Our Star-Crossed Kiss

by Piper Rayne

  Why is Rian acting dumb? She knows Evan is.

  I don’t hear Evan confirm she is, but she says, “I think Brock pulled some strings for me. Nick Klein knows them.”

  “Oh,” Rian says. “Well, that’s okay.”

  Um… no, it isn’t, Rian!

  “I mean, things like that happen all the time.”

  “I know,” Evan says. “But it feels wrong.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. You have a great product. It deserves to be out there for everyone to know about. I mean, this cinnamon cream cheese you made is going to make my icing taste awesome.”

  So Rian’s buying cream cheese from her?

  “Thanks, and if you have any other ideas you want me to try out, just let me know.” Evan’s voice grows closer.

  I step back, but a large hand grabs my neck and pushes me forward through the door to the kitchen.

  “Ladies. Seth just wanted to say hi.” Knox releases me and shakes his head while grabbing a cookie from the pile Rian set aside to give to the shelter tonight. That’s where all her extra baked goods go now that we’re all sick of them. Everyone but Knox, I guess.

  “Seth.” Rian raises her eyebrows, probably assuming correctly that I was eavesdropping.

  “How long were you there?” Evan asks, her hands falling to her hips.

  “Long enough to hear that your boyfriend is making chess moves for you.” Bitterness coats my voice. “Oh, and that you’re selling your products to my friends.”

  Evan’s phone rings and she digs into her purse.

  “That must be Romeo now.” I stuff my hands into my pockets.

  She answers and nods and smiles, turning away from me.

  My own phone rings and I silence it when I see it’s my mom. I can tell from Evan’s end of the conversation that she got a callback. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Yep, tomorrow? Perfect. I’ll be there.” Evan hangs up.

  “You got a callback?” I ask.

  “I did.” She nods toward my pocket holding my phone.

  “Are you even surprised?”

  Rian looks as if she’s not sure where to go, especially since I’m standing in the doorway.

  But Evan ignores my question. “I have to go because… I just have to go.” She turns to Rian. “Let me know, okay?”

  “Definitely.” Rian waves.

  I slide a smidgeon out of the way. Evan’s shoulder brushes my arm.

  “Way to go,” Knox says after she’s gone.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Are you under the impression that you get girls by being a dick?” he asks.

  I scowl at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “The fact that you want to fuck her, not fuck her over.” He chomps down on his second cookie. Which seems odd because he’s usually a health nut.

  “Thank you.” Rian raises her hand and Knox smacks it. “Someone finally said it.”

  “You’re both delusional.” I leave before they figure out I’m lying through my teeth.

  I will not accept that I want to sleep with the woman I’ve been raised to hate. Not without a fight anyway.

  Chapter Six

  Evan

  * * *

  I have no choice but to tell someone about this opportunity we have with the Food Channel. I’m due to bring my products in at noon today, which means I had to ask Elsie to come in again. So I chose to tell my mom. She’ll eventually be the one to sign the papers since she’s one of the rightful owners of the shop.

  “Hey, sweetie, how is everything?” Mom rushes in and heads to the back, where she washes her hands.

  “Good. A slower-than-normal morning.”

  “Oh really? I wonder why?” Her dark curly hair, not unlike mine, doesn’t look as though it’s been brushed and it has a slight frizz today. She cut hers to shoulder-length since she doesn’t have the time to actually style it.

  As usual, her full attention isn’t on anything I’m saying because she believes I have it all under control. That I’m the child she doesn’t need to worry about, the one she can rely on if she needs to.

  “I’m not sure.” I stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the counter, unsure how to bring up what I did. I took a chance and so far it’s panning out, but she might think that what I’m doing is wrong because she knows my dad won’t agree. He’ll be here in an hour or so after he’s done his cardio physical therapy. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  She dries her hands and rests her hip on the sink, looking me over. Her wide eyes fill with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  That’s the aftermath of when a horrible thing happens. Your first thought when someone says they want to talk is that it’s bad news. First it was my dad’s heart attack. Then the surgery. Then the rehab. And he’s still not back to where he was. The business stresses him out, so we agreed that I’d take over the day-to-day and he’d help out where he could. Which is why I need to make this place more profitable. Profitable enough to hire outside help so my parents can live off the income it generates without the stress of managing it.

  “Nothing’s wrong. But… can we sit?”

  She huffs. “I have to make the cream cheese for Scrumptuals.”

  “I did it already,” I say.

  Her eyes light up. “You did?”

  “I told you it was slow.”

  A soft, gracious smile lands on her lips. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  For a moment, we’re not manager and owner—as it often feels these days—we’re mother and daughter again.

  She grabs a cup and swings her arm around my shoulders, leading us to the front of the shop. “Let’s sit.”

  I sit in the first booth, which is more or less our family’s. Eli does his homework here, Elsie whines, my dad reads the newspaper. My mom and I might be the only two in our family who don’t sit in it.

  Once she fills her cup with some soda, she sits across from me. “What’s up?”

  “Did you hear about the Food Channel’s auditions at the mercantile mart?”

  She shakes her head. I’m not surprised. My mom is busy and doesn’t really have time for much outside of the business, my brother, and my dad.

  “Well, the Food Channel is filming in Cliffton Heights for Nick Klein’s show, Tastes of Small Towns?” I wait to see if the show name sparks any recognition.

  My mom sips her soda and shakes her head.

  “Well, I… um… I went down yesterday to audition.”

  “That’s why you had Elsie come in?”

  I nod. “We were chosen to come in today for them to sample our products. If they like them, we’ll probably make it onto the show.”

  She continues to sip her drink for a moment. My anxiety skyrockets, worried about her reaction. It’ll come down on one of two sides—that it’s good for the business or that dad won’t like a bunch of strangers and a production crew up in our business.

  “What happens if we’re chosen?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I think they come here, film, and say how good our food is. Maybe they choose a specialty item. Then it airs on television.”

  She thinks it over for a moment. “Okay.”

  “That’s it?”

  She smiles. “It sounds like a good opportunity. We’ll just wait to tell your dad until it’s for sure. No need to put that stress on him until it’s certain.”

  Guilt pinches my chest at the thought of causing my dad undo stress. “You’re not mad I went behind your back?”

  She pats my hand. “Sweetie, this is your future. I can’t be mad for you wanting to make it a success.”

  My gaze deviates out the window.

  My future.

  A bagel shop.

  Yippee.

  “But you know it will be a tough sell to your dad, so hopefully it wasn’t all for naught.” She slides out of the booth. “But let’s make the best batch we can so you can really wow them.”

  I slide out to follow her.
“I already made a few samples.”

  She stops before venturing into the kitchen. “Pretty soon you won’t need me.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll always need you.”

  Her eyes are kind and sweet when she glances over her shoulder at me. I’m reminded that it’s not only me sacrificing something these days.

  She takes the containers I already made up out of the fridge and pulls out some plastic spoons. “Did you see the Andrews there by chance?” She pries off the plastic lid, spooning a small taste.

  My family doesn’t talk about the Andrews very often and never around my dad.

  “I did actually.” I sit on the stool and she looks at me, waiting for me to continue. “Seth and Mrs. Andrews were there.”

  “Seth?” She cocks her head. “I didn’t think he was part of the business.”

  “I think because of Trevor…”

  She nods, lips pressed together. “Makes sense. He’ll have to step up, I suppose.”

  Will he? Suddenly, I envision the two of us running our parents’ bagel shops in twenty years, feud still thriving. One or both of us married and the hatred running down to our children. I straighten to get rid of the pang tugging on my heart.

  “She asked about you,” I say as she closes the lid on the plain spread and moves to our chive flavor.

  “Who did?”

  “Debbie. Mrs. Andrews.”

  She nods but never makes eye contact with me. “Oh really?” She opens the strawberry flavor next.

  “She seemed worried.”

  There’s no reaction from her again. I guess that longing I felt from Mrs. Andrews is one-sided.

  “We’re fine. Did you tell her that? That we’re fine?”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “Good.” She closes all the containers and pushes them toward me. “They all taste great. You did a wonderful job. If I didn’t own this place, I’d be worried you were going to take my job away.”

  She chuckles and heads to round up the unsold bagels from this morning so she can cut them and bake them into chips.

  And we’re back to manager and owner again.

  I arrive at the mercantile mart and the place runs like a well-oiled machine. I head to the breakfast area to turn in my items. The blonde woman who introduced me to Nick Klein is in the background, talking to other workers.

  “So you’re Bagels ‘R Us?” the man who’s supposed to clearly mark my items says, jotting it down before I correct him.

  “No, we’re The Bagel Place,” I say.

  He nods as though he knew that. “That’s right, they already dropped off. Sorry. All these bagel places. What’s up with this city?”

  He’s right, there are a plethora of bagel places, but where is there not? They’re about as popular as cupcake shops were five years ago. But the good part is The Bagel Place is on top of the list. Unfortunately, Andrews is sitting right next to us on said list. No one can ever pick which one of us is better without saying the same old crap about morphing us together. I mean, get over it, people, it will never be again.

  The woman from the lunch station comes over and I’m thankful she’s going to help this poor confused man, but she swipes the pen out of his hand. “Just one second, mine ran out.” She heads back over to her station.

  Dan, the man in charge of breakfast, laughs and leans back in his chair as though he’s got all the time in the world. “No problem, Nance,” he says, whereas I want to say get my cream cheese in the fridge ASAP.

  Nance (I’m assuming her name is Nancy, but Dan the man can’t be bothered to use the y) talks to the person in front of her, taking down the information on the items they brought in.

  “I think she’s done with the pen,” I say politely to Dan, who’s now rolling his head to stretch out his neck.

  “I needed a break. You wouldn’t think this work was hard, but you creative types are difficult to deal with.”

  I glance at Nance jotting down notes on a separate piece of paper, transcribing what the woman she’s talking to is telling her.

  “Are you stalking me or something?” Seth comes over and places his bagels and four cream cheeses on the table.

  I huff. “Yeah, because I’m a masochist.”

  Dan has his arms above his head now, pulling on his elbows and sighing in relief. He spots Seth through one barely open eye. “Are you with her?”

  Seth laughs. “That’s a hard no.”

  Likewise, buddy.

  “I’m Andrews Bagel Company.” He pushes the tray closer.

  “Here you go, Dan. Sorry,” Nance says with a bright smile, returning the pen.

  How on Earth do they only have one pen? It’s the Food Channel, for Pete’s sake.

  “Thanks for the break.” Dan sits up straighter, poises the pen on the labels in front of him, pointing the back end of the pen toward Seth’s items. “So that’s The Bagel Place?”

  “No!” I screech and Seth’s eyebrows scrunch up. Even Nance glances over with concern. “That’s Andrews,” I say in a much quieter voice.

  “Jeez, I knew you hated me, but that reaction is a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  I want to punch Seth in the upper arm like I used to do when I was nine and he flirted with Zoey Rekert. Instead, I ignore him and point at my goods. “This is The Bagel Place.” I point at Seth’s. “That’s Andrews Bagel Company.”

  “That’s right. Okay, you’re all checked in.”

  I stare at the containers Dan hasn’t yet marked. He has the labels written out with times and marked the ones that need refrigeration, but he’s yet to place them on the products.

  “Here are your numbers.” He hands us each a number since the companies have to remain anonymous. “Good luck to you both.”

  “Thanks,” Seth says, stuffing his paper inside his pocket.

  “Now, you will remember, right?” I ask.

  “Jesus, Erickson, give the guy a break,” Seth says, walking away.

  Dan laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”

  I reluctantly walk away from the table because of the line forming behind me. I blow out a breath. It’s out of my hands now.

  Hopefully Dan knows what he’s doing.

  Chapter Seven

  Seth

  * * *

  The breakfast crew, as they call us, is called in to sit in a room where we can watch the judges critique our food. We’re stuffed like fucking sardines in this room with a small-ass television so we can watch someone say how delicious or shitty something we made is. It’s like signing yourself up to get your ass kicked.

  “Why are you here?” Evan asks, sitting in the seat next to me.

  “Why are you sitting next to me?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  “My mom begged and pleaded.” She was busy at the store, and since we’re still keeping this under wraps from my dad, she couldn’t escape. Her meeting me in the back alley with a tray of fresh bagels and cream cheese wasn’t suspicious at all. No wonder my brother got away with his drug problem for so long under my dad’s nose.

  “You’re such a momma’s boy.”

  I smile proudly. I’m not embarrassed to love my mom and want to take care of her. Besides, Evan’s doing the same thing I am. Her reason to be here matches mine.

  Other bagel shop owners eye Evan and I because well, we’re their biggest competition. Andrews Bagel Company and The Bagel Place run this town as far as bagel shops go. No other place has survived long enough to be a true competitor to us since our dads split the business all those years ago.

  On the television, the judges come into the room and sit in the three seats side by side.

  “So what did you bring?” Evan whispers.

  I catch a scent of her perfume. It’s nice. Shit, it’s more than nice. It’s dick-saluting level. I shift in my seat and cross my legs to make sure mine doesn’t salute.

  “Our best sellers, of course.” I’m lying. I don’t know what our best sellers are. I just brought what my m
om told me to.

  “Your everything bagel, right?” Jealousy rings in her tone and I smile from the satisfaction that she knows Andrews Bagel Company bagels are better.

  “Probably,” I say nonchalantly, like I don’t really care what happens today.

  “What does your dad put in the dough?”

  “Wouldn’t know.” I crack my neck from side to side.

  My dad won’t share his recipe with anyone. After what went down with Vic Erickson, he said he trusts no one. Not my mom, not Trevor, and definitely not his son who abandoned the family business to take pictures.

  They bring out the first sample and the woman announces the number. I pull mine out of my pocket because I didn’t even look at what it was. Seventeen. I glance at Evan, who has the tightest grip on hers. Sixteen.

  As they work their way through each number, it’s clear we were some of the last to get our items in because they’re going in numerical order.

  Evan groans when one judge spits a piece of coffee cake into a napkin, saying it’s inedible. A woman two rows up weeps silently and shuffles out of the room. Damn. It’s a good thing I didn’t bring my mom here. She’d go apeshit on these people if they spit out an Andrews bagel.

  I place my hand on Evan’s bouncing knee—mostly because it’s hitting my chair and making me anxious and annoyed. I don’t react when her body heat seeps into my palm and seems to travel up my arm. “Relax.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Cool.” She stops for a moment.

  As soon as I move my hand, her knee starts bobbing again as if it’s on a fishing line in a windy lake. “What are you, ten?”

  She’s only half-listening to me. So her confused, narrowed eyes show she doesn’t understand my meaning.

  “The Mister part—” I let it go because hell, if she doesn’t get it, the insult mustn’t have been a good one.

  “So obviously you were able to take time off from your porn job?” She’s still focused on the television as she asks that.

  A guy growls when the judges shake their heads and push away their plates. Damn, number five. Sorry, big guy.