by Holly Kerr
Liv leans into the screen until her nose touches it. “Is this really Clay? King of sleeping in with his latest hot girlfriend tucked in beside him?”
“You know I don’t do sleepovers.” At least I didn’t before M.K. I had rarely brought women home to my place because I preferred to sleep alone in my own bed.
Liv grimaces. “Well, no I don’t, but thanks for the information.”
“Well, I might be doing more sleepovers now,” I say with a bigger grin. “I met a girl.”
“You’ve never had trouble meeting girls, Clayton.” Liv sighs. “It’s what you do with them after you meet them that causes the concern.”
“Yes, but this one is special. And don’t tell me they’re all special, because you know that they’re not.”
“Actually, I don’t know anything, because you’ve never called to tell me about a girl before. Or woman. How old is this extra-special female?”
“Twenty-nine.”
Liv picks up her mug. I’m sure it’s tea—weak tea with a generous spoonful of sugar. Her tea drinking began when she and Rance moved to London. Before that, she had a serious coffee addiction. “Ah, the marrying age. I remember when I was that age. All my friends were jealous that Clarence had been so quick about putting the ring on my finger. Good times!”
“You make it sound like it was so long ago.” I begin to measure flour and baking powder, dumping it into the mixing bowl.
“Twenty-nine was a long time ago for me,” she reminds me.
“Forty isn’t that old.”
She leans closer again. “Can’t you see my crow’s feet? All these wrinkles that keep popping up.”
“You’re still as beautiful as the day Clarence brought you home,” I say loyally, my heart giving a tug. I’ll always remember the first day I met her, how my eight-year-old self was in awe of the coltish fifteen-year-old who had taken over the kitchen with her free-spirited beauty.
Liv smiles widely. “And that’s why you’re my favourite brother-in-law.”
“No, it’s because Clyde is an ass,” I say ruefully.
She laughs. I love making a woman laugh. I look at this as the first round of foreplay. But not for Liv because that would be wrong. Very wrong.
“So tell me about her.” I see her settle back into her chair, her mug of tea in her hands. “Does she like your cupcakes?”
I add the vanilla bean, the seeds sprinkling on the flour. “She loves my cupcakes. I’m making some for her now. She owns a patisserie and bakes even better than I do.”
“Well, it’s always nice for a woman to do something better than her man. What’s her name?”
“M.K.” Liv gives a groan of disappointment. “Moira Margaret,” I relent.
“What’s the K stand for, then?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Aren’t you glad I have nothing better to do than to listen?”
Chapter Eleven
M.K.
It takes me two cups of coffee that morning before I start to feel like I’m functioning properly. I’ve always been a morning person, so the early hours of the patisserie never fazed me. But I do need at least seven hours of sleep at night and these days I’m lucky if I average five. I need a day to lie around in bed.
Preferably with Clay.
At least I have Reuben with me this morning, and I make a point of asking him to do most of the kitchen set-up while I sort out the paperwork in the office. If he’s ready to open, I need to be able to trust him to do it. Maybe I’ll give it a try in a couple of weeks.
Once we open, the line of customers is steady, full of smiling couples enjoying the weekend, fathers with young kids bribing them with treats, and the usual older couples stopping in after their morning walk. Despite my tired eyes, I smile and make a point to say a few words to all.
I escape back into the kitchen after a few hours in desperate need of coffee.
“You look a wee bit peaked,” Reuben says, offering me with a warm croissant on a plate.
“What exactly is peaked?” I ask after thanking him for the pastry. I’m not sure if he thinks I should eat, or he wants me to sample the croissant, which he made this morning. In any event, I’m quick to devour it.
“Tired. Hungry. Not yourself,” Reuben explains in his thick accent.
“I do need sleep,” I admit, punctuating the words with a yawn.
“Your new beau keeping you up all hours?” Suddenly Reuben’s expression is one of horror. “I’m not supposed to say things like that, am I?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “We’re all friends here. And you’ve heard Adam digging for details. He’s the worst of them.”
“He’s a fun lad.”
I smile. “I think he’d appreciate the description.”
“Take a moment; we’ve got it covered.”
“Thanks, Reuben.”
I’m still back there, leafing through my macaron recipes when Adam pushes open the door. “Boss Lady, your man is here to see you.”
Wiping my hands on my apron, I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. I had left Clay’s place only a few hours ago, but already it seems like forever. My insides go all melty like a stick of butter does when it’s left too close to the stove when I see him standing at the counter.
“What are you doing here?” My gaze flicks to the customers nestled into the tables dotting the room. Too many for me to sneak a kiss.
But Clay has no such qualms and snakes a hand along my neck to pull me close, dropping a chaste-but-not-chaste kiss on my eager lips. “I missed you.”
“You just saw me.” But I can’t stop the smile from widening. I love how Clay is so open with his feelings and his affections. There’s no brooding, or sulking, or me wondering what’s on his mind. If he has something to say, he says it.
He kind of reminds me of Flora in that extent, but that’s it. The last thing I want to do is date a man who reminds me of my best friend.
“I think I’m allowed to miss you.” That smile. The way it crinkles the skin around his eyes…The naysayer in me says Clay will have so many wrinkles and laugh lines when he’s older but the soft, gooey centre in me loves the way his eyes twinkle when he smiles.
I’ve got it so bad.
“You missed Dean heading out bright and early to hang with your girl,” Clay says, tearing me away from thinking about how his eyes will look when he’s older. “He wouldn’t say much about the lip-lock last night.”
“That’s a gentlemanly thing, but is it bad that I really want him to open up about how he feels about Flora? This has been going on long enough.”
“It’s pretty painful to make us go through this,” Clay agrees.
For my second date with Clay, we spent most of the evening talking about Flora and Dean and their situations that brought them together and then apart. After all, it was the two of them who brought us together.
Since then, we’ve watched things unfold with a detached sense of interest, like the non-fans of Game of Thrones must feel watching the final episodes of the series. Both Clay and I do agree that Flora and Dean have wasted enough time and need to get it together. They’re perfect for each other.
Not as perfect as Clay and I, but pretty close.
Clay moves to the side to let me serve the next customer. When that’s done, Adam brings Clay a dark roast with sugar and a white takeout bag. “I think we can all assume this is on the house.” He winks at me. “Favourite customer and all.”
Clay clutches his chest as he flashed his smile at Adam. “I’m your favourite customer? Aw, thanks, Adam.”
“You should thank the boss lady,” Adam simpers as he skips away.
“I’ll thank the boss lady later tonight,” Clay says, dropping his voice in a way that tickles me to the tips of my toes.
It’s never been this way with a man before. Even with Ben, who I thought I loved more than life itself, I was never this excited with him. Clay makes everything bigger, brighter, better.
I
think I love him.
I know I do.
It’s the only thing we haven’t told each other, and I don’t know what we’re waiting for.
I know what I’m waiting for—for him to say it first. Because no matter how much I can tell Clay cares about me, there’s the little voice in my head that reminds me that Ben cared about me too, and he cheated on me.
Clay peeks in the white bag, not realizing the turmoil in my head. “Pain au chocolat?”
“I don’t think you’ve had one before,” I say. “At least not from me.”
“Do you know,” he begins slowly, “I think I have. My secretary brought me one once.”
“That was nice of her.” Clay has told me all about how Pearl and Rashida run his office life.
“You know what?” Amazement spreads on his face. “This bag. She gave it to me the day you called me. That first time after Dean and Flora met again.”
“Really?”
“It’s like it was fate. Somehow I would have found my way to you, even if it was through your very delicious pastries. It’s like we’re meant to be together.”
I smile. Clay talks about fate sometimes, that we were destined to be together. I don’t like the thought of leaving things to chance, but even I have to admit it was a lucky set of circumstances that brought us together.
Clay glances around to make sure there’s no one behind him in line before he opens the bag and breaks off a piece of pastry. “Fate tastes great.” I laugh, and he leans in to kiss me again. The customer waiting in line beside him smiles indulgently at us. Clay gives him a grin and holds up his bag and coffee. “I’m going to go because you’re busy. And I’m going to eat that in the car. Or maybe when I get to the office. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to make a mess, and I’m not ready to do that in front of you.”
“You can make a mess in front of me.” I laugh.
Clay shakes his head. “Nope. You’re the only one I know who can make a pot of spaghetti sauce without getting a drop on you, so I can’t let you see that side of me yet.”
Clay is joking, but his words jolt me. “I want to see all the sides of you,” I say quietly.
His expression sobers and he sets down his cup to reach for my hand. “You do. I was joking.”
“I know but…is it wrong that I want to know everything about you? It’s not stalking or something, is it?”
Now he lifts my hand and kisses my fingers that still smell like melted sugar. “You do know everything about me. I’m an open book. Now you, my lady of mystery, are a different story.”
As much as I’m trying, I know I’m still holding part of myself back. I’m naturally reserved and prefer to keep things close to my chest. I know that. Flora tells me that at least once a month as she begs me to tell her what’s going on inside of my “inscrutable face.” That’s what she calls it because I can keep a poker face better than anyone I know.
What I don’t tell her, what I can’t, is that I’m afraid if I open up about something small and silly, a whole bunch of other stuff is going to bubble over. Once I start, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop.
“Ask me anything,” I say bravely, knowing that Clay won’t ask me anything difficult, at least not then and there. I know he’s only stopped in on his way to work for a couple of minutes and should be there by now, so there wouldn’t be time to get into anything serious.
There’s a lot I have to tell him, but not now.
“Will you move in with me?”
I snatch my hand away.
Clay
I didn’t mean to ask her then.
I was saving it for tonight. After my stint at the office, I’d planned on heading to the hardware store to get a key cut for M.K. She’s already given me one, but lately we’ve been spending more nights at my place, even with Dean there.
Something about how my bed is a little more comfortable than M.K.’s.
The truth is that it’s not just the bed. M.K. lives in a tiny two-bedroom house that’s nice enough, but there’s a new baby on one side of the wall, and on the other side, they’re building a brand new house. Except for the first night when we baked, I’ve never once been in her house without the sounds of crying, or hammers, and the shouts of the workers seeping through her thin walls. I don’t know how her cats handle the constant noise. I’ve thought more than once about taking them to my place, but besides my allergies, Dean’s not a cat person.
He’s actually frightened of cats; big, strong guy’s legs turn to jelly whenever there’s a cat sniffing at him. It’s pretty funny to watch.
I had an idea in my head about how to ask her tonight—what I would do and how I would ask her. I like grand gestures. If I ever propose—when I ever propose—I’m going to do it right.
So it surprises me that I blurt it out like that.
I can’t read the expression on M.K.’s face. But I hear the quick intake of breath. “You want to live together?” she asks in a quiet voice that makes me nervous.
“We’re together most nights anyway.” Not only does it seem simple to me, I really want her around all the time. I miss her when she’s not there. “We can talk about it tonight,” I concede, hating to see the indecision in her eyes.
“We don’t have to,” M.K. says with conviction. “I think moving in together would work. I’m only trying to figure out where.”
The tangle of nerves in the pit of my stomach suddenly untangles, leaving me sagging with relief, and blocks out the shock that M.K. agreed so quickly. This is M.K., the woman who plans things three days in advance and has lists of pros and cons for every major decision. There’s no way she can make a choice that quickly.
But she just did.
“Really?” I laugh loudly with stunned happiness. “I thought maybe—I should have waited until tonight.”
Her eyes dart around the patisserie. “Maybe. But it’s fine.”
“I should have waited, but you asked if I had anything to ask you, and I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I got excited.” Her smile widens and I know then it’s going to be okay. “Maybe I was nervous.”
“You were nervous asking me to live with you?” she asks.
“Me? No,” I scoff. “Maybe. Maybe a lot. I’ve never done something like this before. From sleepovers to roommates.” I heave a sigh and then another. “It’s a lot.”
“We don’t have to,” M.K. assures me. “We can slow down.”
“I don’t want to.”
And I don’t. It’s only been weeks, but I know in my heart that M.K. is who I want. I want a future with her. A place of our own, a life together. It’s like I’ve unlocked a secret box that is unfolding into infinity with choices and decisions and M.K. at the end.
“Neither do I,” M.K. admits with a shy smile. “But I’m not sure where we’d live,” she muses aloud . “Your place is nice but small and you don’t like my place—”
“It’s not that I don’t like it—”
“Babies and hammering and the cats—”
“I love your cats. They just make me sneeze a bit. But I’m okay with sneezing.”
I love the affection in her eyes. “We’ll buy stock in Claritin. But maybe we should look at finding a new place together?”
For a minute my heart stops. “Buy a place together?” I hadn’t gotten further than thinking about exchanging keys and giving her more drawer space and Dean moving out, not about real estate agents and lawyers, and a binding commitment.
My thoughts must have flown across my face because M.K.’s smile falters. “It’s too soon. Too much.”
“No…” I reach for her hand and the touch of her soft skin centres me. “No, it’s not. It’s just that I never thought of that. Yet. But why not. Neither of our places really work for us. They’re not big enough.”
“But we can make it work.”
“Or we can make something new work. With a really big kitchen.” I see the wheels working in M.K.’s mind, and I know by the time I get to my car, she’
ll have a plan for this etched out. “And a gas stove.”
I know it’ll be a good plan. A solid plan for our future.
I can’t seem to catch my breath. “We can talk about this tonight,” I say, pushing back from the counter. “You need to get back to work.”
She frowns as she glances over her shoulder. I know her business means the world to her, and I’m proud of what she’s accomplished. And she’s done it all on her own.
That thought creates a funny feeling inside, like the first time I saw Dean hit one out of the ballpark. I’m happy and proud but…jealous? I want to be able to do that. Accomplish something on my own.
“I should but I have another minute…” Another glance, and I smile, any residue of envy wiped away.
“Go. We’ll talk tonight.”
I kiss her goodbye, conscious of the customers watching with fond smiles. She’s created something really special, and I can’t help but be proud of her. I kiss her again, and with a wave at Adam grinning from behind the cash register, I leave.
And walk down the sidewalk to Flora’s store. Flowers would be perfect for tonight.
I forgot all about Heather working there until I open the door and see her standing behind the counter with Imogene.
Imogene greets me with a wide smile. “Hello, Clay.”
Heather is not smiling. In fact, her foxlike face is pinched with annoyance. “Clay.”
I regret ever coming up with the idea to buy M.K. flowers.
“Hi.” Still, I turn on the smile, wondering how I can get around this. I need to smooth things over with Heather so she won’t bad-mouth me to Imogene and Flora and do it without leading her on. “Small world, isn’t it? How are you?”
“You’d know if you had texted me back.”
My smile tightens. “I did text you back and told you I wasn’t able to see you anymore.”
“I think there was more than a few you didn’t respond to. I don’t like being treated like that.”
I wince. “About that.” Excuses fly through my mind, but that wouldn’t be fair to M.K. “I did get your texts, but a lot was happening at the same time.” I glance at Imogene who is watching intently, one hand on her belly. “I got her text a minute before I got a call from M.K. The first one.”