“There was an … incident.” He grinned. “But I’m on top of it.”
The weird thing was, if Finn had done the same thing, (which he had on numerous occasions, the ancient mixer could be a bit temperamental), I would have lost my shit. But Cole standing there trying to look tough while completely coated in flour, made a giggle rise up inside me. I tried to hold it in, but that only made me want to laugh harder. I clamped my hands over my mouth, just as a great snort-laugh escaped between my fingers.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Cole growled, and his tone was so serious that it only made me laugh harder. I fell against the bench, gasping for breath as I clutched my stomach. I bent over, laughing so hard that tears sprung in my eyes and my breath came out in a giant wheeze.
“That’s it, if you think this is funny, then you try looking like an abominable snowman.” Cole grabbed a handful of flour from the open sack on the bench and lobbed it at me. But flour, of course, doesn’t stick together like snow. A giant cloud of white puffed out across the kitchen, coating Cole and the benches and floor, while miraculously managing to completely miss me.
“Nice try, Casper.” I dodged out of the way as Cole lunged at me. With his injured leg, he was slow enough that I managed to duck around him. But now my back was pressed against the bench at one end of the kitchen. There was nowhere else for me to go. Cole grinned as he shoved his hand in the bag again and drew out another fistful of flour.
“Come back here, Belinda. Come back here so I can give you a big hug!” Cole held his arms out wide and dived at me. I yelped and ducked, trying to go under him, but he used his good leg to trap me. He threw his arms around me and lifted me off the ground, his warm body enveloping mine in an enormous bear hug. Or bird hug.
“Argh, stop it!” I yelped, as Cole reached up and rubbed the flour through my hairnet, smearing it all down my cheeks and over my shoulders. As I reached up to slap him away, he grabbed me under the arms and picked me up, pushing me back so I was sitting on the bench, legs open around him, our faces just inches apart.
All thoughts of struggling fled from my mind, along with the voice that was screaming at me that this was a bad idea. I became aware of just how close we were, my breasts were nearly touching his chest, his crotch was only an inch from mine. All I could see, all I could feel, was Cole, the warmth of his body, his eyes boring into mine ...
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. His lips dangerously close to mine. His breath tickled my skin.
“Hey,” I whispered back. My heart hammered against my chest. The blood rushed in my ears. Please, kiss me ...
I heard a crash behind me. Cole leapt back, and I bit my lip and jumped so high my head hit the shelf above and knocked off a stack of cake pans. They clattered against the flour-covered floor. The door to the kitchen slammed back against its hinges. I looked up, my heart pounding and the taste of blood in my mouth.
Thankfully, it wasn’t the health inspector. It was only Finn, arriving to work forty-five minutes late, of course.
“This place is insane. What did you do? You always yell at me when I make a mess,” he pouted.
“Yeah,” I gasped, holding my chest as my heart rate returned to normal. I slid off the bench and tried in vain to dust off the front of my shirt. My face hurt from all the blushing. “I do.”
“Hey, who’s that?” Finn jabbed an accusatory finger at Cole.
“He’s … your replacement.” I said, another wild idea suddenly occurred to me.
“What the fuck?”
“Hey, watch your language around a lady,” Cole piped up, his muscular arms crossed over his white body.
“I’m sorry, Finn.” As I said the words, I realised they were a lie. I wasn’t sorry at all. A rush of relief flooded through me. I’d been so desperate for the help that I’d kept Finn on for weeks and weeks, but all his presence did was stress me out. And having Cole here made me realise that I didn’t need Finn, he was only making things worse. I would find a way to manage, somehow.
“You can’t just replace me.” Finn snapped. “My stepfather is a lawyer. He’ll be on your arse so fast you’ll never sell another Eccles cake again.”
That made me shudder. I had heard Finn tell stories about his stepfather, and how he took great pride in crushing his opponents. I couldn’t afford to be crushed. Maybe I’ve made a huge mistake—
Cole stepped forward, his body lurching slightly as he put weight on his injured leg. His bulky frame towered over Finn, his broad shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe. “Are you threatening Belinda, you little punk?”
Finn gave a little squeak.
Cole grabbed Finn by the collar and pulled him up, slamming his back against the wall. Finn’s face had gone bone white. “Listen to me very carefully.” Cole said, his voice calm, conversational, as if he were discussing the latest cricket match. He leaned right in close, so their noses were practically touching. “This bakery is Belinda’s life, and for some reason, she gave your little punk arse a chance. You show up late, and you have no aptitude for baking. So she’s well within her rights to get rid of you. I would have had you out on the street on the first day if you behaved like that, but Belinda is too nice, so she lets you stay and keeps paying you even though you’re worth sweet Fanny Adams to her bottom line. And now, you want to take her to court for finally wising up? If anything, she should be the one suing you. But you’re lucky, because this new arrangement works out well for you. Now you don’t have to get up at four in the morning, and you get to go back to planning dairy robberies or beat boxing or whatever it is you do with your sorry life. This is a win-win, got it? And don’t let my rakish charms fool you, I’m pretty well connected in this town. I have friends who could make your life hell. So we’re done here, aren’t we?”
Finn nodded vigorously. Cole let him down. With a terrified glance over at me, Finn turned on his heel and bolted from the shop as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him.
As soon as he’d gone, the reality of what I’d done hit me. Finn was the last of my staff; he may have been useless, but at least with him around, I could take the occasional break. Without him, I was completely on my own. I was already working eighty-hour weeks, and it still wasn’t enough to get everything done. My legs felt wobbly, my resolve crumbling around me like an overcooked Victoria sponge. I slumped down, leaning my back against the cool metal of the mixer, and buried my face in my hands.
“You don’t need him,” Cole said from the doorway.
“I kind of do, though.” I mumbled through my fingers. “I have to do it all on my own. I can’t do it, it’s too much.”
My whole body shook. A lump rose in my throat. Any second now I was going to start crying, and then it was over. I was going to start crying, and it was going to be one of those big, painful cries that comes from your belly and makes your face splotchy and snot pour from every orifice. And the last thing I wanted to do was break down like that in front of Cole. I sucked in a deep breath, and then another. Please, keep it together. Just excuse yourself and run upstairs—
“Nightingale, what’s wrong?”
Fuck. I was gone. My tears spilled over and my whole body juddered with the force of my sob. I jammed my palms into my eyes and cried as silently as I could into them, feeling the tears and the snot run down my face and mingle with the flour, creating a gluggy, sticky mess. And to think a few moments ago I was hoping this guy would kiss me. Not a chance now. I really am a hot mess.
Why can’t I do anything right? Why do I have to fail at everything? Why can’t I make this work on my own?
Cole slid down beside me. Rough hands grabbed my wrists and prised them away from my eyes. I turned away from him, not wanting him to see me like this, but he said sternly. “Belinda, look at me.”
“I can’t. I—” I turned back to him. Cole stared at me with those intense eyes, his face unwavering. He squeezed my wrists.
“I don’t know what all this is about, but you don’t have to worry. You’re not alo
ne. You have me now. I’m a fast learner.”
I snorted, blowing snot through my flour-caked nose. “Your rakish good charms aren’t much good in here, either, you know. You just coated my entire kitchen in flour. We don’t even have the loaves in the oven yet. It’s a disaster. It’s all falling apart. I’ll never get everything done on time.”
“Don’t you have other staff? I’m sure they could pick up the slack a little—”
“There’s no one else!” I sobbed. “I couldn’t afford to pay them. I can’t even afford to pay you. Hell, I can’t even afford all this flour.”
Cole grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands off my face. “You’re serious?”
I nodded miserably.
“Come here,” Cole pulled me close to him. I fought him at first, not wanting to get close when I was such a mess. We tugged against each other for a few moments, but he won, and I collapsed against him. His hands on my back felt strong, reassuring.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “We’re gonna go upstairs, wash our faces off, and get to work. We’re going to get the bread in the oven and whatever else you need, and if anyone complains about it being a few minutes late, then they can answer to me, OK?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“I will be here all day, in my beautiful new duds, to do whatever it is you need. And then, after all the work is finished, I am taking you out.” I started to protest, but he held a finger over my lips. “No arguments. We’re gonna hit the town, you’re gonna let your hair down for a night, and then you will tell me why a woman who makes the best goddamned cake I’ve ever tasted is flat broke. And we will try to figure out a solution, because I bet there is one, but you’re just too tired and stressed to see it.”
“But … I don’t even know you. Why are you—”
“Right now you know all you need to know about me,” Cole said. “I’m the raven. I’ll tell you tonight, a secret for a secret, OK?”
I nodded.
“And I know all I need to know about you, Belinda. You’re the woman who saves injured birds and refuses to ask anyone for help. That’s enough to get us through today, and then, tonight, we can share the rest of our secrets, OK?”
Woah. That was pretty intense. I sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s OK.”
With Cole in the kitchen being sensible, we kneaded the bread and fitted it into the baking pans in record time. By the time I turned the oven on, we were only running fifteen minutes behind schedule. At 5am my deliveries started to arrive, and Cole unloaded them with ease, lifting the heavy bags of flour and packages of meat as though they were filled with feathers. I was left with more time than usual to do all the finishing work, and I was even able to whip up a special batch of orange and poppyseed muffins. Cole quickly picked up all the tasks I gave him, and he even suggested we add a little smoked paprika to the Cornish pasties, which gave the whole kitchen a wonderful, rich, spicy aroma.
Out front, I arranged the cakes and slices in the cabinet while Cole flipped over the sign and wiped down the tables. I stood back and admired the empty shop. It was the first time in months I’d actually been able to take a breath and appreciate what I’d created. I loved the Bewitching Bites decor, with all the kitschy occult art on the walls and the 80s and 90s board games I had placed on the centres of the tables. I loved the little witch that sat beside the till and the stacks of flyers for local metal bands and poetry readings lined up along the windowsill.
“We did it, Nightingale.” Cole whispered in my ear. I blushed at the nickname, all the hairs on my neck standing on end as his breath brushed over them.
“That was almost fun,” I said, which was another lie. It had been fun. The bakery hadn’t been fun in a long time. But now, staring at the cute wooden tables and mismatched vintage chairs, and the glass counter bursting with delicious treats, I actually felt excited again. This was my dream, and even though it was hard now, it was really happening.
I went to teach Cole how to run the coffee machine, but he brushed me off. “I’ve been making coffee for the Morchards ten times a day since I was a chick,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”
I left him to it, wondering how cute he must’ve been as a little baby raven chick.
At 6:05, my first customer came in, right on time. Douglas Ackerman was a seventy-two-year-old widower who walked his little dog Bettie in the mornings. He always stopped in for a coffee, a mince pie, and a Florentine. I usually didn’t allow dogs in the store, but Bettie was an exception, as she was tiny and well-behaved and almost as old as Douglas himself.
“Good morning Mr. Ackerman,” I greeted him from behind the counter. “I have your usual all ready for you here.” Cole handed me the flat white I’d asked him to prepare.
Douglas leaned over the counter and whispered to me conspiratorially. “Who’s your handsome fella, Miss Belinda?”
“Oh, he’s not my … I mean …” The blush crept along my cheeks. “He’s my new assistant.”
“No more Finn?”
“No more Finn.”
“In that case,” Mr. Ackerman squinted at the cabinet. “I’ll take one of those Cornish pasties. They look particularly delicious today, most likely owing to Master Finn’s absence. I can eat it for my lunch.”
Grinning despite myself, I bagged up his pasty and rung up his order.
As soon as Mr. Ackerman left, more people started to trickle in, and the trickle turned into a flood as lorry drivers and commuters grabbed a quick breakfast on the way to work. We quickly fell into a routine. Cole would bag the hot food and make the coffee, and I stood behind the counter, served the slices, organised the bread orders, and talked to the customers. Having Cole there gave me this strange sense of confidence, and I found myself chatting brightly to people, asking them about their day, and recommending particular treats. Who was this person? Usually I just smiled awkwardly and handed them their orders while trying to avoid eye contact.
Cole was clearly in his element. He grinned at everyone, and flirted outrageously with the women. I went out for half an hour to choose some clothes for him at the menswear store down the road, and when I returned he had sold another whole Heaven and Hell cake to a smitten single mother. I hoped her ten-year-old daughter wouldn't mind the whisky ganache on her birthday cake. The old ladies from the Crookshollow Knit ‘n’ Bitch came in for their 10am coffee and ended up staying until 2pm. Mrs. Van Uppity’s eyes practically fell out of her head every time Cole refilled her cup.
I felt a tiny surge of jealousy while I watched him flirt with a young blonde lady dressed to kill in a corporate suit and spiked pumps. He could have a woman like her; he didn’t want someone like me who always smelled faintly of bread and whose pores were permanently dusted with flour. But even I had to admit that his sales tactics were working. I’d never seen the sweets counter so empty this early in the day.
After 2:30pm, we hit a bit of a lull before the school run got in. I set Cole onto replenishing the depleted cabinet with the last of the stores from the fridge, while I got started on a batch of biscuits for the next day. I looked up from the batter to check the clock on the wall opposite the counter, just as Elinor walked in.
I froze. How was I going to explain Cole? I thought about telling him to hide, but it was too late. Elinor hadn’t noticed him yet, but she was walking up to the counter. Any second now she’d see him. She called out to me. “Bianca has just finished two chest pieces back-to-back. She’s having a major energy crash. I need ten ccs of triple espresso and a chocolate brownie, stat!”
“Does she want that in tablet form, or just hooked directly to her veins?” Cole asked, poking his head up from behind the glass display.
Elinor’s eyes bugged out when she saw who was behind the counter. She stuttered out an answer and Cole went off to prepare the coffee. While the machine was screaming, Elinor pulled me across the counter and hissed in my ear. “That’s the arrogant biker guy from yesterday? What is he doing here? He isn’t
holding you hostage, is he?”
“No.” I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn’t figured out what I was going to tell her. “Cole is just helping out—”
“Cole? So Arrogant Biker has a name now. You seem awfully friendly with this Cole all of a sudden. What happened to Finn?”
“I fired him.”
“Belinda Wu, look at you being all sassy and authoritative.” Elinor beamed. “I love it. But seriously, why did you hire that guy? He was such a sleaze. I demand to know what’s going on.”
“It’s a … long story. I haven’t actually hired him, he’s just helping me out for a few days. But it’s a good thing, trust me.” I grinned at her. “See? I’m happy.”
“I’ll say. That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on your face in months.” Elinor grinned back. “Got anymore hot bikers back there I don’t know about?”
“Shut up.”
“What about firemen? I love firemen.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“At this rate, you’re going to have to rename this place ‘Hot Buns’.”
“Elinor!”
“Here’s your coffee,” Cole said, handing the takeaway cup over my head.
“Thank you very much, Cole.” Elinor gave him a saccharine smile. “We seem to be bumping into each a lot this week.”
“Indeed. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Well, I best be off. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Cole.” Elinor jabbed me in the arm. “And you have some explaining to do. We’ll still be seeing you on Friday?”
“Oh, definitely.” Every Friday the girls got together for drinks. I usually couldn’t go, because I had too much work to do and a 3:30am wake-up call the following day, so recently they’d started coming around to the shop with a bottle of wine instead. They sat around and drank while I baked. I looked forward to it all week.
One thing was certain, I had until Friday to come up with some kind of believable reason for Cole’s existence in my life. I didn’t think the whole, “I rescued a raven from the park and he turned out to be a hot guy,” was going to fly.
Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) Page 7