by Lacey Black
Regularly.
For Dustin.
“Anyway, let’s go!” he exclaims, hightailing it for the door that leads to the garage bay housing my car.
I may not hold his enthusiasm for seeing Jasper, but I am fairly excited to go to the bakery. Especially since after Jasper and his friends are done, the front half of my new business will be almost set up. I’ll be able to add the final touches, bringing my dreams, my vision to life.
Grabbing the basket of goodies on the counter, I slip my purse over my shoulder and meet my brother in the garage. Once inside, I crank up the heat, even though the inside of the car isn’t super cold and we’re only going a couple of blocks. However, I get cold easily, and there’s something about the snow that makes me want to feel warm and toasty.
The drive is short, yet slow on the freshly fallen snow, but that doesn’t stop my brother from talking about baseball the entire trip. I pull into the alley, noticing the slightly gathered snow by the back door. “I’m going to let you get out here, so you don’t have to go through the snow with your walker.”
Dustin rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine. It’s not even that deep.”
“I know, but humor me, huh?” I ask, stopping my car anyway at the back entrance to Sugar Rush.
He doesn’t argue, just gets out while I unlock the door. Once he’s inside, I move my car across the alley, where employees for the bank next door park. The spots are full right now, but I imagine when I start getting here at four in the morning, I’ll have my pick of any spot.
Pasting a grin on my lips, I grab my belongings and head for the back door, careful not to slip in the wet slush covering the alleyway. As I approach the small concrete landing for my space, I feel my foot start to slip out from under me. I don’t have time to reach for the wall, the doorknob, anything to grab on to. I’m going to fall.
But I don’t go down.
I’m wrapped in a pair of strong arms and pulled against a hard chest. “Careful, Lyn,” Jasper whispers against my ear.
The breath leaves my lungs, but it has nothing to do with the cold air hitting me. It’s caused by the fresh scent, the waves of musky aftershave washing over me as I’m held in someone’s arms. Warmth races through my veins, and my body begins to heat, as if I were lying directly on top of a furnace vent. Not to mention, the comfort that surrounds me like my favorite blanket at home.
“Why do women always fall at your feet?” a man says somewhere behind me.
I jerk as realization sets in. Not only are we not alone, but we’re not…together. There’s no reason to feel anything but appreciation to the man who kept me from falling on my ass in the slushy snow.
Pushing myself out of his grasp, I stand up and turn around, adjusting my purse strap and the basket in my shaky hands. “Hello,” I croak, staring at the three very handsome men in front of me.
Jasper chuckles. “I see you’re still light on your feet,” he teases, that cocky grin plastered on his face. I narrow my eyes, which only makes him laugh. “You going to invite us in or leave us standing out in the cold snow?”
Sighing, I reach back and grab the door, careful not to drop the basket in my arms. “Let me,” the tall man with tattoos peeking over the neck of his shirt says. He holds the door as I slip inside, followed by the others. “I’m Jameson,” he adds, reaching his hand forward, dark tattoos stretched across the skin.
“Lyndee,” I reply, giving him a friendly smile.
At first glance, he’s a little scary. No, not scary, but maybe a bit intimidating. Hard eyes, dark hair, and an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude rolling off his broad shoulders. Though, there’s something else in those deep eyes. A friendliness I wasn’t expecting. Standing there in combat boots, worn and tattered blue jeans, and a Nirvana T-shirt under a beat-up black leather jacket, he gives off a strong vibe to keep your distance, but that’s not what I catch a glimpse of in his eyes. There’s a sadness there, one that makes my heart ache just a little.
“And I’m Isaac,” the other says, shaking my hand as well. This one’s like night and day different than Jameson. In black dress slacks, a blue button-down, an impeccable black silk tie, and a designer peacoat, I can tell he puts a lot of time and money into his appearance. His hazel eyes are friendly, his dark hair professionally styled. This man probably gets regular haircuts, and possibly a professional shave.
“Nice to meet you,” I state with a nod.
“Hey!” Dustin proclaims, joining us in the kitchen.
“Dustin, good to see you again,” Jasper replies, giving my brother a warm smile.
“You too. I see you brought some friends to help move the counter,” he says, the roll of the walker wheels echoing through the room.
“I did. This is Jameson and Isaac. Walker would have been here too, but his girlfriend’s daughter has a dentist appointment this morning she was nervous about,” Jasper responds, heading to where my brother stands. “Are you ready to show us where you want this stuff moved to?” he asks Dustin, completely leaving me out of it.
Annoyance spreads through my veins as I watch the two walk off, chatting, and leaving me behind. Jasper’s friends follow, taking in the kitchen as they go. Isaac glances back. “You have a great space here.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my heart swelling with pride as I give the room a onceover. I’ve put everything into this building, my life savings and then some. I took out loans and have lines of credit that make my palms sweat with anxiety, but all of those are necessary evils to obtain my dream.
“I have a great relationship with several local vendors. If you ever need help or get in a pinch, let me know. We’ll help however we can,” Isaac states, his words striking me like a blade.
Tears prickle my eyelids, but I blink them away. I’m not sure why I want to cry, other than in gratitude for the generosity he’s offering. As a new business, and a new transplant to town on top of it, the vendors were a bit nervous when I set up accounts. No one wants to give credit for their product to someone they don’t know, even if that product is flour and sugar.
“Thank you,” I tell him, swallowing the emotions that come with seeing it all fall into place with one week until opening.
I step into the front lobby area, and quietly observe as they get a game plan together.
“This big display case goes here,” Dustin informs, motioning with his hands where we want it, “And the counter beside it.”
Jasper scrunches his eyebrows together in question. He turns to me and asks, “Why this way? The display would be closer to the kitchen if you flipped them. Easier to move product from the back to the front.”
His righteous tone heckles my nerves. “I don’t want it there.”
Jasper crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “That’s dumb. It makes more sense the other way.”
“No, it doesn’t. This way, the patrons see the display first. They’re more liable to make purchases based on products that catch their eyes right away. They can see the cakes, cookies, and donuts before they even get to the counter to place their order, mouth already watering. It might be a few more steps for me to deliver baked goods to the case, but it’s better for the consumers.” By the time I finish my spiel, I’m breathing hard. What is it about Jasper Kohlmann that elevates my blood pressure and gets me all riled up?
He seems caught off guard by my little outburst, but I can tell he’s considering it. His head cocks to the side ever so slightly and he nibbles on his bottom lip in contemplation. My eyes zero in instantly on the lip action, and my legs squeeze together to try to alleviate the sudden ache. “I can see your point,” he concedes, his eyes focused on the pile of cases, shelves, and counters.
It’s dead silent for several heartbeats before Jameson busts out laughing. He faces his friend, biggest shit-eating grin on his scruffy face I’ve ever seen, and asks, “Did you just admit you’re wrong?”
“No,” Jasper states quickly. “My plan is the most logical.”
His friend just nods, laughing his ass off. “
Sure, Jasp.”
The other one, Isaac, turns to me and smiles. “I agree with your way of thinking,” he whispers, keeping his voice down, probably so Jasper doesn’t hear him.
“Are we gonna move this stuff or what?” Jasper asks, ignoring the razzing from his friends and heading for the display case.
The guys discuss the best way to move it without scratching the floor before they get into position. Jameson takes one side, pulling, while Isaac and Jasper get behind it and prepare to push. Jasper looks over at my brother. “You make sure you guide us, okay?”
“Yeah, definitely!” my brother proclaims, eager to help any way he can.
The case glides across the floor, the men moving it barely breaking a sweat. I don’t even have to jump in to make sure it’s where I want it. My brother is on it, knowing the exact place I envision its position.
As soon as it’s set, they head for the counter. It’s bigger, more awkward, and will probably cause a little more strain than the other piece. It does, and I instantly feel guilty at how hard they’re working on my behalf. Good thing I baked extra goodies last night when I couldn’t sleep to make up for their help today.
When it’s in place—to never be moved again, that’s for sure—all three lean back against it and sigh. “Damn, that’s heavier than it looks,” Isaac groans.
“It took five guys to get it off their trailer,” Dustin informs.
I move quickly, heading back to the kitchen to retrieve bottles of water from the fridge and the basket of goodies. When I return, my arms are full, and Jasper rapidly jumps to help me. As he takes two bottles from under my right arm, he brushes his fingers across my chest unintentionally. Well, I think it’s accidental. The wave of lust streaking through my blood is overshadowed by the shock and flash of desire he tries to hide in those brown eyes.
“Thank you,” he replies smoothly, handing the bottles off to his friends. He even takes a fourth one to my brother.
“Oh, I made goodies too,” I state, setting the basket on the newly positioned countertop.
“Goodies?” Isaac asks, the first to pull the cloth back to see what’s inside. “Holy mother of sweetness.”
I chuckle as Jameson practically pushes Isaac out of the way, reaching for a chocolate iced éclair. One bite in and he’s moaning in pleasure. “Marry me, Lyndee. Marry me right now.”
While Isaac chuckles and I smile at the unusual—but not my first—marriage proposal, Jasper seems to have the opposite reaction. He reaches over and smacks Jameson in the back of the head. “Quit joking around,” he practically growls at his friend.
Jameson, seeming a touch amused, just holds up his treat. “Who’s joking? Have you tried one of these?” he asks, waving the éclair under Jasper’s nose.
“No.” He arches an eyebrow at Jameson, who only seems to find humor in the situation.
“Well, you’re due,” the tattooed man says, practically shoving the éclair in Jasper’s mouth.
“What the hell,” he grumbles, reaching for a napkin to wipe the smashed chocolate, pastry, and cream filling from his face. I do catch the slip of his tongue sneaking out and licking the treat off his lips.
Apparently, Jameson saw it too. “See? Good.”
“Not bad,” Jasper concedes, making me laugh when he appears none too happy about his admission.
“You’ll have to get in line though. I’ve already called first dibs.”
I should be offended, but to be honest, I’m completely amused by their interaction, and I know Jameson isn’t serious about his proposal. It’s the sugar talking.
“I need to get back to the restaurant,” Jasper states, grabbing his water bottle and heading for the back door.
“Thanks for your help,” I holler just as the door shuts a little harder than normal. My wide eyes fly to Isaac and Jameson, both on their second pastry. “Is he okay?”
A look is exchanged between them, one I can’t decipher. “He’s fine,” Isaac assures me, finishing off his second pastry. “These are amazing. I think you’re going to do great here.” He waves his hand around, referring to my location.
“Thank you,” I whisper, worry mixing with the sense of pride I always feel when I think about this undertaking. “And those are all for you. Take them back with you.”
“We could share them with Walker,” Isaac says to Jameson.
“Fuck Walker. He didn’t help, he gets nothing,” Jameson replies gruffly, though I can tell he’s joking. He gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry about the language.”
I wave him off. “No worries. I’ve heard them all and use them frequently.”
He gives me a smile in return. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”
I laugh.
Dustin asks Isaac and Jameson about baseball—he’s happy to hear Jameson watches and roots for the Reds—and the restaurant. Before I know it, they’ve been here another thirty minutes, just hanging out and chatting, sharing information about their business and those around us.
“We should head back,” Isaac finally says, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Truly. I don’t know what I would have done to move those pieces.”
Jameson reaches for the basket that’s several pastries lighter than it was when I brought it here. “Anytime. You need anything, just let us know.” He gives me a big grin. “And thanks for these. I might just hide them, so I don’t have to share.”
“Here,” Isaac says, handing me a business card. “My cell is on the front, but I added Jameson’s, Walker’s, and Jasper’s to the back. Call anytime.”
“Oh,” I start, surprised by their generosity. “Here, let me give you mine.” I jot it down on one of my new cards, the ones I just had printed last weekend. “Again, thank you so much.”
“You’ll be seeing us often, Lyndee. Welcome to the neighborhood,” Jameson says.
They head for the back door and slip out, offering waves before disappearing at the end of the block. If the paper was down off my windows and front door, I’d be able to watch them return to their business, not that I need to see them go. It’s just nice to know I have allies in the area.
“You ready to set up shop?” I ask Dustin, a new wave of energy encompassing me, as I take in the counter and display. I’m ready to fill them, to see customers lined up in front of them and seated around the room.
I’m ready to open Sugar Rush.
Chapter Five
Jasper
I’m irritated as fuck and can’t stop pacing the kitchen. Even whipping up some of my favorite dishes is no match to settle the uneasiness I feel in my entire body. Tension. Like I touched a fork to an electrical socket. I did that once when I was a kid, just to see what would happen. It was only the briefest touch, but it was enough to brand the shock and pain into my thick skull for life.
That’s how it feels being near Lyndee. There’s a hum, an electricity I can’t seem to get past, and if I’m being honest with myself, that’s why I’m so pissed. No one has ever affected me the way she does. She’s under my skin, and I can’t shake her.
I’ve had girlfriends in the past, yet when our relationships ran its course, I had no problem walking away. When it was done, it was done. Period. I never got worked up, never drowned my sorrows in liquor. But with Lyndee, I’m tempted to head to the bar and down shot after shot of something hard and smooth, something that’ll ensure I wake later with a killer headache and a bad attitude.
Why her?
Why does she affect me the way she does?
I guess if I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be wearing the tile down in my kitchen.
Needing a little space, I head to my office and shut the door. Petra is here, preparing for lunch, and humming a happy little tune. I just need quiet. Peace. Solitude. For five fucking minutes. White walls that don’t scream bright and chipper, all sunshine and happiness.
I shiver at the thought. I don’t mind color, and don’t deny her walls were c
heerful and welcoming, but there’s something about bold and dark that screams professional. I guess that’s the difference between her business and my own. The yellow and purple was fitting in her bakery, while the dark woods and deep blue hues are perfect for us. Of course, that’s in the main restaurant. In my domain, it’s white. Crisp, clean white and industrial steel. I can see every splatter, every imperfection in my kitchen and on the plate. I have no room for messes back here.
I think back to Lyndee’s kitchen. It actually does somewhat resemble my own. White, clean, and shiny. It’s all new and ready to be used. A memory flashes through my mind, one of a certain brunette covered in flour and kneading dough. She used to love getting dirty, of getting right in the thick of whatever she was making, not even caring she was getting just as many ingredients on herself as she was her cooking surface.
That night I almost kissed her, she had flour in her hair and granules of sugar on her cheek.
I push the recollection from my mind and adjust my pants. Yes, I’m hard. So fucking hard it hurts. Just seeing her, thinking about that night does it to me every time, and now I’m just pissed. Pissed she still has this effect on my body. Pissed I still let her get under my skin. And even more pissed I stormed out of there in front of my friends. No way are they going to let it slide just how much she gets to me.
Fucking hell.
I wipe my hands over my face and drop into my desk chair. I quickly boot up my laptop, prepared to start a new vendor order, when a single click brings up the internet. From there, I type her name into the search engine.
What am I doing?
I ignore the inner voice in my head telling me to knock it off and get to work, but when the search results start popping up, I find myself falling down the rabbit hole of online information on one Lyndee Gibson.
First up is her social media pages. There are a few posts, a handful of pictures, but nothing too recent. The last photo shared was one of her and her brother at a Reds game. Dustin looks ecstatic, all decked out in his crimson shirt and ball cap, while Lyndee is wearing the appropriate shirt and smile, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. It’s in her eyes. She’s bored out of her mind but is putting on a good game face for her brother.