DARA
Saturday and Sunday came and went with my mother fussing over me like I was a small child again, making sure I ate well, laughed plenty, and rested in my apartment. Usually I work weekends so they can rest, but not this time.
Monday, the start of a new week, with brand-new opportunities to enjoy all that life has to offer. I lay my hand over my bare belly in front of the bathroom mirror.
“It’s going to be you and me, kiddo. And Mama and Papa too. The three of us are going to make sure you are so loved,” I promise, cupping my belly and sending thoughts of love, happiness, and good health to my growing fetus.
Yesterday, I pulled up some websites with pregnancy information and ordered a pregnancy guide. Technically, I ordered two. Mama was adamant she would take every step alongside me because she never got this opportunity herself. I like having something special with my mom, a little secret between the two of us. Though I’m certain the second she got home the other night she told my father, I commend him on not barreling through my apartment door and checking on me.
The websites I reviewed had a lot of great information. Based on what I read, and when I know I had sex, I’m only a couple days past three weeks. It’s still really early, and I’ve got a long way to go until I know for sure this little ball of cells will turn into a baby. Still, I plan to make an appointment with my gynecologist for three to four weeks from now. By then, I’ll know if the baby has a heartbeat and is proceeding along well. I had no idea the amount of fear and concern being pregnant would bring with it.
There is a living entity growing inside me.
A baby.
My child.
Mine and Silas’s child.
I run my hands over my completely flat stomach and up to my breasts. Squeezing them, I note a new sensitivity, a bit of a painful twinge. The websites I searched say they might start feeling sore as I progress through my first trimester.
Turning on the hot water, I quickly run through my shower routine and am out within ten minutes. I’ve picked a funky sports bra top today with a fun lotus design on the front and several crisscrossing straps in the back. I want to wear my skin-baring items while I'm still able. I throw a loose tank over the top and pair it with a teal pair of fitted yoga pants. My hair dries naturally as I head downstairs and flick on the lights of the bakery. My staff prepped everything needed for this morning’s first round of freshly baked treats. I fire up the wall of ovens, set the right temperatures for the first five items, pull the trays one at a time from the fridges, and set them cooking.
While the first set takes approximately thirty to forty minutes, I tug on my apron, put my hair into a net, and start on the cupcake batter. Before the first ding goes off, I’ve got six pans of twelve cupcakes each ready to be put in. Nice thing about our ovens, I can cook in all six at once.
Walking over to the stereo, I put on an upbeat soundtrack from Muse, my current favorite band, and shimmy my way around the bakery, setting up the next set of bowls and utensils.
The timer for the first set of pastries goes off, and I pull that one out, set it on the countertop, and place the cupcakes in a line to cook away.
A buzzer goes off, signaling the back door is opening. I glance up at the clock and note it’s six a.m. Dancing his way into my kitchen, Ricardo, my bisexual BFF, strikes a pose and flings his jacket at the hook, where it clings perfectly. He spins in a circle, grabs my wrist—attached to the hand still holding a wooden spoon—and twirls me around the middle of the kitchen. When the song is done, the second pastry alarm goes off.
Ricardo brings me close and places a flurry of kisses on my neck before spinning me back to my workstation. He puts on a mitt and removes the next item, going straight to work.
“How was your weekend?” I ask, shaking some powdered sugar over a tray of Greek butter cookies and the next tray of Pizzelle, the Italian pinwheel-looking cookies I’m trying this week. I’ve found if I cook things with powdered sugar, people gravitate toward the items. Add in a funky shape, and they are intrigued. Explaining our new treats of the week makes my day more fun.
Ricardo shimmies as he squirts custard into a set of pastries. He finishes his task and then turns around. “Not like you really care…hmm?” He lifts his chin to the sky and wiggles his way over to the oven to get the apple fritters out so he can glaze them.
“I so care!” I frown and work on the éclairs the night team completed, which were chilling in the fridge.
He passes me the filling for the éclairs, and I hand him the cherry mixture for the cherry tarts. We’re a well-oiled machine and the only two who work this early in the morning. That’s why my parents hired the night crew. Two people work from seven to eleven every night, prepping anything we need for the next day that can be chilled or needs to chill overnight.
“You didn’t call me all weekend to check on my date with Esteban,” he tuts and then walks out of the room with the first tray of the day to load into the displays.
The cupcake buzzer goes off as he comes in, so he starts pulling them out and laying them on the sideboard we use so they can cool before we frost.
He comes over to my side, bumping shoulders as he gets the new pumpkin spice mix I just made, already knowing they are for another batch of three dozen cupcakes. He sniffs the bowl. “Festive. Pumpkin?”
I smile and nod. He walks over to the wall of cupcake sleeves. I’m dead set on having a variety of wrappers for our cupcakes. He picks the falling leaves with gold swirls, the exact ones I would have picked, and proceeds to get them ready for cooking.
“This weekend was weird. I ran into a man I had a one-nighter with…”
“Oh, Silas?”
“You remember his name?”
“Girl, you don’t recall giving me all the dirty deets the following weekend when we drank our weight in tequila and I crashed out in bed with you?”
I frown. “That’s right. You cover hog!” I laugh and set about taking the next tray to the front. He follows with his own tray of tarts.
“What happened?”
For a brief moment, I think about telling him my secret. I’m not the best at keeping secrets on a good day, let alone something so monumental, but I’m only three weeks. I need to be smart about this. The fewer who know until I’ve seen a doctor and can confirm I’m going to carry to term, the better. Still, I’ve got to give him something. It would do me good to talk about it.
“He came to meditation class with Atlas on Saturday.”
Ricardo places the treats in the case and lifts up the empty tray. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Was it weird?” He grabs for my hand and holds it, wanting to give me support immediately.
“Not at first. I mean, he’s so good-looking. It was hard not to stare. And then he had this weird aura change during class. I don’t know; something’s up with him. He’s got some demons, I think.”
Ricardo scowls and puts a finger up. “Then stay away from him, honey. You do not need a creepy clinger.” His Latin accent rolls off his tongue when he’s feeling feisty, which is most days.
I chuckle as we both go back to work. “I can’t deny the attraction is still there, even more so after seeing him again.”
“What you’re saying is the crazy is worth the sexy time?” He lifts his eyebrows and twists his mouth into a smirk.
I shrug. “Maybe…” I admit begrudgingly.
He knocks my shoulder and sets up the next tray of cookies with the dough that was left out. He hands me a ball of dough to work on my batch. The mornings are always like this. For the first two hours of the workday, I get one-on-one time with my best friend, and there is nothing better, no conversation off-limits, just him and me, shooting the breeze and doing what we love. Baking.
“Are you going to see him again?” he asks, breaking the silence of a moment ago.
Again, I think about the whopping secret I have. I’ve already decided I’m not going to say anything to Silas until I know ev
erything is okay. My plan is to tell him after the twelve-week mark. Which means I’ve got a little more than two months before dropping the bomb on him. I’m just not looking forward to the ordeal of dealing with a scorned wife on top of an unhappy baby daddy.
“Not sure,” I fire off to Ricardo. “We had some pretty heated words the other day. I guess if he comes to class again, I’ll know he’s still interested.” I finish laying out my batch and wash my hands before taking off my apron.
Ricardo snorts and makes a big show of looking me up and down in my yoga gear. “He’ll show up again. I’d bet every last dollar in my bank account. Ain’t no hetero man going to give up seconds of tapping that bubblicious ass. If I wasn’t your best friend, I’d be riding you all day, every day like it was my job, sugar pie!”
I ball up my apron and toss it at him. “Shut up!”
He grins wickedly. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Your heart is so big and pure. I’d hate to see a creeper walk all over it.”
I go over to him and kiss him on his perfectly smooth cheek. My best friend is a knockout. Amber eyes with skin a similar color to mine, not exactly dark, not exactly light. More in the middle like a toasted brown. He’s tall with an athletic build and a full head of thick, layered, black hair he slicks back with some product. It always looks absolutely perfect. “I’ll be careful. Off to teach people how to chill out. Be back in ninety minutes.” I remove my hair net and toss it at him. “Namaste!”
“Nah, I’ma stay right here.” He laughs at his own joke while I roll my eyes.
Just as I’m leaving, my ma unlocks the front door and bustles her body in. “How you doin’ this morning, baby?” she asks.
“Right as rain. See you in ninety!”
I dash out the door and turn right toward Lotus House. My feet falter the second I hit the sidewalk because standing against a sleek gunmetal-gray BMW is none other than the man who was featured solely in my dreams and waking fantasies all weekend.
Silas McKnight.
He pushes off his car, a white hoodie covering his head, hands tucked into his pockets. A pair of black track pants offer a stark contrast to the bright white of his Nikes. I’d swear the shoes were brand-new, but this is the second pair of Nike’s I’ve seen him in, and those looked new too. I sense a bit of a shoe fetish. Which I totally understand, since I have more flip-flops than Berkeley has hippiesand that’s a crap-ton.
“Hey, I thought I could catch you before class, but it looks like you’re cutting it right down to the minute.”
“I can do that. I’m close.” I gesture to the bakery.
“Atlas told me you work at the bakery too.”
“Yep. Family-owned and run. We have a handful of staff to help, but this store’s mostly mine.”
“I’d like to try it after class, maybe sit down with you and talk?” He bites down on his bottom lip, but it’s not his face that shows his nervousness. It’s his aura. A cherry red hue with the undercurrents of his normal sunny yellow.
He follows me inside.
“You know eventually you’re going to have to sign up as a paying customer.” I deflect from his question, not sure I want to sit and have a dessert with him and talk. Even though I know I need to, for more reasons than to get his betrayal off my chest.
“Already done. I was early. Paid for ten sessions up front and made sure they took off the one from Saturday.”
“Hmm. That was mighty decent of you.”
“I’m a decent guy,” he fires back instantly, and I cringe.
“Yeah…that’ll be the day.”
Before I reach my room, Silas grabs me by the arm and spins me around until I’m backed against the hallway wall. He cages me in with his big body.
Talk about sensory overload. My body remembers exactly what it feels like to be pressed against a wall by this man. In perfect detail. I squirm, placing my hands at his sides. I’m not sure if I’m holding him close, trying to get distance, or just touching what’s available to my eager fingers.
“Silas…I have to work,” I grit through my teeth. It’s better than panting, and right now, breathing isn’t an option. His crisp fresh-soap smell alongside the musk of the apple, oak, and leather cologne he wears is a lethal concoction when paired together. I could sniff him all day. It’s absolutely intoxicating. Better than any sugary treat in my bakery, that’s for sure. But I must fight it.
Don’t fall into his sexy trap, Dara. You’ve already been down that road.
He leans forward, close enough I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
I huff in his pretty boy face.
“I’m not married.” He grinds the words out as the nervous flare of red that once sat on the edge of his aura flickers with an additional hint of black at the tips.
Regardless of the change in his aura, I can’t help but push against his form, needing space. “I saw the pictures. You and the happy blonde. Your wedding photo! You think I’m blind?”
He shakes his head and inhales harshly. “No. Not blind. Coming to inaccurate conclusions.”
I snort a laugh, letting the hilarity of the situation get the best of me. He curls his hand around my cheek and traces my smile with his thumb. “You’re so goddamned beautiful…” His eyes glaze over with a lustful, smoky green.
“Silas, what we did was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened,” I attempt, the words tasting foul on my tongue even as I push forward. “Just let it go. I’m not going to be someone’s mistress.”
He groans and leans his forehead against mine. “Why is this so fucking hard to say?” He clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking against his cheek, proving how hard this conversation is hitting him, but I have no idea why.
“Look, we had a good time. Let’s leave it at that. We have mutual friends…” I try.
“Jeez-us, woman.” He smacks the wall at the opposite side of my head, grabbing my attention. I close my mouth and watch as his eyes swirl with frustration. “This is hard enough to say without you yapping your nonsense. Now, you’re going to give me a minute to gather my thoughts, keep your mouth shut, and just listen.”
He widens his eyes as I hold my breath and stay perfectly still and, more importantly, silent.
Silas closes his eyes on a slow blink. They are a startling green when he opens them and takes in every feature of my face. He lifts his hand and runs his fingers through my long hair. I swallow back a whimper at how good his touch feels. It’s as if every inch of skin he touches becomes energized, waking from a darkened sleep.
“I’m new to talking about this.” He frowns. “Please understand. I was married. I’m not now.”
I narrow my eyes and wait for him to continue.
“My wife…she uh…”
Oh, this ought to be good. He’s about to lie through his teeth. Except I’m an expert at knowing when people lie. Auras always tell the truth.
“Dara, I’m a widower.”
He lets out a long slow breath, his eyes closing. The word bounces around in my mind like a pinball.
Widower.
Widower.
Widower.
“My God…I’m so stupid!” I gasp, throw my arms around him, and sink my face into his neck. He wraps his arms around me and holds on tightly. So much so that I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. He’s not a cheater; he’s a griever.
That’s why the black suffuses around his energy sometimes. It’s why the pictures are still all over his house. He’s still grieving the loss of his wife.
But what about the nursery? He didn’t say anything about his daughter. Was she at a family member's for the night? Maybe her grandparents?
For some reason, I hold off on asking about his daughter, especially in light of the information he just shared.
“See, I’m not a scumbag,” he whispers in my ear, sending chills throughout my body.
“I never thought you were a scumbag.”
“No?” He nuzzles the side of my face and in
hales.
“No. I had you down as a dirtbag cheater.”
He chuckles into my hair. “Never. I’d never cheat on my woman. I don’t have it in me.” He pets my hair and lets me lean back against the wall.
“Can we finish this conversation after class? I think I’m already a few minutes late.”
Silas smiles, the yellow scintillating around his form like a ray of sunshine, its magnificence burning the black away with every passing second. “Treat on me, after?”
I grin and grab ahold of his hand. Our hand chakras activate the moment our palms touch, energy buzzing in the same circular motion on contact. He squeezes my hand, letting me know he feels it too, though there’s still darkness behind his eyes. A shadow he keeps to himself. I have nothing to say about that because I’ve got my own secret, and now that I know he’s not cheating on his wife but grieving her loss, my timetable for telling him about our baby just increased. When I thought he was a lying dirtbag, it didn’t matter when I told him the truth. Now it just seems wrong.
We walk in holding hands, and I break the connection to step up on the riser.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late, class. Thank you for waiting and being ready. We’ll start with some gentle breathing exercises. In for five, out for five. Holding the breath at the top and then releasing fully. I’m going to come around and offer you some essential oils I want you to breathe during your meditation.”
I grab the small brown bottle, open it up, and shake a drop onto my finger. I start with a new client and kneel in front of her seated position. She’s in the lotus yoga pose with her legs crossed and the soles of her feet facing up on top of her thighs. I wave the bottle under her nose. “Do you like that smell?” She nods so I place my fingertip on the skin just under her nose and above her lip.
“This scent is called Clarity from Young Living Essential Oils. Its formula consists of rosemary, peppermint, and a mixture of other earthy notes. I’ll wave it under your nose, and you can nod if you’d like the scent applied above your lip.”
Taking a couple minutes, I access each attendee before stopping at Silas. His beautiful eyes are closed, his long, ebony-colored lashes lying like a perfect fan against his cheeks. He’s breathing deeply and his aura is a cool, calm, buttery yellow. Still not completely relaxed but definitely back to himself. I swirl the bottle under his nose. His eyes open, and I’m staring into pale-green pools I could swim in for days on end.
Intimate Intuition Page 6