by Mariah Jones
“No more alcohol for you,” I told Katie, although her words hit home more than I let on.
***
I have only driven my sister’s jeep a handful of times and each experience has produced the same result. I always confuse the headlights for the windshield wipers or accidentally set off the car alarm and can’t figure out which button to push to make the squalling stop, or some other calamity befalls me before I am safely out of the vehicle.
Things had gone pretty well so far that night, and as I was feeling proud of myself for handling Katie’s car so well, I thought I would stop by the bakery and pick up some paperwork I’d forgotten earlier. I had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand digging around in my purse searching for the keys to the bakery as I pulled into my usual parking spot. Suddenly, I felt an unexpected THUMP! I slammed the brakes on in terror. I looked in front of me but saw nothing. How could that be? I felt the jeep bump into something, I knew I did.
I got out of the car carefully, hoping I wouldn’t see someone’s dog lying sprawled out under the front tire. When I walked around the front of the car I thought I would die.
A man lay on his side, grasping just above his left hip with both hands. He rolled away from me first and then back toward me, emitting an animalistic groaning.
“Oh! Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I didn’t see you! Let me help you,” I said, feeling myself begin to shake.
The man rolled toward me and looked up at me. The feeling of complete terror in my stomach grew worse. “Thorne?” I uttered, disbelieving.
“Ohhhhh,” he groaned in response, switching his hands from his side to the small of his back.
“What were you doing on the street at this hour?” I asked, angry now at myself and at him for having been in front of the stupid jeep.
He carefully got into a sitting position, supporting himself with his hands out behind him on the pavement. “I was looking at my lettering,” he said, still out of breath.
I followed his gaze to the store window next to Cupcake. Artisan’s Corner: Reveal Your Inner Rembrandt, the gold lettering announced. “Beautiful. Did you do that yourself?” I asked.
“Yeah, believe it or not, before I got hit by a mad woman in a jeep I actually had pretty steady hands.” He said wryly.
I looked down at him and realized I was talking to him about the lettering on his window rather than checking to see if he was hurt. I was positive he was never going to tell me I was beautiful again after tonight. Embarrassed, I reached for his hand to help him up. “Is anything broken? I’ll drive you to the hospital. Where does it hurt the worst? I am so sorry.”
Thorne accepted my hand to help him up, but laughed at my question. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” he said.
I thought of him helping me up off the floor of the bakery a few days before and smiled in spite of my embarrassment.
“I’m fine, really. A little sore, but nothing is broken and I will be good as new after a couple of aspirin and some sleep. It was my fault for wearing dark clothing out here. I wonder if the city is ever going to fix that street lamp,” he said apologetically.
“They haven’t even come to look at it since I’ve been here. I’ve called them four times I think,” I admitted.
Once he was on his feet, Thorne stepped up onto the sidewalk and I saw a glistening wet spot on the left side of his shirt shining in the headlamps of the jeep. “You are hurt,” I said, pointing to the stain.
Lifting up his shirt for a look, he winced with pain as he touched the large scrape. “It’s just a scratch,” he said.
“Give me a second to properly park the car and grab my keys. I have a first aid kit in the store. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” I asked.
“I’ll just wait over here this time for you to park,” he said, with a slight hint of mockery.
“I deserved that,” I said as I got in the jeep.
When we reached the front door, I fumbled with my keys for a few seconds, my shaking hands impeding my ability to find the lock. I couldn’t say if at that point I was shaking because of adrenaline or shame or just the fact that this incredible man was standing so close to me. The scent of his skin was earthy and spicy and amazing. Each time he would move I could smell his hair and the combination of emotions and scents were making me dizzy.
“I have to say, I have had a lot of experiences in my life, but I had never been run over until tonight,” he said with a hint of a smile turning up the corners of his perfect mouth. “Guess I can cross that one off the bucket list now.”
I finally found the keyhole and unlocked the door. “So happy to have made your evening,” I said, returning his humor. “It has always been my goal to run over any new neighbors the store might get, so I can retain all the business. I guess we both got something out of the deal then huh?”
Thorne took a seat near the front window in a wicker chair. I went in back to grab the first aid kit and have a talk with myself. It was really a motivational speech for my brain. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t look at him like he is a roast beef and you are a great white. Don’t hurt him again by doing anything clumsy. I checked my appearance quickly in the mirror. I looked frazzled. Oh well, nothing I could do about it right then. Taking a deep breath, I returned to the main room with the emergency kit in hand.
My resolve to not do anything stupid left me when I looked up and found Thorne sitting with his shirt off waiting for me to bring the first aid supplies. I stopped walking and stared. He looked up at me, smiling, but didn’t say anything at all. I could feel the heat in my face and wondered why the human body was designed the way it was. I felt like I had a flashing neon sign on my head saying “I’m a dork.”
I turned on the overhead fluorescent lighting and pulled the antiseptic spray out of the kit. The scrape was deeper than I thought and he winced in pain as the antiseptic started to burn. “I’m never going to forget this you know,” he said as I searched through the box for some gauze and medical tape.
“Probably not, the jeep emblem you see every time you look down will be a constant reminder,” I teased.
He placed his hand over mine and smiled warmly. “I was thinking I would remember tonight because I have never been doctored by a more stunning creature.”
I felt my breath catch in my chest and somehow managed to lose control of my grip on the can of antiseptic which fell to the floor and rolled under the wicker chair. I didn’t know what to say, or perhaps I just forgot how to talk. I hurried to attach the gauze correctly before I my ability to speak returned and I said something I might regret later.
Thorne pulled his shirt on gently. I watched as the muscles in his back twisted and worked and felt my head starting to get light again. I steadied myself against the counter.
He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you for your help,” he said.
I laughed out loud. “Did you just thank me for running over you?”
“Tonight was more exciting than I thought it would be,” he said with a wink.
Why did every single thing he did come off so sexy? When I winked I looked like I was trying to get dirt out of my eye. “It was pretty exciting for me too,” I admitted.
“I look forward to seeing what else you being my neighbor brings,” Thorne said on his way out.
“I hope you have good insurance,” I said to the sound of the closing door.
Chapter Nine
Cupcakes and apologies
The rest of the week was mostly a flurry of craziness. Granted, my sister laughed uncontrollably when I told her about the jeep incident and relentlessly teased me for an entire day, but the fact that we had nineteen custom wedding cakes to complete in seven days made the habitual harassing pale in comparison.
We spent all of Wednesday waiting for a late shipment of fondant and could do little else without it. I caught myself watching out the window for Thorne, and saw him coming or going a couple of times, but never had a reason to interact with him. I thought
of going over to bring him the cupcakes he never came in for and using the excuse that I wanted to see if he was healing okay, but it sounded desperate even in my mind.
Jenny’s boyfriend came and picked her up at lunchtime and I spent my lunch hour on the phone with our fondant supplier. The delivery was supposedly en route, but with three of the cakes due for delivery by the following afternoon, I was really beginning to sweat. As I sat in my office I considered all that had happened in the last few weeks. I failed at going to the gym. I failed at going to Waistline Watchers. When I had weighed myself that morning I was down one more pound. I made a resolution to myself that morning. I was not going to obsess over my neighbor anymore. If I couldn’t get my own life under control then I wasn’t going to be any good for anyone else anyway.
I decided I was going to start a food journal to help me keep control over what I was eating. I was also going to start exercising while I was at home. Perhaps I would walk the six blocks to work once a week instead of driving. I could do aerobics with the TV. If I truly wanted to lose those fifty pounds I promised myself, I would have to be the one to motivate me.
As I considered all the small changes I could make to aid my personal goals, I listened to the boring elevator music coming from the receiver of the phone. I had been on hold for twenty minutes and I was beginning to see red. All I wanted was my fondant that was supposed to have been there the day before. I looked at the clock and calculated how long we would have to finish those cakes if the fondant didn’t come in until the end of the day. My stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“The truck is here!” My sister yelled to me from the front of the store.
“Oh thank heaven,” I said, slamming the phone down in its cradle.
I walked to the front of the store expectantly. Now it was time to get down to business. Nineteen cakes I thought. That was nineteen cakes in seven days with three employees to complete them. Nineteen couples with nineteen different weddings that wanted nineteen different styles of wedding cakes from our three employees in seven days. I needed to breathe into a brown paper bag for a while.
Once the fondant arrived the time began to fly. The remainder of the week passed by without incident and nearly half of the cakes were finished. My favorite one was a four-tiered cake made of pulled sugar butterflies and gum paste roses. I even managed to color everything without making a mess with the food dye.
Katie looked up at me as I prepared to photograph the cake for our catalog. “Have you talked to him since you tried to run him over?”
I shrugged as I adjusted the camera’s lens. “I haven’t had a reason to,” I said honestly.
“You mean you can’t think of a good excuse?” she amended for me.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“I took the liberty of boxing up a dozen of those fudge filled cupcakes with the mint frosting. Over there,” she gestured with her hand toward the end of the counter, “tell him you thought it was the least you could do after what happened.”
I gave my sister a look of incredulity. “Why didn’t I think of that?” I asked.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she agreed.
“I was going to take over some cupcakes and tell him I was there to check on his injuries,” I said.
“Sounds too desperate,” Katie said. “I think humbling yourself and going over with chocolate and another apology is a better way to go.”
I glanced at the box of cupcakes she had prepared and felt my heart skip a beat.
“Go on,” Katie urged.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I told her. I looked at her pleadingly for a moment.
“You have no idea what to say after that do you?” she asked, smirking.
“None at all,” I admitted. “I am a nervous wreck. What if I do something stupid again? That seems to be a recurring theme lately. What if I knock something over and break it. Besides, I know absolutely nothing about art so if I have to pretend I do I’m going to more than fail miserably.”
“You’re going to march in there with the best cupcakes he has ever had. Then you’re going to impress him with your ability to apologize and your concern over his well-being and then you’re going to respond to whatever he says. That simple, end of story,” Katie told me.
“Simple,” I agreed. I wondered if it would really be that simple. Nothing I did recently seemed all that clean cut and easy.
I glanced back at my sister one last time before disappearing through the door. “Just this once,” I said to myself, “this is going to go off without me making a fool of myself.”
Thorne’s shop smelled of freshly shampooed carpets and some other spicy, delightful aroma. It kind of reminded me of apple pie and cinnamon. I glanced around at the various pieces of art hanging on the walls and was surprised by how good they actually were. I guess it might be awful to admit, but smart and attractive and talented just seemed like too much to ask from a modern man.
His artwork was mostly comprised of landscapes. There were oils and watercolors and charcoals, but the vast majority of them were done in oil. I moved closer to one of the newly hung paintings and studied it further. The detail was astonishing. The landscape was a view of Cannon Beach. I had no doubt even for a second. It was like looking at a photo rather than a painting. This man seemed more amazing to me all the time.
“I’m not technically open yet,” I heard a voice call out from somewhere in the back of the shop. I hugged the box of cupcakes closer to me and suddenly felt like an intruder.
Thorne appeared from a room at the back of the shop carrying a box and a roll of packing tape, which he set on the counter behind him. “Oh, Darcy, what a nice surprise,” he said.
I could feel that my breath was ragged and I consciously tried to steady it, afraid my voice would quaver when I spoke. “I hope I’m not bothering you,” I told him. “Just dropping by to give you these and apologize again for the other day. I hope you aren’t in too much pain because of me.” I handed him the box of cupcakes and backed off a few steps as if I were afraid he was going to bite me.
“These look delicious,” he said after peeking inside. “Of course you aren’t bothering me. Saving me actually, I was in the middle of separating out what is going to stay here and what is going into storage. I hate this part. I can’t wait until next week when the menial labor is finished and the place is open.”
I smiled and for once it felt normal. “And the injuries?”
“I’m fine. I told you then it was just a scratch. Now it’s little more than a bruise,” he replied with sparkling eyes.
Those eyes are always so full of mischief, I thought. Now what do I do? I wondered. Katie had said I should respond to whatever he said, but he wasn’t saying anything. I began to panic a little. When I tried to wing it I always said something stupid. Go with what’s safe, I thought. “You are an amazing artist. I was admiring the landscape of Cannon Beach.”
It was Thorne who looked mildly embarrassed then. “I don’t know about that one. It took a long time for me to accept that it was finished and frame it. Sometimes I come away feeling like whatever I imagined when I started a painting wasn’t what the finished product ended up as. I guess that’s the curse of the artist, but you would know that already.”
Modest and talented and intelligent and so very sexy, oh it hurts, I heard a voice in my head say. Instead I said, “I am anything but an artist.”
“Not at all, I’ve seen those wedding cakes in your shop and they are definitely a work of art. I’ve only baked one cake in my life and I’m still paying the fire department to keep quiet about how it turned out.”
“I always thought art was a natural talent. Either you have it or you don’t. I just cheated and went to pastry school,” I confessed.
“I’m happy you came in today. I have been meaning to visit your bakery again, but I have been keeping myself pretty busy over here obsessing over where to put what. I was thinking of you though,” he said.
My head spun a little. “I was
thinking of you too,” I admitted quietly.
“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he offered, waving his hand at the half-finished gallery.
I grew more envious of his talent as we walked from piece to piece. Toward the back of the store he kept most of the charcoals. They were all sketches of women, many of them nudes. I noted with distaste that not a single one of them displayed an ounce of fat. My skin began to crawl a little.
“I see that you have a real talent for drawing women,” I said, somehow regretting it the instant it was out in the room.
“I started out drawing people. I particularly liked sketching women because no two bodies are quite alike. Women have an artistic quality that we men just can’t pull off. It’s the way you hold yourselves. Women have a natural elegance that makes them easy to recreate in an artist’s mind,” he told me.