by Lacey Black
My eyes widen in shock.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Isaac at a seedy bar? I think he was in pressed khakis or some shit like that, but he was there, looking all sorts of uncomfortable. I could tell he didn’t even want to whip it out to pee, but I think he realized he was about out of options. Just as he starts to go, the alarm and damn sprinkler system went off, soaking all of us to the bones. We took off out the door, Numbers hot on our heels as he was trying to zip back up.”
A bubble of laughter spills from my lips. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he confirms. “We ran out the door and kept going until we were in an alley down the street. That’s when we really noticed we’d picked up a fourth. He was standing there, looking like he was gonna piss himself, and yelled at us for smokin’ in the boys room. The three of us just bust out laughing. It was like it was fate, considering who our favorite band was. So from that day on, Numbers was our fourth, and we haven’t looked back since.”
Shaking my head, I reply with a giggle, “That’s some story. I can’t believe you all met that way.”
He shrugs his broad, muscular shoulders. “We aren’t proud of that night, but it’s what brought us together as a group. And none of us have touched that shit since. No way were we risking anything just to get stoned.”
I continue to watch him, his entire demeanor completely relaxed, as if he were speaking to a buddy. Though, I know that’s not true. Jasper and I have never been considered friends. His smile is easy and slightly lopsided in a way I haven’t noticed before. Maybe because he’s truly comfortable for the first time.
A yawn startles me, my hand covering my mouth quickly.
“Well, I’ll let you get home. You have a big day tomorrow,” he says, pushing off the counter and standing up to his full height. Even when I rise too, he’s towering over me.
“I do. Thank you for checking on me,” I reply, another yawn catching me by surprise. I can’t believe how suddenly exhausted I am. It’s like chatting with Jasper helped me to relax for the first time all weekend.
“No problem,” he says, heading for the front door. He releases the lock and pulls the handle, letting the nippy December air blow through the entry. Jasper glances around before he meets my gaze. “Hey, this place looks great, Lyn. You’ve done a great job.”
My heart blasts into my throat like a rocket leaving the ground. Was that praise? Jasper was never one to pay compliments. “Oh, uh, thank you.”
He nods once and steps through the door. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, my throat burning with emotion. I can feel the sting of tears behind my eyelids, and I just pray they don’t make their appearance until after he’s gone. Back in school, Jasper used to feed on emotion like algae, slowly exposing and sucking the life out of you.
“Lock up,” he instructs before heading for a fancy vehicle parked in front of my business. Of course he would drive a Mercedes sports car.
I turn the lock and give the door a tug, ensuring it’s secure. I stand there and watch as he starts his car, headlights flooding the street. He doesn’t move right away, probably warming up the interior or checking his phone for messages.
When I realize I’m still standing there, watching like a stalker, I head for the kitchen and start turning off the lights. I double- and triple-check to make sure everything is in order—and yes, I ensure the fridge is still working right—before I grab my coat and make my way to the back door.
After confirming the door is locked, I cross the alley to my car. It starts easily, even though it’s cold outside, and I wait a few minutes for it to warm. As soon as it’s pumping warmth through the vents, I pull out of the small parking area and head for home. I opt to use the main street, wanting to catch one more glimpse of Sugar Rush before it’s officially opened, and am shocked when I find the car still parked in front. As I slowly drive by, Jasper pulls out onto the roadway, giving me a friendly honk as we pass.
What was he still doing there? It had been nearly ten minutes from the time he exited my business and I passed him on the street. Was he waiting that long for his car to warm up?
I’m sure that’s it.
It’s not like he’d be waiting to make sure I got going safely. That’s not like the Jasper I once knew.
Only, I’m not sure I ever really knew him at all. I saw what he wanted me to. Maybe there’s more to Jasper Kohlmann than meets the eye. Not that I’ll be getting to know him any better than I do right now. Oh, no. He was only being polite, making sure everything was all right when he saw lights on. Nothing more than a businessman checking on a neighbor.
That’s all it was.
I’m sure of it.
***
From the moment I flipped the sign to open, I’ve been hopping busy. Believe it or not, there was a small three-person line waiting on the sidewalk at six to be the first to try the newest bakery in town. I wasn’t sure whether to hug those individuals or maybe give them an unlimited supply of free pastries as a thank-you, but, fortunately for my bottom line, I did neither. I did, however, offer them a free cup of coffee with their orders and chatted with them while Daisy completed their orders.
As six rolled into seven, the customers kept coming in a steady stream, but it was the seven o’clock hour that really got us moving. I found patrons lined up to the front door as they waited patiently to place their orders. Dustin helped pull items from the case and wrap them up, while Daisy focused on the register. I was constantly running from the back to the front to refill what I could.
It was organized chaos, and I loved it.
At ten thirty, I’m elbow-deep in dough when the bell chimes over the door. There was a brief lull in customers, one we all took advantage of. Daisy was cleaning tables out front, while Dustin was taking a short break and sitting in his chair, watching me roll dough for more cookies.
I glance up and see familiar faces checking out the case. Smiling, I quickly wash my hands and head up front, meeting Daisy at the edge of the counter. “I’ll take care of them,” I tell her as I move to our newest arrivals. “Good morning.”
“Hey, Lyndee,” Mallory replies, her eyes as wide as the donuts on display. “This all looks so amazing. Congratulations.”
I beam instantly at Mallory’s compliment. Even though I’ve only met her one time, last Friday night at the restaurant, I instantly felt a kinship with her. She was friendly, smiled easily, and teased Walker and his friends good-heartedly. And Lizzie? Don’t get me started on her. The cutest little three-year-old I’ve ever met.
“Yeah, congrats on your big day. How has it gone so far?” Walker asks.
“Busy,” I reply proudly. “I’ve already gone through all the fresh bread I baked this morning, and the donuts are almost gone. Good thing it’s after typical breakfast time.”
“I want a sprinkle donut!” Lizzie cries, searching the case desperately for her selection.
When I give it a look, I see no sprinkle donuts. “Oh, no, I don’t see any.” The second the words are out of my mouth, her face falls. “But…I might have something special in back for you. Wait here, okay?”
I turn around and hightail it back to the kitchen. I know we brought out most of the donuts, but I thought we kept a few in back…just in case. I’m happy to find a half dozen cake donuts on a tray in the cooling rack. I wash my hands quickly, slip on my gloves, and grab the plain donut.
“Hey, Lizzie?” I holler, through the doorway. When she looks up with eager eyes, I ask, “Chocolate or vanilla frosting?”
“Tocklet!”
Nodding and smiling, I move back to my counter and get to work. It only takes a few seconds to decorate her special donut. I smother on the frosting and grab my pipping bag. It already has white icing in it from the name I added to a small birthday cake, so I use it to write her name around the top of the donut. Then, I add multicolored sprinkles.
Lots of them.
When it’s finished, I sli
p it on a plate and head up front. “One special chocolate sprinkle donut,” I announce as I slide it onto the counter.
Lizzie’s eyes widen with delight. “It says my name! My teacher taughted me my name.”
“It is your name,” I reply with a grin.
“Tank you!” she beams, reaching for the treat with two hands.
“And Walker and I will split an apple fritter,” Mallory says, reaching into her purse for her wallet.
When I glance his way, he holds up two fingers and mouths the number. Chuckling, I grab two fritters with wax paper and set them on the counter.
“An orange juice and two coffees, also,” Mallory adds, pulling a ten out and setting it on the counter.
I ring up their order, giving them two cups of coffee for free. “Six fifty-seven.”
“Keep it,” Mallory instructs, waving off her change, just as I see Walker slip a few more bills into the tip jar.
“That’s not necessary,” I reply, though I’m not sure which one I’m really talking to.
“Of course it is,” Walker argues. “We want you to succeed.”
“Stop by every once in a while and grab something for breakfast or dessert, and I’ll be sure to succeed,” I reply, my heart filled with hope. “Oh, and maybe tell your friends about us?” I add with a laugh.
“Done, but you already know all my friends,” Walker insists with a chuckle.
Just as they move to a table to enjoy their breakfast, the door opens and in walks a smiling Isaac. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” I reply with a warm smile. “What brings you in this morning?”
“One of those chocolate scones and a cup of coffee, please. Walker said he was bringing the girls over for breakfast, so I thought I’d join them,” he says, pulling a twenty from his wallet.
After I total his purchase and return his change, he drops it all in the tip jar. My eyes are ridiculously wide, which makes him chuckle. “We take care of our own,” he whispers with a wink, before turning and heading to an open seat with Walker, Mallory, and Lizzie.
Daisy takes over the front counter, waiting on the customers who come in after Isaac, when Dustin comes back up to the front. “Hey, guys,” he says the moment he spots the ones from across the street.
“Dustin,” Isaac greets, standing up and making sure my brother has enough room to get by with his walker.
“Oh, the scones are my favorite too,” my brother says as he takes one of the empty seats at the table beside them. “How’s your donut?” he asks Lizzie.
“It’s dood! How’s come you gots to walk with dat?” she asks, pointing her gooey finger toward the walker.
“Well, this is my walker,” my brother starts, but is cut off.
“Hey! Dat’s your name, Walk!” the little blonde coos across the table at the big guy.
“It is my name, yes. It’s also the name of the device that helps him walk.”
“When I was born, I didn’t get enough oxygen, so I have a disability. It means I have trouble walking and get really tired easily,” Dustin replies to the little girl.
She seems to think hard about his explanation, her eyes bouncing between my brother and his walker. “I det tired too when I wunded a wot at wecess. Will you come pway wiff me? I wike Barbies and dollies.”
“I’d love to, if your mommy and daddy say it’s okay sometime,” he replies.
“Pweeese, Daddy Walk? Can he come pway?” Little Lizzie begs the man across from her. I can see the softness in his eyes, the adoration on her sweet face.
“Sure, Lou. Maybe someday after preschool,” Walker replies, glancing over at Mallory, who just grins back.
“Daddy Walk says it’s otay,” Lizzie informs my brother. Dustin just smiles at her, which she returns, chocolate smeared across her cheeks. My heart trips over itself in my chest at the pure beauty of friendship.
The door opens again, catching our attention. Jameson walks in looking a little rough. “I’ll pay you double for the biggest coffee you have,” he mumbles to Daisy, who hurries to grab him a large cup and fills it with caffeine.
“You okay?” I ask, walking up beside him.
“Uhhh,” he groans. “Yeah, I’m fine. Late night.”
I take in his bedhead and the wrinkled shirt beneath his beat-up leather jacket and a smile breaks out across my face. “Someone’s doing the walk of shame,” I whisper-yell, barely able to keep my laughter in check.
“Zip it, Pixie,” he teases, keeping his voice low. “I don’t need them finding out.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I had you pegged in the first two seconds of walking in here. You don’t think your friends, who have known you your entire adult life, are going to pick up on the fact you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes and reeking of cigarettes and Ralph Lauren’s Romance?”
His eyes widen comically. “How do you know that?”
“I have a bottle at home,” I reply with a shrug. “It’s nice.”
“Tank!”
Jameson throws a wad of bills on the counter, pastes the biggest, brightest smile on his face, and turns around. “Lizard!” He heads over and takes a seat across from Dustin.
I can’t help but just stand and watch this small group interact with one another. They’re like a little family, one, it seems, they’ve gladly pulled my brother into the fold. Yet, as I sit here and watch them interact, I can’t help but wonder where Jasper is. Across the street in his kitchen, I’m sure. It’s where he spent every free second he had in school.
I know.
I was there with him.
Chapter Nine
Jasper
“I brought you something, sweetheart,” Isaac sings, dropping a small white bag onto the counter in front of me.
“What’s that?” I ask, keeping my eyes focused on preparing a burger. I already know what it is. I could smell the sugar the moment he stepped into my space.
“A surprise. Maybe the sugar will help get you out of your pissy mood,” he teases.
“I’m not pissy. I just don’t like being bothered when I’m working.”
He snorts a laugh. “See? Pissy. I’d suggest maybe getting laid, but Walker says you had a little trouble with that Friday night.”
That makes me pause. “I wasn’t having any trouble,” I insist, my eyes dancing with annoyance, while his are laced with humor.
“No? Huh, it must have been someone else who went home alone, even though a perfectly good woman propositioned him,” Isaac replies with a shrug, leaning against the sink and looking a little too comfortable.
“Just because I wasn’t interested doesn’t mean I was having trouble,” I retort, returning my attention back to the burger. We’re not open yet, and I’m trying to perfect a fire-melted technique that leaves a layer of crispy cheese on top. I think it’ll be a great change-up to the Panty Melter burger we feature.
When he doesn’t reply, I turn his way, finding him grinning from ear to ear. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy.” Isaac straightens up and adds, “We get to do a walk-through of the brewery today. I thought we’d move our meeting over there.”
“Sounds good,” I reply, actually very excited to see how it’s coming along. Jameson has been working his ass off to get it opened in the first quarter. As of his last report, we’re on track to potentially open mid-February. The construction is almost done, and then comes the fun part.
Making beer.
While it’s not my area of expertise, I’m very excited about this new venture. I could see the subtle change in Jameson since we agreed to open the brewery next door. He felt like a drifter, even though he’s a vital part of our success. He wanted more, needed to feel like he was helping in a bigger capacity. I totally get and respect that. He’s overseeing the construction and setup of our new business, and will manage it, with the help of Isaac. Then Jameson will run the day-to-day operations. We’re still ironing out all the details, but we’re getting there.
“I’ll leave you to your creati
ng,” Isaac replies, walking out the door. It’s at that moment I realize he left the white bag sitting there. I push it aside with a little too much force, causing it to tip over. A cinnamon roll falls out and my mouth starts to water.
Dammit.
I set the blowtorch down—yes, I’m using a blowtorch to melt cheese—and stare at the sweet treat. My stomach growls angrily, as if I hadn’t consumed a protein bar on my way to work just a little bit ago. Traitorous stomach is all excited at the sight of something Lyndee whipped up this morning.
And my cock is quick to follow at the vision of her making it, flour streaked down her cheek and icing on her nimble fingers.
Before I can think better of it, I reach for the pastry, ready to have my first real taste of something she offers in her bakery, not including what my asshole friends smeared across my lips last week. When I take my first bite, my tastebuds erupt. It’s still fucking warm, and I groan. The icing is sweet and firm, and the roll is fluffy and rich. I take a second bite, followed by a third, and before I know it, the damn thing is gone.
I’m a little disgusted at myself, at apparently having absolutely no self-control when it comes to Lyndee’s pastries. What’s worse, I’m damn proud of her for making such a perfect sweet roll. I want to run across the street and tell her, though I know that’s a horrible idea. She’s in the middle of her very first day of being open and probably busier than hell. But that’s not what really keeps my feet planted where they stand. I’m liable to pull her into my arms and kiss the hell out of her, and that’s a very bad idea.
One kiss is harmless, but I know I won’t be able to stop at one. I’ll crave more.
I push her out of my head like I’ve been doing for days and focus on my work. Grabbing my blowtorch, I set out to find the perfect melting technique for my cheese. It only takes me two more tries to figure out the best way, and once it’s scorched to perfection, I scrape it onto the burger and watch it slowly melt down the side. Now this is a cheeseburger.
An idea pops into my head, but I quickly push it aside.
I’m not going over there.