me. “You’re okay, just catch your breath.” It took a few seconds for my heart to slow down and my vision to clear. He wasn’t holding on to question me, he just didn’t want me to fall again.

  “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re freezing,” he said, pulling me another few inches farther from the rain, up against the dark doorway, but also still close to him. “Let me take you to the station for a coffee to warm up.”

  There was no way in hell I could set foot in there. “I’m meeting my real estate agent here in a few minutes. She’ll let me inside.”

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly, “But it’s just across the street if she’s late.”

  Maybe he could see that he was making me nervous, as he suddenly grinned, turning from a huge, intimidating cop into an adorably handsome man. “Your earrings. You’d better not wear those if you go over there.”

  Reaching up, I touched my earlobe, completely forgetting what I was wearing. Tiny pink porcelain donuts. My laugh startled me. It also seemed to amuse him, and I was surprised by how happy that made me.

  A blue and white cruiser rolled up in front of us and a shiver ran through me. Hopefully, he didn’t notice.

  He looked at me with genuine worry. “I hate leaving you here alone and cold. Please, go warm up if you’re waiting longer than a few more minutes. Just pop in and tell them that Officer Hill owes you a coffee.”

  An order from a cop had never been so sweet, and the way he looked at me was sending all sorts of weird, conflicting signals through my nervous system. “Okay. Thanks.” I wished that I had more to say. Watching him get into the car was the first time in my life I was sorry to see a police officer leave.

  PROLOGUE

  Dear Universe,

  You know I always try to be a good guy. Throwing that breathtaking girl practically into my arms when I’ve been alone for so long was either a cruel joke or a kick in the pants to start looking for a girlfriend.

  I don’t think I’ll ever stop dreaming of those sweet, bright blue eyes. Her dark, glossy hair with little cinnamon highlights. Her cute nose that twitched when she seemed nervous.

  Please, let me see that girl again. Leaving her there in the cold nearly caused me physical pain. If this was a test to see if I was completely over my ex, it certainly worked. I’m ready to attempt to date again. I think. Probably. Please throw a nice, normal, sensible girl my way, and I swear I’ll treat her like a princess.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One of the many things I love about baking is the constant heat of the oven. I’ve always felt like I was part lizard. Cold blooded. Teachers used to want to send me home from school, and doctors always treated me like I was delicate and sickly. I seemed to be fine, my skin was just always cooler than normal people.

  Yet another thing to feel abnormal about. Like running away to begin a new life and trying to run a business on my own wasn’t enough to make me seem glitchier than most.

  After a
year in a bad relationship, and nearly a year recovering from it, I was trying to create my own new world. Luckily, when I ran away I’d had enough savings and things to sell to start my own business. Thank goodness there was an empty bakery for lease that already had the right ovens, refrigerated display cases, and everything I needed to start quickly and cheaply. Plus, it was in a slightly older neighborhood that wasn’t very trendy, and was therefore somewhat affordable compared to most of Toronto.

  The location of any retail space is crucial, but when it is specialty food that people purchase on a whim, you need a constant variety of potential customers walking straight past the front door.

  My new bakery, Teeny Tiny Temptations, was on a corner that faced a police station, a high school, and a party supply store. It was in a quiet neighborhood with lots of small families who needed cupcakes, sugar cookies, and fresh bread.

  While I was studying small business practices, I came across something called “The Lipstick Index”. Studies have proven that women buy more lipstick during recessions. The theory is that since they can’t afford new shoes, or a whole outfit, they’ll purchase the tiny treat of a lipstick. It’s something that will brighten them up for a month, and it’s very affordable.

  My theory was that people in working-class neighborhoods needed a treat just as much as anyone else, but instead of going out for a fancy dinner, they might be more likely to pick up great bread or dessert on the way home. It’s a reasonable indulgence. Something to brighten your day without spending very much money.

  Things had become steadier as I became known in the neighborhood. It was like I was able to breathe fully and almost relax for the first time in ages. It was fascinating. I didn’t fully trust it yet, but it felt wonderful.

  I also let myself wear a few bright colors and a little makeup. I could let my hair down. Heck, I could dye it bright pink if I wanted to. The thought had crossed my mind. It was like I was having a second childhood, since my first was so restricted.

  Making my shop a riot of color and playfulness felt healing, somehow. Sort of whimsical self-therapy. Even though it was a ton of hard work, I was only answering to myself, and my customers. There was a freedom in that thought that rattled through me whenever things got tough.

  I burnt myself out working like a maniac over the first few weeks I was open, so I changed the shop hours so that it was closed on Sundays, and only open until noon on Mondays. That way people could still get their morning coffee, muffins, and donuts at the start of the workweek, but I could use the afternoon to catch up on deliveries, paperwork, and planning. Plus, I enjoyed an occasional full night’s sleep.

  One of the things I prided myself on was variety, and the flavors of the donuts and muffins changed from day to day. At first this tactic was simply to keep things interesting for me, but I quickly learned that it was effective marketing. Every morning I broadcast a list of the day’s flavors and a photo to my social media, and anyone who adored maple pecan crunch would come running in, desperate to try it before I ran out.

  People quickly learned that I was a one-woman shop, so they instantly forgave my sporadic supply of things, since they saw how hard I was working.

  Last week I tested a batch of ‘The Men and Women in Blue’ blueberry donuts, and an assistant at the police station across the street ran in to buy me out.

  The police were some of my best customers, always popping in for coffee and snacks. Some of them loved the pre-made sandwiches, which they said were handy for long days and weirdly timed shift changes.

  High school students flooded the shop from eight-thirty until ten to nine, then around lunch hour. It was unbelievable how much free cash these kids seemed to have to buy cupcakes. It was also a bit stunning how much coffee they drank. But I supposed it was their parents’ issue to speak to them about it, not mine.

  The staff at the party store often sent their customers to my shop for cakes and hors-d’oeuvres, and I sent them a tray of mini-cupcakes to thank them.

  Everything was going well as my business grew, and most of my new customers said that my perky little candy-colored shop was exactly what the neighborhood had been needing.

  I designed the shop to feel like a fun little getaway from everyday life. ‘Carnival chaos’, I called it. The shelf along the front window housed a display case at eye level with all sorts of treats. Above it was a shelf filled with vintage lamps and porcelain sculptures - the cheesiest I could find at thrift stores and flea markets over the past month. Unicorns, mushrooms, elves, and ponies. It was so ridiculous that it made people smile and laugh.

  Just inside the door, I had a large glass dispenser of ice water, lightly flavored with lemon and rosemary, or lime and basil. It was different every day. Each morning I would write something odd on the little chalk panel, calling the water, “truth serum”, “love potion”, or “instant wisdom”.

  I didn’t just want to sell people snacks. I wanted them to be able to run away from the world for a few minutes. My shop wasn’t just a coffee break, it was a mental health break. Escapism.

  That might have seemed like a lofty idea, but I figured since so many people spend a large portion of their lives inside the screens of their devices, when they did stick their heads out into reality, they should be rewarded with something unusual.

  I was certainly trying something unusual this morning, but it was throwing off my regular baking schedule. Since it was Friday, and people could always justify an extra treat on Fridays, I was making a small batch of mini garlic bread, not much bigger than a muffin.

  The problem was, I had to zip in and out of the kitchen area to come out and serve customers. It was one of the rare occasions where I could have really used an assistant for two hours during the Friday rush.

  As much as I wanted to be social with every visitor, this morning I had to hurry everyone in and out as quickly as possible so that they would forgive me when I had to rush to the back for a minute to switch the contents of the oven around.

  Either a streetcar had just let off a slew of people, or it was just one of those bizarre timing things, but I heard the timer bell in the back just as several more people joined the eight-person line.

  After getting little Mrs. Assenza her loaf of rye, I held up my hand to the crowd. “Folks, I’m so sorry, but I need one minute to attend to the oven. Your patience shall be saving the lives of innocent cupcakes.”

  Most of the line laughed, even those who seemed a bit exasperated. Darting back to the kitchen area, I was glad that it was hidden from the front of the bakery so that nobody saw me running around like a crazy person.

  Throwing on my mitts, I flung three huge pans of cupcakes from the oven to the racks, moved the garlic bread to the other side, and popped in several pans of sheet cake I would be needing later.

  “Quick - where is your mop?”

  I spun to see a huge police officer standing in the hallway. “C-closet,” I stuttered, pointing without thinking. He flung the door open, grabbed the mop and bucket, and dashed back to the front of the shop.

  Although I had no idea what was going on, I quickly arranged the hot pans while trying to take a few calming breaths. The prickle of tension that ran through me whenever the police were around had nothing to do with me. That was in the past, far in the distance.

  Coming back out to the front, I saw that the water pitcher at the front entrance must have been knocked nearly over, but it wasn’t broken. Although the floor was wet, it was already mostly mopped up. Everyone was standing politely in a line as if nothing had happened.

  The officer turned to me, and I couldn’t hide my sharp inhale. It was the tall, square jawed, broad shouldered man with the warm light brown eyes who I ran into in the rain on the day I signed the lease for this place. He noticed my expression of surprise, then I saw him blink as if he recognized me too.

  “It was a hit and run from a stroller,” he grinned. “I let her off with a warning, but I didn’t want all of that water soaking into your floor. I’
ll put these away,” he said, squeezing past me with the bucket and mop.

  “Thanks,” I called after him.

  Zipping customers though the lineup as quickly as possible, the officer came around to stand near the end of the counter, as if waiting for me to be free.

  Sneaking sideways glances at him while I boxed up cupcakes and served muffins, I had the distinct impression that he was checking me out as well. I couldn’t imagine what he might be looking at, unless he enjoyed the raspberry filling stain on the sleeve of my shirt, or the flour that was likely stuck in my ponytail.

  The scruff of his beard was perfectly trimmed. His slight tan made him look outdoorsy. Masculine. The way he jumped in to help without thinking that mopping a floor was beneath him was certainly a point in his favor. Not that I was keeping score or anything.

  My mouth became dry as I realized I was going to have to speak with him soon. My natural shyness was amplified with authority figures. Even more with handsome men. I didn’t have nearly enough experience to figure things out.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said to me as soon as the last customer left. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds, but figured you could use a hand.” He extended his hand with a blinding smile. “I’m Daniel.”

  I shook his hand, noting his comfortable firm grip. “I’m Bailey. And I didn’t know that the police in this town also did janitor duty at the bakery if they got bored.”

  His full lips turned up in the most beautiful smile. “I know how hard it is to keep people happy these days, and it only takes one person to slip and leave a lousy online review to ruin someone’s week. I figured since we’re neighbors, I should jump in and help out.”

  “Thank you, I really do appreciate it,” I grinned back at him.

  I guess he did the right thing, but I wasn’t going to explain that having a police officer charging into my kitchen, my sacred space, was honestly rather trippy to me.