by Chelle Bliss
“Ma’am?” His voice is a little deeper than before but every bit as sexy. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Be bold.
I hear Roger’s words echoing in my head. He’s told me more than once it’s time for me to step outside my comfort zone and get back to the way I used to be. Easy for him to say. But being a single woman after years of marriage and trying to traverse the world of dating in this decade isn’t something I’ve found easy.
Go after what you want, Tilly. And right now, I want a dose of tall, dark, and handsome.
“My name’s Chantilly, like the lace.” I can’t wipe the dumb smile off my face because everything about him makes my body sing. “But you can call me Tilly or…you know…” I take a step forward and place my hand on the steel table, batting my eyelashes a little. “Yours works just fine too.”
He looks at me funny, maybe not catching my flirtation or thinking I need a straitjacket and a padded room. Maybe I do. I’m coming on strong, but I’ve never been shy a day in my life. Though, this is way too much even for me.
“Tilly,” he says, preferring that name over the other one, which is fine but not where I was hoping this was headed.
When he drags his hand through his hair, everything clicks. The gold wedding band around his finger glistens in the overhead lighting like a warning beacon for me to keep my distance.
All the good ones are taken or so fucked-up, there’s no one who wants them. Maybe he’s a little of both. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself to make the sting of the hunk being off-limits a little less painful.
It doesn’t help that I’m covered from head to toe in flour, dusted into every crevice. What man in his right mind would even be thinking about me in any sexual way with me looking more like a biscuit than a woman?
“I’m Angelo.” He tips his head, just like a Southern gentleman. “I own Hook & Hustle next door with my sister and two brothers. So, I guess we’re neighbors.” He rubs the back of his neck, staring at my stilettos—which I wish I could wrap around his middle and see if he’s as hard as he looks.
The last time I had sex was over five years ago before my husband left for a short deployment, taking off on a top-secret mission. I thought he’d come back. He always had. I’m not sure I’d even remember how sex worked at this point.
Roger keeps reminding me it’s like riding a bike and not something I’d forget, but I beg to differ.
“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”
I’m almost giddy at the possibility that I’ll have at least a little eye candy to stare at every once in a while. And he said he ran the bar with his brothers, so maybe there’s still hope for me, after all, since he’s clearly taken.
He leans forward, wrapping his thick, strong hands around the ridiculously heavy mixer and lifting the damn thing like it weighs next to nothing.
There’s something so erotic about the way he moves. My eyes are practically glued to his biceps as they flex under the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“You make it look so easy.”
“I have two kids. I’m used to lifting and carrying heavy things.”
Now I’ve seen the ring, and he’s dropped the kids straight into my lap, warning me he’s totally off-limits once again.
Life can be so unfair.
It’s taken me years to get to the point in my life where I feel like I’m ready for a relationship. After Mitchell passed, I never thought I’d ever be interested in another man. Now that I am, the first one to catch my eye in forever is married with kids.
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”
“It was no trouble. I’m always happy to help.”
Gah. He’s so nice and hot. He’s like the perfect combination thrown in my path just to taunt me and my very lonely vagina.
He smacks his hands together, ridding himself of the flour that’s covering every surface in the kitchen, including me.
“The first batch of cupcakes is for you and your kids as a thank you.”
“Don’t go to all that trouble.”
“I insist, Angelo.”
It’s the right thing to do. I was brought up to be kind and thankful for even the smallest of favors. It never hurts to make friends with a strong guy because I know my limits, and that mixer would’ve sat on the floor for fucking ever.
“I better go,” he says, but he’s not moving. He’s just staring at me, and hell, I’m staring at him too.
It’s all I’ve done since he walked through the door. A man like him is meant to be savored. God took a little extra time when he created this one, and he should be enjoyed, even if my thoughts aren’t exactly holy.
“Tilly,” Roger, Mitchell’s older brother, calls out as he walks into the kitchen. “What in the hell happened?” His eyes roam around the kitchen and land on Angelo. “Who are you?”
“Hey, Roger. This is Angelo. The owner of the bar.” My smile’s tight, and I’m praying to God that Roger doesn’t make a scene. He’s known to be a bit overdramatic at times.
“Did you do this?” he asks Angelo like I’m not even in the room.
“Don’t be silly.” I wave Roger’s statement away. “I dropped the mixer, and this very nice man rescued me.”
Roger doesn’t stop staring at Angelo. “I guess I should thank you.” He doesn’t finish the statement because, well, Roger’s a dick.
Roger, although sweet, is a tad overbearing. He’s my husband’s very protective and extremely gay brother. He lords over me like I’m his girl, when he very much prefers someone like Angelo with all the proper equipment.
“Where are my manners?” I take a step between them and place my palm against Roger’s chest, but I keep my eyes locked on my new neighbor. “Angelo, this is my brother-in-law, Roger.”
Angelo’s eye ticks. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back to the bar.” Angelo turns his gaze to me, but he’s not looking at me like I’m the frosting on his favorite treat. “Let me know if you need anything, Tilly. One of us is always around, but it looks like Roger can handle whatever you need.”
What I need is to get laid, and Roger most certainly cannot handle that. He told me he once had sex with a woman. It ended with him in tears, heaving because he had a hair lodged in the back of his throat. It’s funny because that isn’t exclusive to pussy, but the man was clearly traumatized over the event.
“Thanks!” I yell as Angelo practically runs out of the kitchen like he has fire ants biting his ass.
“Damn it,” I groan, slapping Roger in the chest with the back of my hand. “You have the worst timing.”
“Him?” Roger pitches his thumb over his shoulder where the swinging door is still swishing back and forth from Angelo’s quick departure. “That’s the type of guy you want?”
Oh, you mean sexy as fuck and strong to boot?
“No,” I sigh. “He’s married and has kids.”
“Well then, what’s the problem? Jesus, doll, you’re a mess.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” I start to laugh at the stupidity of the entire situation. Here I was finally stepping outside my comfort zone, coming on way too strong just like Roger had coached me, and the fucking guy is married.
To top it all off, I’m covered in flour and a complete hot mess. I wasn’t even on my A game if he were single, and any chance I had at landing a hunk like that went right out the window.
“Wait, how did you drop that mixer?”
Somehow, I do the craziest shit when I’m pissed off, including tipping over an entire table because I’m a dumbass who thought it didn’t need to be secured to the floor.
“Don’t ask.” I clear my throat. “You don’t want to know.”
Roger laughs and just shakes his head. “Til, if I were straight…”
“We still wouldn’t happen,” I remind him.
If Roger were straight, I’d crush on him hard. He’s so much like Mitchell. Tough, protective, intense, and
there’s sweetness at his core. Even if he liked pussy, I could never look at him as anything more than a big brother. Sleeping with my husband’s brother would just be…well, gross and wrong on so many levels.
I finally look down and survey the damage. There’s not a patch of skin or clothes that’s not covered in flour dust. It’s going to take more than one shampoo to pull myself into any type of presentable. “I need a shower and a stiff drink.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll take you out for drinks. This is going to be a busy week, and you need to relax a little.”
Relax? I haven’t relaxed since the moment I sank every dollar I had left to my name into making my dream of owning a bakery a reality. The life insurance money from Mitchell’s death made the entire thing possible, and if it fails, a small piece of him will die all over again.
“I know just the place.” I waggle my eyebrows.
Hours later and an entire bottle of shampoo down, Roger and I walk into Hook & Hustle. The sun’s just starting to set in the city, creating the most magnificent shadows on the sidewalks of the old neighborhood. The pavement is covered with a fresh sheet of snow, sparkling like a million little diamonds from the overhead lights lining the street.
“Well,” Roger says as soon as we step inside the bar. “It’s not upscale.”
The man’s all about things being nice, and he prefers to hang out on the North Side or in Boys Town, neither of which has ever been my cup of tea.
Hook & Hustle is the quintessential neighborhood bar. Dark and warm, brimming with people and lively conversation.
“I have a good feeling about this place.” I spot an empty booth and grab his hand. “Come on, stick in the mud. Try to have a little fun tonight. Maybe smile a little bit. Never know, you may find the love of your life in here.”
We slide into the booth, and Roger glances around. “Doesn’t look like there’s a gay man in the place, Til. Look at them.” He waves his hand in the direction of the customers sitting around the bar. “What do you see?”
I study them, taking in their flannel shirts and casual clothing, the exact opposite of Roger and me. “I see possibility.” I give him a wink.
Roger’s lips purse. “I see blue-collar straight men and nothing else.”
“Exactly.” I smile. “This night is about me, not you.”
“What can I get ya?” a woman asks, holding no less than six empty beer bottles in her hands.
“Tequila on the rocks, no salt.”
Roger dips his head, knowing I’m about to turn it up a notch or make a scene before the night’s through. “What type of craft beers do you have on tap?”
She rattles off a list before Roger finally makes his selection. The man is beyond picky.
“Beer is beer,” I tell him as soon as she walks away. “For fuck’s sake, you make everything so complicated.”
“I don’t put trash in my mouth, doll. That goes for beer and cocks.”
I stare across the table at Roger and smirk. “What about Harvey?”
He winces, hating to be reminded of the time he slummed it for about a month with a roughneck welder from the South Side. “He was a lapse in judgment.” Roger taps his fingers against the table as he glances out the window, avoiding all eye contact and putting an end to our Harvey conversation. He’s so finicky when it comes to men.
Between my inability to move on after his brother and his weirdo obsession with finding the perfect creature, we’re both doomed to be single forever.
“Tequila on the rocks, no salt,” the waitress says as she places my drink on the table before turning her attention toward Roger. “And your beer.”
“Is Angelo here?” I blurt out before she has a chance to walk away.
“He left. He works the day shift mostly.”
“Makes sense with the wife and kids.” Roger lifts the beer toward his lips, eyeing me over the rim. He likes to twist the knife, knowing I’m pining over someone I can’t have.
Maybe that’s why I like Angelo.
He’s unavailable.
Kind of like my heart.
“No wife,” the woman tells us. “She passed a few years back from cancer, but my niece and nephew need their daddy at night.”
My eyes widen, and there’s an ache deep in my chest, knowing the amount of pain Angelo must’ve endured. “I’m so sorry.”
“Life’s a bitch, right?”
“I’m Tilly.” I hold out my hand. “I’m opening the cupcake shop next door. I met Angelo earlier, and he told me he ran the bar with his siblings.”
“Daphne.” She shakes my hand. “Our brother Lucio is around here somewhere, but Vinnie’s away at college, so you’ll barely see him.”
She is absolutely beautiful, just like her brother. The genes in this family run deep.
“My parents live above the bar, so even if we’re closed, don’t hesitate to knock if you need something.”
“How quaint,” Roger murmurs against his glass.
“Need anything else?” She eyes Roger and the sweater he has draped over his shoulders like he just walked out of the latest issue of GQ.
“We’re good, Daphne. Thanks.”
As soon as we’re alone, Roger gives me a look.
“What?” I shrug.
“He’s single.”
“He’s widowed,” I remind him. “There’s a difference.”
Being single by choice makes dating easier than being robbed of love.
“So are you,” he reminds me.
Like I could’ve forgotten. But Mitchell’s death is always there, hanging over my shoulders just like Roger’s ridiculous sweater.
“He still wears his ring.”
Roger raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“He’s not ready.” I shake my head.
It took me years before I could remove my wedding band after Mitchell died. I sobbed the day I finally tucked it away for safekeeping, trying to put my past behind me so I could move forward. I felt like I was betraying his memory, but it was my first step in the rest of my life.
Although Mitchell had taken his last breath, I still had a life to live even if I couldn’t imagine going on without him.
4
Angelo
“The cupcake chick was looking for you last night.” Daphne gives me a shitty smirk from across the dinner table.
“Cupcake chick?” Ma asks, glancing between the two of us and giving Daphne the reaction she wanted.
“You know, Ma. The new store opening next to the bar.” Daphne’s still staring at me, wanting to open a can of worms that isn’t even there. “She asked for you.”
“Daphne, don’t make it something it isn’t.”
“She looks mighty sweet too,” she adds, twisting that knife a little deeper in my gut.
“Is she single?” my ma asks.
“Stop,” I growl.
These two are always willing to cook up some scheme if it involves me finding a new wife.
“I don’t know. She was in the bar with some guy.”
“Roger,” I grumble.
Daphne gasps. “I knew you were interested.”
I stab at the overcooked potato, ignoring my sister’s comment because I don’t know what the hell I am. I wouldn’t say I was interested. I met her for a total of five minutes, and I probably wouldn’t recognize her if I walked by her on the street and she wasn’t covered in flour.
“She needed help, and I was just being kind.”
Daphne eyes me. “Mm-hm.”
I lean back, placing my fork on my plate, and stare my sister down. “Don’t get any ideas in that hormonal brain of yours.”
“It’s time.”
“I agree with your sister.” Ma’s trying to outvote me on something neither of them has any say in.
“What’s wrong?” Lucio asks, finally getting his head out of his ass to save me.
“Your brother met a girl.” Ma overstates what really happened, which is usually the case.
The entire ta
ble of people goes quiet and turns in my direction. There’s nothing I hate more in life than being the center of attention.
“That’s fabulous news.” Delilah claps her hands, way too enthusiastic for me.
“I haven’t met anyone. Jesus.” I push back from the table, about to stalk out of the room, when Lucio grabs my arm.
“Sit,” Lucio tells me as he narrows his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy.”
For a moment, I think about punching him in the face, but I decide to act like a grown-up and sit back down. “Are you taking my side?”
“There are no sides. Everyone around this table wants the best for you. Now, what’s going on?” He pats my arm before he finally releases me.
I take a deep breath and crack my neck, trying to relieve some of the stress that’s always weighing on my shoulders. “Honestly?”
He nods.
“Nothing. The lady next door dropped something, and I helped her pick it up. That’s all.”
“Is she cute?” he asks.
“She’s all right.” I’m lying. From the little bit I could see underneath all that flour, she was cute as fuck.
“Hmm.” He rubs the scruff on his chin. “So, just okay?”
Daphne rolls her eyes. “Lame.”
“She was covered head to toe in flour, but from what I could see, she wasn’t bad-looking.”
“Oh, she’s cute, all right,” Daphne chimes in. “She’s just your type.”
I grind my teeth together. “I don’t have a type.”
“You’re so precious.” The shitty smirk’s back on Daphne’s face. “You most certainly do have a type.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” I lean back, sliding my arm behind my mother’s chair, and wait for Daphne to impart her wisdom to the entire family. She thinks she knows everything about me, but she’s wrong.
Daphne pushes her plate forward and gives herself a little room. “Well…” She waves her hand. “You like your ladies more on the adorable, innocent-looking side than the sex-kitten type.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ma mumbles.
“You want the type that looks like they can teach Sunday school.”