Wrong Number

by Laura Brown

  “That one on purpose.” He leaned on the counter, sliding my phone back to me. “Still glad I sent both.”

  Then his lips were on mine, his heat, his smell, consuming me. The tang of merlot lingering on his tongue.

  I pulled back and studied his face. “You doing okay?”

  He nodded and came around the display, donning the pink apron.

  “Yes. Thank you. Hannah and I had a drink and talked.” He tugged on the front string of my apron, pulling me to him for another mind-numbing kiss. “You look good here, all flushed and ready to help people.”

  “The flushed part doesn’t belong.”

  “Oh really?”

  He kissed me again and I plum forgot why this was a problem until his tongue stroked mine.

  “Jake.” My voice wobbled as I tried to hold onto rational thought.

  He shrugged. “There’s no one here.”

  My cheeks were on fire again and I caught movement outside the bakery. Knowing I was flushed, I slid down to the floor, out of view as the door opened and a group of people came in.

  Voices filled the quiet place. Jake stood cool and calm, an easy smile on his face, chatting back and forth with them. I couldn’t catch enough of the customer’s words, but I followed a few from Jake. Mostly, I hoped I wouldn’t be seen sitting on the floor.

  The customers appeared to be the type who couldn’t make up their mind. I rested my head against the cabinet, watching Jake as he moved around. He didn’t handle customers like a two-nights-a-week helper. He handled them like someone who loved this place. Like his mother and sister.

  A pang of sadness hit me. If I left, I’d be leaving him. He wouldn’t come with me. I wouldn’t want him to. This was his home. I had to get my fill of him. When I left, we’d be over.

  He moved back to the register, now standing directly in front of me. The pink apron swayed out from his body, giving me a glimpse of his thighs. I looked around. I was out of view. Most of Jake was covered. If I slid my hand up his leg no one would notice.

  Except for him.

  Wrong Number wanted to play.

  I started on his good calf, lazy strokes up and down over his jeans as he talked about something related to specialty ordering. Slowly, I made it up to his knee, then his thigh. The customers kept talking. Jake continued responding. I remained out of sight.

  This wasn’t me, never something I would have imagined doing. Yet my hands trailed higher. Jake stumbled over some words and caught my eyes, a heated challenge present there.

  My core clenched. There might not be more chances for this kind of fun.

  I scooted forward, still hidden behind the counter, but now I had a view up his apron and the bulge waiting for me. I cupped my hand around him, heard him falter again, and pulled my hand back.

  He leaned on the counter, hips egging me on. I put my hand back on him, light strokes, giving him plenty of room to back away if he wanted to. He didn’t. I increased my pressure as voices continued around me in a blurry haze of background noises. He grew harder, and I focused on his voice, catching it still calm and cool. Bastard. I dipped my fingers under the waist of his jeans, stopping only when he cleared his throat.

  The sounds faded and the door closed. Jake looked down at me. “What are you doing?”

  I licked my lips. “Having a little fun. May I?”

  He took in the shop and the street. “I thought you didn’t do the things Wrong Number did?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’m feeling bold.”

  He sent me a panty-melting smile and I slid forward, sliding my hands up both his legs until they met in the center.

  “Avery.”

  My body hummed further at his word, at the approval in his tone.

  I unzipped him, letting the soft skin surrounding hard steel fall into my hands. Jake had his elbows propped on the counter, head dipped, eyes shut. His breathing told me all I needed to know. I wrapped my hand around him tight and pulled, but it wasn’t my hand I wanted on him.

  It was my mouth.

  My breasts ached and my panties were damp, more so than during any of our online conversations and he hadn’t even touched me. I ducked under the apron and wrapped my lips around his smooth tip.

  Jake groaned and I sucked him into my mouth as far as he could go, then a little more because I couldn’t get enough of him. He slid back and forth, his hips adding to the motion and friction, my tongue lapping at him. I held him tight in my mouth, giving him everything I could, feeling myself climb higher and higher at the thrill of it all.

  His hips stilled and I continued working, expecting him to come. He didn’t. That was when I heard it. Voices.

  Shit.

  He was still hunched over, his apron falling away from his body and hiding me. I opened my mouth, letting him free. His wet dick glistened at me, begging for more, even as the voices continued and I couldn’t. I tucked him back into his pants and fastened the button, not daring the sound of the zipper. Then I slid back, out from the apron, still hidden.

  Jake shifted into more of a standing position. My ears had focused, probably because I was searching for potential problems.

  “The cupcakes,” Jake said, “are made right here. We have a smaller selection at night, but you can preorder for special occasions.”

  A female voice joined his. “How about fillings? Does your baker do cream fillings?”

  Jake’s cheeks heated and his eyes met mine. If the woman had entered two minutes later, there definitely would have been a cream filling.

  Then came some technical questions that Jake couldn’t answer, but I could. I squirmed. If I hadn’t been playing, I would have been right there, answering along with him. Probably ensuring they ordered from us since they could talk directly to the baker.

  Jake reached into his back pocket, taking out his phone. “I think the baker might be around, let me send her a message.”

  Shit. My phone was still on the counter. I nudged his leg and pointed. Jake smoothly moved it to a lower shelf, and I grabbed and silenced it before the text came through.

  I answered it. Then, since I had heard the questions, fed him some more details.

  It took a few more minutes, but the lady finally left. The minute the door closed, we both burst out laughing.

  “I was afraid you weren’t going to stop,” Jake said.

  “I didn’t know the door had opened!”

  He bent down with shining eyes and a wide grin. I ran a finger over his cheek.

  “Much better look for you.”

  He awkwardly got down on his bad leg, then wrapped me up in a fierce kiss, tongue doing things to me I had been doing to him a mere ten minutes ago. I ran my hand back under his apron, knowing his jeans were open, and slid my hand inside. He was still hard, or hard again, and one dangerous thought rolled around in my head: mine.

  “There are people on the street,” he murmured.

  He rose, fixing himself and I got to my feet as well. The people were indeed customers and he handled them with ease as I stood there, mind stumbling over that word. Mine.

  Whatever I wanted, I needed to figure it out fast, before I grew any more confused. I couldn’t keep both my store and Jake. Dream vs. heart. Or heart vs. heart since baking already had that spot. One had to win.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jake

  Hannah and I stood in the parking lot behind the bakery. The day was unseasonably warm for November, not a cloud in the sky. Kirk put the last of Mom’s luggage in his trunk, because, of course, Mom had to come here before leaving on their vacation. I studied Kirk, looking for some sign that meeting up here had been an issue, and found none. As a workaholic himself, he got Mom. More importantly, he supported her, accepted her, and convinced her to take this vacation in the first place. His next haircut was on the house.

  “There’s a shipment coming on Wednesday, and the utility bill should be in this week. One of the mixers is acting funny so we might need to—”

  “Mom, stop!”
Hannah placed her hands on Mom’s shoulders. “In case you’ve forgotten, I work here too. I scheduled that shipment, am well aware of what bills need to be paid when, and was the one who first told you about the mixer.”

  She crossed her arms.

  Mom ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes,” both my sister and I shouted.

  “You deserve this,” I said. “As long as he’s worth it.”

  I thumbed behind her to Kirk.

  The man only smiled at me. “I’d like to think so.”

  Mom held up her hands.

  “Alright. I’m gone.” She kissed both Hannah and me on the cheek. “If there are any problems, let me know.”

  “We won’t,” Hannah said. “Because if there are, we can handle them. Now get out of here before I start throwing rocks at you.”

  Mom laughed and gave Hannah a hug.

  Kirk held out a hand to me. “My haircuts in jeopardy yet?”

  I shook it. “Not yet.”

  Mom got into the passenger side and waved. A minute later, the car sprang to life and she finally left on her much-needed and overdue vacation.

  Hannah rubbed her hands together.

  “Time to get back to work. Double duty starts”—she checked her wrist, not that she wore a watch—“now. You didn’t want to see your girlfriend this week, did you?”

  I grinned. “Avery doesn’t sleep. I think I’ll manage.”

  In actuality, she did sleep, some. Her overactive brain got in the way. Anytime I could get Avery to relax, she’d slip into slumberland. Probably why her other tactics involved falling asleep in front of the television. I had to admit getting her to sleep fulfilled some caveman instinct or some shit like that. Or perhaps, I just liked helping her.

  I passed her station as I headed out to the front, not stopping since her head was down and she had the mixer going as she added flour. I grabbed an apron and settled in behind the counter. I had scheduled only a few random clients for the week. Most of my time would be here, helping out.

  The daytime bustled more than my usual calmer nights. Kept me occupied. I rather enjoyed being here with everyone else. I got the fresh smells and the interactions. And every time Avery brought out goods, I stole a kiss. The breads and pastries filled the cases and sold. Everything running like it normally ran, those of us at the helm ensuring Mom would be proud.

  Avery made her way in, carrying a tray of rugelach. I snatched one as she walked by.

  “Hey.” She put the tray down and rearranged the items. “Are you going to eat your way through the week?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I took a bite and the sweet pastry burst on my tongue with apples and cinnamon and just enough crunch. I closed my eyes as I swallowed. “Better hide these from me. I may eat them all.”

  “Hard to hide them when it’s your job to sell them. How have you managed before?”

  I popped the rest in my mouth and slowed my chewing. It hit me that this wasn’t anything I had ever tasted from Mom. “You made these.”

  She placed a hand on her hip. “Well, yeah, part of my extra workload.”

  I shook my head. I knew her. Too well. “No, this is your recipe. Not Mom’s.”

  Avery pressed her lips together. “Hannah said it was fine. It’s fall, the perfect time for apple everything.”

  A perfect item for her to use at her own bakery.

  A clang from the kitchen prevented us from saying anything more. I moved to investigate, but Avery put a hand on my shoulder.

  “You’ve got customers. I’ve got it.”

  She disappeared through the swinging door and I forced a smile, helping out a steady stream of people, not able to find a minute to check on the kitchen. The clanging escalated, voices overlapping, but eventually quieted down. I was about to head back and investigate when Hannah burst through the door. Her cheeks were flushed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked as she inspected the breads.

  “Just as I thought.” She pointed to the empty slot where the sourdough should have been. “That ratfink bastard.”

  She pushed up her short sleeves, and I caught her arm before she stalked back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Patrick. What else? Claims he’s on target when he’s off. We have him doing one measly extra thing, knowing he can’t handle much, and he can’t even pull his regular weight.” She shook her head. “The sad part is, Avery’s already filling the gap, and she’s taken on the most out of everyone. I’ve got to get back to work. He’s got to step up, or once Mom comes back, he’s gone.”

  For the first time ever, I felt bad being out here. But while I could certainly throw some things together, I wasn’t a baker.

  The noise level returned to normal and the customers kept coming, preventing me from checking on the kitchen. I didn’t even have time to question Avery when she brought sourdough bread out to sell.

  The sun began to set, casting an orange glow through the windows. The breads, the sweets, the sun, heck, the place, all created a kind of warmth that wrapped around your soul and created contentment. At least, that was what it always meant to me. Nothing in the world was quite like it, not even the salon with scatters of multicolored hair on the floor.

  A bang broke the vibe. Followed by more clattering and yelling. I hopped off the stool and strode into the kitchen.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hannah yelled. Flour covered the floor and Hannah’s jeans; a piece of dough had rolled to a corner.

  “You think you’re so special because you’re the boss’s daughter, don’t you?” Patrick growled, enough flour covering his apron that the pink was barely visible.

  Hannah straightened her stance and didn’t budge. I wanted to run over but stayed in place. She had this. “Yes, I’m Nell’s daughter. I’m also the manager and partial owner. You got a problem with that, you can take it up with Nell when she returns.”

  “I’m not taking orders from some wussy girl. The recipe is wrong.”

  “The recipe is the same we’ve always used.”

  Patrick flipped another pan over. Everyone stood silent, watching, inching away when Patrick grew too close. “It’s fucking not. This mess is your fault.”

  He stepped forward, caging Hannah in. I started to move, but Avery got there first.

  “Back off Patrick and pick up your stuff.”

  He let out a sharp laugh that held a grating edge. “Oh look. What’s worse than the boss’s daughter? The one fucking the boss’s son. Am I right?”

  He turned, looking for people to agree with him. All he got was my fist in his face.

  “Leave. Now,” I said as Patrick doubled over, hands over his nose. My knuckles stung, but I couldn’t release my clenched hand, not yet.

  “Jake,” Hannah yelled. Her shoulders fell. “Good one. Patrick, you’re fired.”

  “You can’t do that,” he mumbled through his hands. Blood seeped through his fingers.

  I’d probably have to deal with that later. Right now, I was damn proud.

  “I can and I did. I don’t want to see your face around here.”

  Patrick turned to others for support, but everyone had their heads down. He kicked a few more things, grabbed some paper towels for his face, and stalked out.

  Avery put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I shook out my knuckles, pain radiating farther now that some of the adrenaline had left. “You’re asking me? How about you two?”

  Hannah raised her hands.

  “I’m fine.” She faced the staff. “If anyone has a problem, I invite you to talk to me. I’d be happy to listen, even if I need to bump it up to Nell. That being said, Patrick has created more work. Anyone who is willing to take on an extra duty, let me know. I won’t pin this on you.”

  Hannah turned to me. “I would have handled that myself, and you shouldn’t have punched him, but thanks.”

  “I wanted to do that for years.”

 
“Wash your hands and get out front.”

  I turned to follow orders and heard Avery address Hannah. “I’m in for whatever you need.”

  “Avery, you’ve already taken on so much.”

  “And I can do more. I suspect your mother did it all once upon a time.”

  My bad leg faltered, and my limp nearly tumbled me, but I continued on my task, a very bad feeling brewing in my stomach.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Avery

  I plopped facedown on Jake’s bed, every achy muscle sighing in relief. On a normal day, I had aches and pains, but this wasn’t a normal day. Between Nell’s departure and Patrick’s firing, my workload had doubled. I’d worked harder than ever and my body screamed at me for it. Yet, I felt great. All the baking and ensuring the goods were well-stocked filled that place deep inside. It also brought on utter exhaustion, to the point where lifting a finger felt like picking up a car. Since Jake’s place was closer to the bakery than mine, I stopped there.

  “I contemplated staying and trying out the office chair, but this is nicer,” I mumbled into his comforter.

  Fortunately, Jake didn’t have my hearing loss issues. A chuckle came from behind me. “You need a place to get some actual rest.”

  “That will be easy. I can barely keep my eyes open.” They were fused shut, my body relaxing, mind drifting.

  “Give me your aids.”

  I opened my eyes, only seeing his comforter, since I couldn’t bear to move my head. “You think you can handle them?”

  The bed dipped as he settled next to me. I wanted to curl into his lap, but that involved movement.

  “I’ve watched you take care of them enough times. Take the battery out, clean off the molds, and find a safe place to put them.”

  Though my muscles protested, I angled my head to face him. No one I had dated wanted to touch my hearing aids. And yet this man held his hand out, ready and willing to help me after a long day.

  “You worked just as many hours as I did. How are you not as tired?”

  “With the exception of Patrick, I sat out front and chatted with customers.”

  “Touché.” I took my aids out and handed them over.