“And you’re still sticking with the line that you don’t want him?”
“He’s not it for me. Like I said, I need someone normal and he’s anything but,” I partially admit the truth. What I don’t say is that I’m sure I don’t need someone who sets my heart racing and my tummy somersaulting, someone who makes my skin feel like it’s sparkling all over. I don’t admit those words aloud, but at least I can finally start to be honest with myself.
“Well, I think you’re making a mistake, but obviously I’ll stand by you no matter if your choice is stupid,” Aubrey informs me with a smile.
I narrow my eyes on her. “Oh, thank you for your support, best friend,” I answer sarcastically.
The truth is though, I think my choice is stupid too, but I’m too scared to change it.
I stand outside Bread Pitt staring at the lettering above the shop. It needs updating, but then if I owned it, I would change the name. The exterior is fine, it just needs a lick of paint. All the windows are unblemished, even at the age they are. As I push through the door, I note the bell above and how it’s not working, which is something I would sort out. I’d want to know when a customer came into the store, especially if I were out the back.
“Afternoon, Nola, all our bread has sold already, but we have a few cakes if you’d like some?” Mrs. Walters greets. I take a step toward the counter, looking at the rich red stone floor, which is very unique and definitely something I’d want to keep.
“Hi, Mrs. Walters, no cakes for me thanks. I was actually wondering if I could have a chat with you and Mr. Walters when you close for the day.”
Mrs. Walters is a plump lady, probably in her late sixties. She has curly brown hair, which is streaked with grey and she always wears red lipstick, even though she has no other make up on.
She frowns and scrubs her hand against her cheek. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, although Mr. Walters isn’t here I’m afraid, so it will just be me.”
I nod, and take a seat. It’s nearly one pm and the shop shuts then, which is why I decided to pop along now. There are only two tables with two chairs each. The place wasn’t designed to have people eat in, but with a little tweaking, it absolutely could be.
The counters look healthy, but the walls need something to make them a little more homely.
After a couple of minutes of silence as Mrs. Walters does some clearing away, she walks to the door and locks it, turning back to me. “No point holding on for the next ten minutes, if someone needs an emergency cake, I’ll only be sitting here talking to you,” she winks and smiles and I grin back at her. “Tell me, what can I do for you, my dear?” she questions, coming to sit opposite me at the table.
“Well,” I start, not quite knowing how to broach the subject. “I was told you’re going to close down the store,” I say, looking around the bakery before facing her again.
“My, my, gossip does travel fast,” she replies. I wonder if she’s annoyed, but the grin she gives me soothes away any lingering apprehension I have. “Fred… Mr. Walters, is older than me, did you know that?” she asks.
I frown, not quite sure where this is going, but I shake my head indicating I had no idea.
“No, your grandma would have known, but the different generations don’t necessarily care about the same things as us.” She sighs and I fidget in my chair, wondering if I need to steer the conversation back on track. “Fred, he’s ten years my senior,” she smiles and a sparkle lights her eyes, “we were quite the scandal back in our day.” Mrs. Walters giggles and I see the youth come out in her. She slices her hand through the air. “Anyway, he’s nearly eighty and this shop has been a labor of love, even if it’s not been very fruitful. He always wanted to be a baker when he was young, but he took on the family business and that’s why, when we couldn’t have children of our own, we bought this place,” she tells me gesturing around.
My heart breaks for her and I find myself wondering, as I did with Mrs. Williams, about being lonely at her age. She has Fred, but with no children, they must still feel quite alone sometimes.
“I was wondering,” my voice comes out as a whisper and I cough to clear my throat, “if you would consider selling the bakery to me?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “I never considered selling it, after all it was Fred’s pride and joy.” She plays with her apron, wrapping it around her fingers nervously.
“Mrs. Walters,” I murmur, placing my hand on top of hers, “if you say no, it’s okay.” I smile. “I thought I would ask, but I also understand your reluctance, I would feel the same way if I were Fred. I’ve also always wanted to be a baker.” I smile.
“You quit school to look after your grandma, didn’t you?”
I nod and shrug my shoulders. If I had to do it all again, I’d make the same choice, but I don’t tell Mrs. Walters that.
“You were studying to be a chef?”
I nod again. “I was, however, baking is where my heart has always been.”
“I’m going to have to think about it,” she tells me.
I smile. “Of course. And,” I add, “just to let you know, I don’t even know if I can afford to buy this off you, but I had to ask, I had to know if there was a possibility, or I’d always wonder.”
Mrs. Walters stands from the table and smooths down her apron. “My Fred is getting on in years, he’s not able to continue working here which is why I’m alone and it’s also why I’m closing the place. If you can give me a little time to start taking steps to close down this shop and have a chat with Mr. Walters, I’ll let you know when I have a decision. What I can tell you, young Nola, is if we do sell this place, you will have first refusal.”
I stand and wrap my arms around the older lady, feeling like a part of our hearts have shared the space today and that requires a hug and not just a wave, coupled with an obligatory goodbye.
I’m sitting on my kitchen table, staring out of my window into my back garden and swinging my legs. The leg swinging sets Blanche off, so she bites my little toe.
“Ow, you little fucker!” I shout. I’m pretty sure she smirks as she saunters away, her butt swinging from side to side as she goes. Yep, it’s clear who the boss of this house is.
And it’s the house I’ve been thinking about. I don’t want to leave here, it’s my home and I love it. I want to make it my own, while retaining Grandma’s little touches. I want to create a haven in the garden and I love being so close to the beach and Aubrey. Hell, I’m even worried about how Blanche would fair if I upped sticks and moved. Then again, she’d probably stay with the house and the new owner would find they had a satanical cat who now ruled them. I snort aloud at my thoughts.
When I came home, I opened my laptop and did some research on bakeries to buy. There were hardly any in a ready to open condition unless I move miles away, so I looked into shops which I could rent or buy and turn into a bakery. What I quickly realized was that I need money and a fair bit of it. It sunk in while I sat staring at the laptop screen, that the only real source of money I have is this house.
I have to sell it. I don’t want to, but I don’t see how I can achieve my dream without it. If I try to save, it will take me twenty-two years at least.
Yes, I’ve done the calculations.
I have to sell the house.
Chapter Eleven
NOLA
Kato: I’m coming back tomorrow.
I stare at the text. For a moment, I second guess my decision to give him my number. I place my cell on the kitchen table. The screen is facing upwards because I’m not so annoyed that I want to turn it off and I’m curious to see if he will text again after going radio silent all week. It’s Friday night and I’m not sure how I feel about Kato right now. Part of me cannot wait for his return and I know which part that is. There’s another part of me which is scared, because I’m starting to feel real emotions for him and if I look back over my past relationships, of which there weren’t many, I never really had deep feelings for any of them. I protected my h
eart by dating safe, boring guys. Kato is anything but safe and boring. He’s dangerous. He could break my heart with just a snap of his fingers and I don’t want to give him that power. But I feel like I’m falling down a rabbit hole and I’m unable to stop myself.
My cell buzzes again and I pick it up, reading another text from him.
Kato: I want to see you. I’ll come over tomorrow.
I tap my fingers on the table and consider what to do. “Fuck it,” I mutter to myself as I start tapping out a text.
Me: How about you come over and collect me at ten am and we can go to the farmers’ market?
I wait for his reply, not sure if he’ll go for it. I mean, it’s as close to a date as you can get without either of us saying it. There’s no sex to be had at the farmers’ market.
I watch the three little dots move up and down like they’re on a carousel… and wait, then wait some more. They stop. What the fuck? Then they start again.
“Oh, come on,” I growl at the phone. Blanche meows, hisses and swipes my leg. “Piss off, Satan,” I snap at her. Finally, the bubble pops up.
Kato: Sounds good.
“Sounds good? What the hell kind of reply is that and why did it take you so damn long?” I shout at no one. I switch my phone off and drag my ass to the bathroom, taking a shower, which includes me bitching about Kato to myself throughout it. Once I’m out and my body is dry, I blow out my hair enough that I can get into bed. Then, at only nine pm on a Friday night, I crawl into bed.
I’m living Grandma’s best life.
The next morning I’m apprehensive as I wait for Kato to arrive. It’s been a week since we fucked in the office and since then, that scene has replayed in my mind on more than one night. However, it was clearly an angry fuck and I’m not sure where that leaves us. I chastise myself. I chose for us to be nothing more than friends with benefits. I turned down his request for a relationship. I did this.
The knock at the door startles me and I freeze, staring at it like the boogeyman is standing beyond it. Slowly, woodenly, I walk toward the door and open it, only enough to poke my head in the gap. Kato is standing there, in all his glory. A dark pair of jeans with white sneakers and a light grey hoodie. His hands are in his pockets and his face is cleanly shaved, showing off his defined jawline even more. He shares his beautiful smile and chin dimple with me, add to that his caramel eyes and I might as well rip my clothes off and lay across my kitchen table with my legs spread right now. My hand falls from clutching the door and it swings open as I lie against the doorframe, unable to move or speak apparently.
Kato clearly reads me right as his lips twitch. Before I can drag him inside though, he clasps my hand in his. “Come on, let’s get you to the farmers’ market before we spend all day in the house,” he tells me with a wink.
He puts on some music as he drives us toward the farmers’ market, and it’s clear his taste in music is eclectic as it jumps from one genre to another. Then Rose Royce comes on with ‘I Wanna Get Next To You’. I listen as the singer croons about how he wants a particular girl to notice him, he just wants her to take a chance on him. Kato places his hand on mine, entwining our fingers. I listen to the words some more and wonder if he feels this way. Glancing over to him quickly before looking away, I decide there’s no way can he feel the emotions the song describes. The man sitting next to me is assured in everything he does. But as he brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, before laying our joined hands on his thigh, I can’t deny that this is clearly more than sex. Which both excites me and scares the crap out of me.
“So, Chance says you went to culinary school,” Kato says as we wander around the market nearly an hour later. “Is that why you like the farmers’ market? Because fresh produce is better to cook with?” Kato asks, holding up the bags filled with fruits and vegetables. Food which I tried to purchase but he paid for, food which I tried to collect in their bags and carry, but Kato divested me of.
“Fresh produce is better to cook with, and as most of this stuff is dug out of the ground the day before a market, you can’t get much fresher,” I smile, but it drops from my face when I think about culinary school. “I went to culinary school so I could find a job as a chef, but really, my heart lies with baking,” I reply with a sigh.
“You bake?” he stops, pulling me to a stop too. His eyebrows are raised and he appraises me with something I can’t quite work out.
“What?” I question, frowning but smiling at the same time.
He shrugs, “My mom used to bake.”
The mention of his mom makes me realize we never talk about our families. Which in turn makes me realize that although we have known one another for a few months, it’s only been the past few weeks that we’ve actually spoken beyond a few words.
“Tell me about your family,” I order softly, as we turn to continue walking through the market stalls. He grabs my hand in his and I gasp like a silly schoolgirl at the connection. Kato chuckles but immediately starts telling me about his family.
“I never knew my dad, he died before I was born.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” he tells me, squeezing my hand again. “He came over here from Japan as an exchange student and he and mom had a fling,” he shrugs. “Dad went back to Japan before Mom knew she was pregnant. When she found out, she sent him a letter, but about two months later she received a letter from his brother telling her he had died in a boating accident. Sometimes I wonder about him, but there’s nothing I can do about the past and I’m not bitter. It’s not like he was a dick who upped and left us. Anyway, my mom was fantastic,” he states, grinning and showing me the chin dimple. The moment I see it I feel my girls awaken. His eyes drop to my breasts as my nipples salute him.
His grin turns into a broad smile. “We should get back to your place,” his deep voice rumbles, sending chills all over me.
“Why don’t we go to your place?” I ask, thinking about Derrick the chicken to try and get my nipples back under control. “I have stuff to cook with,” I say with a grin, pointing to the bags he’s holding.
“I have somewhere I rent, but it’s a dive,” he says, averting his eyes and I wonder if he’s embarrassed about where he lives.
“Okay, my place it is then,” I reply. I have lots of questions, but I bite them back.
Even though we both know we’re heading back to my place, there’s no expectations of either of us, just a comfort between us, we don’t need to rush to get there.
“Where is you mom now?” I ask as we walk back through the market, heading toward his truck.
“She died four years ago, she had a heart attack,” he explains.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Kato,” I reply, my stomach clenching in pain for him.
He smiles down at me and stops us for just long enough to give me a gentle, family-appropriate kiss.
“Why did your gran bring you up?” he questions as we walk deeper into the market, still making our way toward his truck.
“My mom and dad were high school sweethearts who fell into the drug scene. My mom got clean when she was pregnant with us, but knew she couldn’t hold off long enough to raise us.”
Kato drops my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder, “That’s bullshit,” he states. Then he stops walking. “Us? Your sister is your twin?”
I look up at him. “Yep, I’m six minutes older. I was born at eleven fifty-six pm and she was born at twelve oh-two am. We have different birthdays. Anyway, at least our mom didn’t try to raise us herself. You’ve got to be thankful for small mercies, huh?”
He still hasn’t moved. “I would barely have said you were sisters, but twins. That’s madness.”
I frown at him. “You don’t think we look alike?”
He shakes his head, “No comparison, gorgeous.”
A shiver slides through me and I smile. “We’re not identical,” I clarify stupidly, considering we don’t look that much alike.
He starts
us walking again and I’m very aware of his arm around my shoulder.
“I used to think we were best friends when we were younger,” I explain. “Lately I’ve been asking myself how much of that was actually true. I can remember more of the shit stuff now.”
“Like what?” he gently pries.
“Well, she told me ice cream trucks were driven by clowns, knowing I was scared of them. I refused to go outside when I heard the music and I was so freaked out at the thought of my grandma getting snatched that I wouldn’t let her buy me one either. So, Bryony was the only one who got ice cream. I always wanted to try a screwball from the ice cream truck and still haven’t had one to this day.”
“Then you shall,” he states, steering us to the left and over toward an ice cream truck parked at the side of the market. I smile, but also feel anxious. Even though I’m older now, it doesn’t stop me from remembering my fear of clowns when I look at the truck, but it also excites me that he cares enough to fulfill one of my childhood wishes. It always seemed sad to have to go to the truck and buy myself something, so I never did. Now, with Kato, it’s almost magical. “Here,” he offers, passing me the screwball I didn’t even hear him order.
I smile, feeling a blush tingle on my cheeks. Bringing the treat to my lips, I’m excited to finally have my first taste and I feel like a child again.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, offering apologies with my eyes to the few parents walking by.
Kato bursts out laughing. “Cold?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
I nod, holding my hand over my mouth as I simultaneously try to force the ice down my throat as well as stop the cuss words escaping my lips.
“Mmm hmm,” I mumble through my teeth.
“Come on,” he says with a smile as I dump my icy treat in the trash and narrow my eyes on the ice cream truck.
Cocky Delight: A Hero Club Novel Page 8