“I’m not sure I can ever forget such an… impassioned… performance, Bliss,” he said, crossing his arms as though to keep the chuckles contained within his chest, “but I’ll do my best to keep it to myself.”
“Fair enough. You want something to drink?” she offered, heading behind the counter to give herself some space and let her blush die down. Her heart was hammering, and it wasn’t just from dancing. She felt giddy and awkward at the same time; less embarrassed about the performance Asher had just witnessed than the kiss on Friday that had sent him fleeing into the night. Still, on the whole, she had to admit she was glad to see him. “I’ve only got bottled water, unless you’re into Big Mama…”
She had to smile at his quick, alarmed shake of the head. He was hatless today, his old-gold hair cropped closer than it had been last week, very butch. Her fingers itched to test the fuzz on the back of his neck, feel the rough/smooth texture of that buzzed cut. “I’m fine, thank you, Bliss,” he said, crossing the room to stand closer. Only the mahogany cabinetry kept them apart, and he narrowed the distance by leaning his hip cozily against it. Lucky cabinet, Sera thought.
“I’d offer you a seat, but I’m afraid they’re all taken,” Sera apologized, gesturing at the armchairs that were occupied with the boxes and bags she’d packed up. She grabbed a bottle of water and guzzled to cool herself down, wetting a paper towel and running it across her cheeks to calm the fires raging there.
“No problem. I shouldn’t stay long in any case,” said Ash. “I’ve got a special order to finish for a customer who’s coming by this afternoon.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. She leaned her elbows on the worn countertop. His mirth at her Billy Idol imitation notwithstanding, she could tell Asher was uncomfortable with her today. He wasn’t meeting her eyes the way he used to. And she had no doubt about the cause. No way am I bringing up our kiss. Or his freaked-out reaction. Let him stew over it, she thought. I’ve got nothing to apologize for.
Apparently, Asher felt he did. “Bliss…” he began. Like a sudden storm cloud obscuring the sun, his expression grew somber, the light fading from his eyes. He looked harsher, older. He also looked more awkward than she’d ever seen him. Sera’s stomach clenched.
“Yeeesss…” she drawled when he didn’t continue. She tried to keep her teasing smile in place, but she had a feeling it was about to be dashed.
She was right.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Asher blurted out. He pushed away from the counter and started pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I should never have done that.”
Ow.
“Don’t worry,” Sera said through lips that had gone stiff. “I didn’t have any expectations.” She was shredding the paper towel unconsciously between her fingers. “I’m sorry for asking you to dance. It was inappropriate and you probably didn’t feel you could say no…”
She looked away, desperate to be anywhere but here, reminded of how much she was lacking as a woman. She recalled how she’d clung to Asher during their kiss, and how he’d been forced to gently but firmly disentangle himself from her clutches. Apparently, one kiss from her was enough to send her landlord racing for the hills, if his pained expression were to be believed.
By the open door frame, Silver whined, locked in a death match with the dildo. He’d wrapped his front paws around the dong and had the head in his mouth, while his back legs kangaroo kicked the shaft. I know a certain shithead chef I’d like to see receive that treatment, she thought, momentarily distracted. But thoughts of Blake only sent her mood crashing further. He’d always said she was a lousy lay—a lousy everything, except when it came to pastry. And it seemed he’d been right. Asher had found her kiss repulsive.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She clenched the damp paper towel in her fist, crushing what was left of it. She wished he would just leave. She wished a drink—or several—were still an option for her.
Asher ceased his pacing, his gaze arrested on her face. It must have been showing something of what she felt, because he lurched forward without a hint of his customary grace. Before Sera could react, he was catching her surprised hands in his rough, callused ones. Sera dropped the paper towel as her heart thundered.
“No,” he said. Forcefully. “No.” More gently this time. “Bliss, I don’t know what you are thinking at this moment, but whatever it is was not my intention.”
“I…” She didn’t know how to continue. His intentions, her perceptions, both were in a muddle and she wasn’t sure how to find her way back out. “Asher, I don’t know what to say here…”
“I had no idea I would upset you so much.” His hands tightened around hers. “I knew I shouldn’t… but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t realize how badly it might affect you. Damn it, I can’t believe I took such advantage!” One hand left hers to spear through his hair again, as if forgetting he’d shorn it short. He looked ready to tear hanks out.
“Advantage?” she ventured. Sera couldn’t fathom what that meant. She’d never met a man who was more of a gentleman than Asher Wolf.
“Yes. It was wrong of me to impose upon your good nature. You were merely fulfilling your friends’ dare by dancing with me, and I had to take it further and ruin everything by kissing you. It was inexcusable.”
“Inexcusable? C’mon, Ash, it wasn’t that bad of a kiss—was it?”
“Because of our respective positions here,” he explained, seeing her befuddled expression. “And no—it wasn’t bad at all, Bliss. In fact”—the hand that still covered hers moved in a caressing gesture that sent streaks of sensation up and down her arm—“it was just the opposite. For me, at least. But I should never have taken such advantage.”
Sera was catching on. “Because you’re my landlord?”
“Just so.”
“And you think I felt obligated to—what, put out?—because of that?”
His lean cheeks reddened. “Well…”
Sera burst out laughing.
Really, really hard.
Maybe it was the relief that he hadn’t hated her kiss, but she could not seem to stop ha-haing and ho-hoing, especially when she saw the chagrined expression that spread across his handsome features. Typical macho male.
“Oh, Ash,” she said when she could breathe again. “Don’t worry about it—really, it’s no big thing. And believe me, if your kiss had been unwelcome, I wouldn’t have accepted it—and reciprocated the way I did. I’m a big girl. I’d have made my boundaries clear if you were crossing them. You were a perfect gentleman, every step of the way.”
“You made it hard to be,” Ash admitted. “It was the first time…” He broke off, eyes turning inward. “Anyway, the first time in a very long time that I’ve had such a delightful evening with a woman. I’m glad to know I wasn’t trespassing into inappropriate territory.”
You can trespass like that anytime you like, Sera wanted to say. But she didn’t quite have the gumption.
“So… we’re good?” she asked instead.
“Yes, I believe so,” Asher agreed. He dropped her hands abruptly. He seemed to be scrambling for a neutral topic. “So, ah… was your weekend… pleasant?” He winced a bit, as if aware his segue left something to be desired.
Sera had a moment of schadenfreude at his discomfort. It was such a novelty to be the one not left tongue-tied in their interactions that she took a second to savor it, having a feeling she’d be back to blushing and stuttering before long. “Nice enough,” she allowed. The change of subject was welcome. “I spent a lot of time on the phone, chasing leads about contractors, actually.”
“And did you find one?” Ash asked politely.
“I’m thinking of going with your friend Malcolm. I meant to ask your feelings on the subject, since it’d be your walls he’d be tearing down and your floors he’d be ripping up. It’s the reason I wanted you to come by today.” Not because I wanted another taste of those freakishly delicious lips.
Whate
ver Asher might have said on the subject was drowned out by a shriek coming from the courtyard.
“Oh my gawd, what is that thing?” a woman’s nasal voice pierced the still-damp morning air. “It’s growling at me! I think it’s going to attack! Don’t let it near me, Stanley!” Another high-pitched shriek. “What is that in its mouth?!?”
The absence of puppy in the shop registered with Serafina and Asher simultaneously.
“Silver!”
They ran for the door. Skidding to a halt on the porch beside Ash, Sera took in the scene. Asher’s little husky had cornered a couple of tourists by the fountain, new chew toy firmly wedged in his drooling muzzle. Tail wagging frantically, he was the picture of friendly curiosity. But apparently Stanley and his wife were getting a different impression. The lady, a woman in her early sixties with a weathered face and a lot of black eyeliner and brittle dyed black hair, was visibly trembling and clinging to her husband for support at the sight of Silver, who didn’t come up even as high as the top of her posh leather cowboy boot. Her husband, short and pudgy, with ears as whiskery as the pooch’s, looked closer to fainting than she did.
Not dog lovers then, Sera surmised.
“Mister, is this your animal?” the man—Stanley, it seemed—called out.
Silver shook his little head, sending doggy drool flying.
The woman squeaked and clutched her husband’s arm tighter. Asher started down the porch steps. “I have that honor,” he said lightly. “He won’t harm you.”
Sera snickered. The worst Silver could do to the tourists would be to cover them in puppy slobber. But then, if I were wearing a brand-new full-length hand-embroidered shearling that still had the price tag dangling from it, I might consider that a calamity, too.
Asher stepped forward to defuse the situation. Sera watched admiringly from the porch, resting her elbows on the railing.
Silver, however, wasn’t done playing. As Ash reached to scoop him up and away from the treed tourists, the puppy scooted out of reach, barking around his latex prize and wagging ever more furiously. He glanced back at Asher, inviting pursuit. Asher had no choice but to oblige. Enthralled with the game, Silver took off. Asher broke into a lope, even as Sera broke into a grin. Her landlord’s lean musculature was a pleasure to watch as he dodged and wove in his impromptu rugby match with the husky. She knew she should help him, but really, it was so much fun to watch…
She wasn’t alone in her sentiment, she saw. Across the courtyard, she glimpsed Aruni poke her head out of Tantrastic to see what the yelling was about. The class she was teaching had given up all pretense of maintaining mountain poses or sun salutations or whatever they were doing, crowding the plate-glass window to watch the goings-on. On the placita’s opposite side, Mr. Yazzie, who ran a sculpture gallery that specialized in fantastical—and fantastically expensive—glassworks, had also emerged, squinting to see what was up. He pulled his baggy maroon cardigan closer around his stocky body, nodding in response to Sera’s friendly wave. Pauline had introduced her to the gallery manager her first week here, and she’d found the older Native American gent very kind and charming, especially when he shyly confessed a penchant for sticky buns. Sera had assured him they’d be on her menu. Now she saw he had a bit of a sense of humor, too. “Five dollars on the puppy,” he called. “Care to match it?”
“I’ve gotta go with the Wolf, George,” she shot back. “And make it ten.”
George gave her a thumbs-up gesture of acknowledgment.
Asher was rounding the fountain again, Silver in the lead, while the tourists yelped and plastered themselves against the porch railing of Asher’s shop. A series of joyous barks erupted from the doghouse, where Sascha and the other pups rested, and the terrified couple squealed and backed away. Sera covered her mouth to keep from giggling.
Silver was barreling toward the placita’s entrance, and Sera had a moment’s fear he’d get out into the street. He disappeared into the covered archway, Asher steps behind. She heard a yip of doggy dismay, a Scottish-accented “Gotcha!” and then a bark of a laugh. Seconds later, Asher emerged, sans puppy but with a huge grin on his face. Behind him, a red-faced Malcolm McLeod trailed, puppy tucked firmly under one arm and dildo pinched gingerly between two fingers.
The tourists skedaddled the moment the way was clear, muttering about wild, depraved beasts and vowing to go in search of more civilized shopping. The placita’s front gate clanged pointedly behind them. Aruni and her class gave the dog wranglers deep bows from prayer position, while Mr. Yazzie clapped politely.
“Which one’s yours, lass?” Malcolm asked as he reached Sera’s front porch, hefting both pup and prop.
“Um, neither, really,” she said with a blush. “But I’ll take that one from you,” she said, nodding for the toy.
Malcolm’s mustachios twitched. Sera couldn’t tell whether it was irritation or amusement. “Guess that makes the pooch yer property, Asher my boy,” he said, passing the panting pup to the taller man.
Asher accepted the runt, crossing quickly to deposit him in the doghouse with Sascha and the others. Sera saw Lupe peeking out from one of the shop’s windows, her pouty lips pursed as she caught sight of Serafina. Sera saluted the saleswoman, struggling to keep the snark out of the gesture. Bet Asher never kissed you during a magical evening of dancing under the Fiesta lights, she thought smugly. But then again, maybe he had. Sera had no way of knowing what sort of romantic escapades her landlord got up to on his own time. He might mumble cryptic hints about his lack of recent action, but how could she tell if he was being honest? Blake Austin had once had her convinced of his fidelity, after all. She wasn’t exactly the world’s best judge of character when it came to men.
Sera’s smile faded, and she forced herself to focus on her new pie maven/construction foreman.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. McLeod,” she said, reaching to shake his hand.
Malcolm didn’t take it. Instead, he brushed right past her, entering Bliss without a backward glance. “So this is the space, is it?” he asked.
She followed him inside, tossing the toy back in the box with its brethren and wiping her slobbery hand on her jeans. She slanted Asher a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at Malcolm’s rudeness. His reply was a rueful shrug as he entered after them. Malcolm was stomping about, his wavy white hair trailing down the back of his weather-beaten coveralls, portly belly proceeding him. He knocked on the mahogany counter, wiggled the recessed shelving, and banged on the whitewashed adobe walls, muttering to himself. After a minute, he gathered himself and leapt into the air, coming down hard with both feet on the scuffed pine floorboards.
Sera gaped. He looked like one of the Mario brothers trying to smash a Yoshi. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m checking the floors for soundness. If I’m to be taking this shop from dump to dream, I’ll need to know what we can count on, and what’ll need replacing.”
“Well, count on is fine. Pounce on is something else,” Sera replied. She stuck one hand on her hip and gave Malcolm her best you’re not bossing me around glare.
“Who’s the expert here, girlie? Me or ye?”
“Did you just call me ‘girlie’?” Sera hissed.
Asher stepped between them. “Play nice, Malc,” he warned. “Remember what I told you.”
Sera reminded herself of the vow she’d made to herself not to let the pie maker get under her skin. “What exactly did you tell him, Asher?” she asked.
Malcolm’s face reddened even more, but Asher’s eyes were innocent. “I told him you were a nice lady who knew what she was doing and that he was a… how do you call it? A dipshit, and one who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“Ah.” Sera felt herself grow warm. “And when did you tell him this?”
“We had a quick chat over the weekend,” Asher said, waving as if to say it was nothing.
Sera wondered if anything else had come up during their “chat,” s
uch as that stunning—and stunningly awkward—kiss she and Ash had shared. She decided she didn’t want to know. “Right,” she said briskly, hopping up to sit on her counter and give herself some height and distance from the men. “So, guys, I asked you here to talk logistics and make sure what we’re planning is kosher with everybody. Can we get down to business, Mr. McLeod, or do you have any other obnoxious remarks you’d like to offer that’ll make me reconsider my decision to hire you?”
Malcolm scowled, crossing his arms combatively but keeping a lid on his comments. “Let’s talk turkey, lass. I’ve got a rented lorry full o’ fixtures and it’s costing me a bloody fortune by the day. I’m no more eager to pussyfoot about than ye are.”
“Okay then. Let me show you what I had in mind.”
And Sera outlined what she wanted done. She’d drawn up diagrams as best she could, showing where she envisioned her ovens and storage areas, where the prep counters should be, and how she planned to partition off the working areas from the serving and dining spaces. Both men listened intently, Asher taking a backseat while Malcolm put in far more than his two cents.
“I want a wall here,” Sera said, gesturing demonstratively. “It should separate the prep area from the front. And I want a giant window in it, with one-way glass so we can see what’s going on up front and still maintain a bit of privacy while we work. I want to be able to keep an eye on my customers and counter help, without them having their eyes on me.”
Malcolm chewed on his yellowish mustache and made a “hmphing” noise. He eyeballed the space. Took out an electronic tape measure from one of his overall pockets. Strode over to one side of the store and aimed the device’s laser sight across to the other. Made a note on one of his crinkly order pads. “With the light streaming in, it won’t be completely one-way,” he warned. “At least in the afternoon, that glass’ll let folks see in somewhat.”
“That’s okay,” Sera decided. “It’ll give people a taste of what we’re up to back there without letting them gawk too much. And the mornings are when we really want to focus on working undisturbed. Afternoons, we’ll probably be up front half the time anyhow, or just frosting cakes and such in the back.”
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