by Freya Barker
“You have a way with kids,” I observe. “Makes me wonder why you don’t have any of your own yet.” I figure I’ve said something wrong when I catch the brief clench of his jaw. Putting a hand on his arm, I quickly add, “That sounded like I was prying. I didn’t mean to.”
His gaze turns to me, and although his mouth smiles, the shadow is not quite gone from his eyes.
“I didn’t think you were prying, but that’s a subject for another day.”
“So noted.” His response is not a brush off, but it makes me even more curious.
“We were talking about Flynn,” he gently prompts.
“Yes, if you are sure you don’t have anything better to do than look after a toddler, it would help out tremendously.”
“Consider it done. I’ll just grab her seat from your car. She can come with me to pick up my stuff from the fleabag motel I stayed at last night. I’ll find something closer by.”
There’s a lot of information in that statement, but I’m guessing that’s probably a subject for another day as well.
“You can take the spare room at Mom’s. I’ll bunk with Peanut.”
Matt
Flynn chatters all the way to the Golden Gate Motel.
She had me in a puddle earlier, when she woke up, rubbed her eyes, and spotted me. Her little face split open in a smile so bright, I thought someone had turned on all the lights.
I don’t understand half of what she says, but find she’s satisfied with my occasional grunt by way of response.
Parking in front of the dusty motel office, I lift her from her seat and carry her inside, perching her on my hip. The woman behind the desk looks at Flynn suspiciously and fries me with a nasty glare, when I tell her I'll be checking out right away. I'm positive she's already on the phone with the cops by the time I get to my room. It takes me two minutes to throw my stuff in the bag, toss it into the back, and strap a surprisingly pliant Flynn back into her seat.
Best to make tracks, the last thing we need today is for me to get pulled over by the local yokels with someone else's little girl in my back seat.
-
“You must be Matt,” the gray-haired woman sitting at the kitchen table says, cool as a cucumber.
Never mind I just let myself into her house with the key Tana handed to me, along with directions.
Convinced I didn’t have law enforcement on my tail, I ended up stopping at a diner to get some food into Flynn and myself before taking her home.
“Gramma!” the little girl squeals in my arms, and the woman’s face brightens with a smile. She gets up and walks toward me.
“I’m sorry, Tana gave me—”
“Hush,” she admonishes, holding out her arms for Flynn, who easily lets herself be transferred. “Montana mentioned you’d show up here. She went to the bakery and dropped me off so I could grab a few things. They’ve taken Max back to run a few tests. That’s my husband—Tana’s father.” I nod my understanding.
“How is he?” I ask, following her into the kitchen where she sits back down at the table. With practiced ease, she peels the toddler from her snowsuit and with a kiss pressed to the top of her head, sets Flynn down on the floor. The toddler heads straight over to the living room, where a collection of toys is strewn over the floor.
"Sit," she orders, pointing at a chair, before answering with a sigh, "As well as can be expected, I guess. They're checking to see the extent of damage to his heart muscle. If this, whatever the hell test it is, comes back okay, he may be able to come home on Monday. Just in time for me to kick his ass for Christmas." Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me and I let out the snort of laughter I was trying to hold back. I think I'm going to like Mrs. Romer. "You laugh, but I'm not kidding. That man is too stubborn for his own good. He should've been more careful, especially after he got his last warning, and he deserves every kind of abuse I plan for him."
I’d almost be worried for the man if I didn’t see the worry on her face and the sheen of tears in her eyes. I’m not sure how to respond. Saying I’ll keep my fingers crossed seems hardly appropriate for the occasion. So instead I repeat my earlier, “I’m sorry.”
“Never you mind me.” Mrs. Romer waves her hand before pushing herself up out of the chair. “Let me show you the bedroom upstairs, and then I’ll be heading back to the hospital.”
“No need. I’m sure I can find my way,” I assure her. “And thank you for putting me up. I could have easily grabbed a hotel, but—”
“Nonsense. I put clean sheets on the bed before Tana got here... My God, that was just last night.”
I watch as she almost distractedly shrugs on the winter coat that was tossed over the back of a chair. “Mrs. Romer? How are you getting to the hospital?”
“Driving. My car is in the garage.”
Before she has a chance to object, I have my jacket zipped up again, and hoist Flynn in her snow outfit.
“Come on—I’ll drive you.”
She doesn’t say a word until I pull out of the driveway.
“Thank you, Matt.”
“No problem.”
“You’re a keeper.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tana
“Coffee?”
I almost jump out of my skin when I walk into the kitchen. I haven’t had much sleep since finally rolling into bed at eleven last night. Four hours at most.
“Jesus, you scared me.” Matt—whom I did not expect to see in my mother’s kitchen at three in the morning—grins as he slides a travel mug across the counter toward me. “What are you doing up?”
He shrugs, taking a sip of his own brew. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“How come?”
I watch him set down his coffee and, with his eyes on me, round the counter. “Because,” he says in a low voice, as he wraps me tight in his arms. “You were sleeping on the wrong side of the wall.”
I didn’t get home last night until almost ten, after Mom finally kicked me out of Dad’s hospital room. That’s where I ended up straight after finishing up at the bakery. I’d called Matt, who assured me Flynn was fine—already tucked in bed after the chaotic day—and suggested I go see my parents. He’d been waiting for me with a glass of wine when I got in, and when I started dozing off, he shooed me off to cuddle up with Flynn. I don’t think my head quite made it to the pillow before I fell asleep, my daughter’s warm body tucked close.
Matt, who’s been an absolute godsend looking after my Peanut, is also looking out for me. I tighten my arms around him, absorbing his calm confidence for what is sure to be a frantic day ahead.
His hand tags my ponytail, pulling my head back. His kiss is sweet, soothing, and I moan in his mouth. A long soak in the tub is usually my method of relaxation, but it doesn’t even come close to the limp noodle effect his kiss has. I actually whimper when he releases my lips, making him chuckle.
“Come on, woman, those yule logs won’t bake themselves.”
I growl, not looking forward to making the sixty-something yule logs before noon today. It’s Dad’s prized recipe, involving white chocolate and amaretto, and has become quite popular. It’s one of my favorite cakes too, but I’m not so sure I’ll feel that way tonight.
The chaos in my head is back the moment I get behind the wheel. Traditionally the Saturday before Christmas is, without fail, the busiest day of the year at the bakery. The thought my father won’t be there to wave his scepter—as he’s done faithfully for the past almost fifty years—is more than unsettling. It’s terrifying.
Pete and the new guy are already up to their elbows in batter when I walk in. “Morning.”
Both heads turn and echo back, “Morning.”
“How’s the old man?” Pete asks and I grin. Pete’s almost as old as Dad.
“He was sleeping when I got there last night, but Mom tells me apparently the damage to the heart was moderate. Whatever the hell that means. The cardiologist made it abundantly clear; he’ll need to make some serious lifestyle changes.”
“What will happen to the bakery?” the new guy, Paul, asks.
The store staff’s been having a heyday teasing these two: Peter and Paul. Pete lets it roll off his back, like he does most things, but Paul hasn’t quite found his place yet and is clearly not used to a bunch of women ribbing him. His insecurity shows in the question.
“Well, I’m pretty sure my dad would rise like Lazarus at any discussion around selling. I know him well enough to know he’ll want to keep Romer’s Bakery on the store window at all cost.” With my apron tied and my hair tucked in a hairnet, I slide the first massive jelly roll tray of cake toward me and start drizzling it with amaretto. “The best solution, for now, would be to find someone with both business expertise and baking skills, who can manage both the store and the kitchen.”
I’m so focused on what my hands are doing, I don’t notice the men have fallen silent at first. When I look up they’re both looking at me.
“What?”
“You know you just described yourself, yeah?”
I shake my head at the observation. “Not happening, Pete. I have a business that is on the cusp of expanding nationwide. I’ve built a life in the Boston area. I have a child. This place is my father’s life. He never wanted anything else. I don’t want to take over his dream, I never did. I’ve worked hard for long years so I could live my own dream.”
When he’s quiet for a moment, I fully expect him to come back swinging. He’s never made it a secret he thought I was crazy for heading out on my own.
“You know old Max is crazy proud of you—of what you’ve built—right?”
His words throw me for a loop. I know Dad loves me to distraction, but he’s never come out and said anything about being proud. I always thought he was still disappointed I wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps, especially after some of the doozies we had arguing when I was younger. Oh, he asks about Best Bites, but never does much more than nod and grunt.
I don’t bother with a response, I’m sure the stunned look on my face says enough.
-
“Mommy!”
I’m covered in icing and powdered sugar, putting the finishing touches on the final ten logs, when Flynn comes toddling in from the back of the store.
“Hey, Peanut.” I smile, lifting her up in my arms and twirling her around.
“Cake?” Her eyes are big as she zooms in on the huge counter covered in yule logs.
“That’s grown-up cake, but I’m sure we can find you something you can have after you eat lunch.”
“We just had lunch.” Matt’s deep voice sounds behind me, just as Flynn’s sharp eyes spot a dollop of icing clinging to my arm. Before I can stop her, she’s scooped it up with her deft little fingers that immediately disappear in her mouth. “Apparently not enough,” he adds dryly.
I lift my gaze and meet his warm brown eyes, sparkling with amusement. “Here...” Grinning, I hand her off to him, “...Let me clean up before she makes a meal out of me.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the swift, familiar way Matt handles my daughter, perching her easily on his hip with one hand, while grabbing her sticky one with the other before she can get icing all over him. Tearing myself from the domestic picture they make, I head for the large sink at the back, and clean up as best I can, before returning with a wet cloth for Flynn’s hand.
“Hi.” I’m not sure why I suddenly sound like a starstruck teenager.
“Hello yourself,” Matt grins down at me, holding up a bag from Northern Waters Smokehaus at the base of Minnesota Avenue on the point. “Did you know your daughter loves pickles? She ate two massive ones along with a bit of smoked salmon.” He shivers, making me chuckle.
“I gather you don’t share her tastes?”
“Loved the salmon, but whoever came up with the outrageous idea to stick cucumbers in vinegar should be committed. According to your daughter, you love those abominations too, so I had them stick two in with your sandwich as well. I’m going to seriously have to reconsider kissing you,” he rants, and I laugh out loud when he twists his face in a disgusted grimace.
“You’d better kiss me before I eat then,” I tease, amazed at the way his eyes instantly radiate heat as he lowers his head.
With his lips on mine, I easily forget where I am, until I hear Pete clear his throat behind me.
“And who might this be?”
Matt
If I didn’t know Tana’s Dad was hooked up to machines in the hospital, I’d have bet the old man standing behind her, with a grim scowl on his face, was her father.
“Pete—right,” Tana mutters cutely, a blush on her face. “Matt, this is Pete Renshaw, he’s worked here almost since my parents took over the bakery. Pete,” she pointedly says to the guy. “This is Matt Savela. He’s my...um...”
“Boyfriend,” I finish for her, sticking out my hand. I pretend not to notice the roll of her eyes, or the hostile vibe I get from Pete, who finally clasps my hand in a death grip.
Without moving his glare from me, he addresses Tana. “Is your father aware you have a boyfriend?” There’s no mistaking the disdain in his voice.
“Pete!” Tana admonishes. “I’m a forty-four-year-old single mother. I’ve stood on my own two feet for a few decades now. I think I can handle my own love life, thank you very much.”
The ensuing stare-off between the two is downright uncomfortable and even Flynn starts wiggling in my arms.
“Right,” I decide to break the tension. “Now that’s out of the way, Tana, you need to eat something. I doubt you’ve stopped for food at any point. And Pete, I came to see if I can lend a hand with anything. I’m sure you can set me up.”
Five minutes later, Tana is holed up in the small office, eating lunch and being entertained with the little one’s happy chatter, and I have been relegated to the large sink with a trolley full of caked-on baking trays, giant mixing bowls, and an assortment of kitchen utensils. Fun. Pete is guffawing over by the ovens with the other guy, who was introduced to me as Paul.
I try hard to ignore them as I go to work. It’s not like I’ve never done kitchen clean up before.
“Where’s Flynn?” I ask Tana when I stack the last of the clean baking trays on the rack.
“Asleep on a pile of coats on the floor in the office. She almost dozed off with her face in the kolache she was helping me fill.”
“I need another tray of challah,” one of the girls working in the store calls out, sticking her head in the door.
“I’ll get it,” I tell Tana, who starts wiping her hands on her apron.
The productivity in this kitchen is crazy. Almost as fast as the two guys were putting trays of baked goods in the cooling rack, they disappeared into the store.
Grabbing a sheet with the shiny braided loaves of bread, I walk into the store, which is even busier than when I walked through a few hours ago. Two young girls and an older woman are behind the counter. The girls helping customers while the woman mans the single cash register.
“Stack them on the empty shelf above the dinner rolls,” she calls out when she spots me. “Make it look pretty.”
I have no idea what constitutes pretty, unless it comes with lush lips and a bodacious ass, but can certainly try. With a nod, I turn to the shelf and start stacking the loaves.
“Pretty enough?” I ask, catching the woman’s eye; she then proceeds to roam up and down my body.
“It is from where I’m standing,” she flirts with a wink. The two young girls snicker. “Always knew Tana had good taste. The name’s Cheryl. I’d shake your hand but I’ve been handling bills all day and you never know where those’ve been.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I crack a smile. She’s a character.
“Nice to meet you, Cheryl, I’m Matt.”
“Oh, honey, I know,” she says, before turning to her next customer.
/> I’m still grinning when I walk into the kitchen.
“What’s funny?”
I put my arm around Tana’s neck and pull her toward me, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I think I was just eye-mauled by your staff. That woman scares me a little.”
“Cheryl?” She snorts a laugh. “All bark but no bite. The fact you’re still breathing tells me you meet her approval.”
“Good to know.” I eye the single tray of pastries she has left to fill. “How much longer to finish that?”
“The kolache? Maybe five minutes, why?”
“How about you call it a day after that? Take Flynn and go see your parents. Kids are allowed in the Cardiology Department.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I called this morning. Managed to get your mother on the phone, who says your father is doing well, but wants to see his girls.”
I watch as her eyes mist over. “You are so earning brownie points,” she teases through the emotion on her face. “But I can’t leave. Sugar cookies are next, and even though no one handles a piping bag like Mom, I’m the only one who’ll do a half decent job.”
“I guess my reputation hasn’t reached Boston yet,” I joke. “I’m a master with a decorating tip.” I hear the two men snort behind me, and clearly, Tana is not buying into it. Don’t blame them, my only experience with decorating is when Dino, our chef at the restaurant, asks me to help him plate. I do a mean mashed potato rosette or dressing drizzle, though. How hard can it be?
“He’s right. You should get out of here.” Pete unexpectedly comes to my aid. “Take your girl and get out of here. Tell the old man to get his ass better, we’ll manage with the boy.”
The boy, clearly is a slight at me, but I don’t give a fuck as long as Tana gets a break.
It takes a few more minutes of reassuring her before she capitulates, but she shows her gratitude with a big hug for Pete and a whispered promise in my ear for ‘later.’
Pete turns to me with a grin when the door closes behind them. “Gonna put you to work, boy.”