Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “It’s Deacon. You should stop talking now.”

  He covers his face with his hands in embarrassment and Anthony orders another bottle of Chardonnay.

  ~

  “Hi, Kip.” I answer my phone on the way to meet with the surveyor, “Now isn’t a good time. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s Friday. What’s happening tomorrow?”

  “Of course it’s Friday. Sorry I’ve been really busy. Come down and we’ll go for dinner.”

  I hear him sigh.

  “I can't keep doing these long drives, baby.”

  “I know. But I just thought we could go for dinner here.”

  There’s a long pause on the other end and I stop outside the bakery, grateful that the surveyor isn’t here yet.

  “Okay,” Kip finally says, “I’ll get off early today and come down.”

  “Great. I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tonight.”

  I hang up quickly and open up the shop.

  “Miss Rivera!” I turn to see a tall dark haired man walking towards me, a tool belt round his lean waist and a drawing pad under his arm, “I’m Perry.”

  “Nice to meet you, Perry. Come in.” I step inside and he follows me, laying his things on one of the dusty tables.

  “It’s bigger inside than it looks from outside.”

  “It’s a great size. Bigger than my London shops. I’ll make some tea.”

  “Thanks. White, no sugar.”

  Perry wanders around the front of the shop while I go out to the back to put the kettle on. I take the tea out when it’s made and Perry is writing up his measurements.

  “So...” He says, brushing the dust off of one of the seats and sitting at the table, “What’s your plan?”

  “I want to keep the same theme as my other shops. Contemporary fifties, girly rock and roll. I have some pictures.”

  I head behind the counter to get the photos out of my bag and hear the bell above the door chime. I look up to see Perry and Deacon shaking hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I shriek, choosing to stay behind the counter so I don’t risk forcing him to withstand the physical torture I want to make him endure for turning up again.

  “I had some spare time so I thought I’d pop by and help out.”

  “I think we’re okay here actually.” I squeeze the photos so tight they crumple and my hands begin to cramp.

  “It’s okay, Jenna and I were just going over the design she wants here.”

  “I thought you were the surveyor?” Deacon eyes him suspiciously, and then sits in my seat, crosses one ankle over the other and takes a sip of my tea.

  “We’re all trained to do everything. Saves sending a surveyor, then a designer, then someone to fit it. We get assigned a job and someone heads it all the way through.”

  “And that, in this case, will be you?” He asks and I’m sure I detect a hint of jealousy in his voice. He can’t seriously be that competitive over work.

  “Yes, that will be me.”

  “Okay. It’s good to know who we’ll be working with.”

  We?

  “Miss Rivera didn’t mention it being joint business.”

  “That’s because it isn’t one.” There’s my voice, “Mr. Reid is an old family friend and owns the construction company down the road.”

  “Oh, yeah I’ve heard. D R and Son Construction and Property Development.”

  Perry casts me a judgmental look; the kind of look that wonders why I wouldn’t hire a family friend’s million pound company to create my cake shop.

  “So as we were discussing before we were interrupted,” I finally calm down enough to be within six feet of Deacon, and hand Perry the pictures of the two other shops.

  “I see the look you’re going for. It’s quirky.”

  “We needed something to attract attention in London. I want it a little more subtle here, still with that theme but I want it to fit in aesthetically with the town.”

  “That won't be a problem.” He tucks the pictures into his drawing pad before Deacon can see them, “I have the measurements, I’ll get the drafts dawn up and then give you a ring.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “So I guess that’s all for today. I’ll try and work on these over the weekend and get back to you on Monday.”

  Perry shakes mine and Deacon’s hands once more and leaves the shop.

  I take a deep breath, shake my head at Deacon, who looks a little deflated, and head in to the back. It’s no surprise that he follows me, but I just don’t want to talk to him. I make a start on some raspberry ripple cupcakes I’m trying to perfect the recipe for, fully aware that he’s watching everything I do.

  “I always loved watching you bake.” He says, leaning against the counter, so close to me I can smell his delicious smell, overpowering the raspberries and every one of my senses. All of sudden, my nose smells nothing but him, my eyes see nothing but him, and my ears hear nothing except for the steady breathing coming from his nose as he waits for my response.

  “If you have to stand there and watch me, can you do it in silence?” I crack some eggs over a bowl and separate the yolks from the whites.

  “I’m trying to be nice.”

  “I don’t want you to be nice.”

  “But I’m always nice to you, Jen.”

  “No. Don't do that.”

  “Don't do what?” his eyes stalk me as I move to the food mixer and begin measuring out the butter and sugar.

  “That. What you’re doing, like we’re still best friends living out of each other’s pockets. We’re not friends anymore, Deac.”

  “Are we not friends because I left uni or because you left Folquay?”

  I turn the machine on and it whirs to life, blocking out any sound coming out of his beautifully annoying mouth. I’m in my own world, watching the butter and sugar cream together when his arm reaches across me and he switches the mixer off at the wall.

  “Don’t say something and then ignore my comeback.”

  “I just want you to leave!” I spin around and shove at his chest but it’s like granite and he doesn’t move, “Get out! You had your chance to support my business choices and you blew it. Get out!”

  I repeatedly pound his chest, but he just stands there and takes it, his chest heaving and his fists clenched. He flashes in his eyes, setting his blue orbs alight and he grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the counter, knocking over the mixer, before crushing his lips to mine and slides his hand around to the back of my neck to hold me in place. He doesn’t move, just holds his mouth to mine; I stop hitting and sag against him, my body betraying my heart...my mind is lost somewhere trying to process all of what’s going on. Deacon’s lips move slowly against mine, and I follow his lead.

  “Come for a drink with me,” he says, releasing my lips and resting his forehead on mine.

  I shake my head and try to pull away from him but his steel body has me caged against the metal worktop.

  “Come for a drink with me.” He moves his lips down across my jaw and to my neck. My body comes to life in a way that has been dormant since the last time he touched me like this.

  “No,” I say, unable to convey any sincerity as my body begins to bow to him.

  I feel his smile against my throat as his lips travel to the other side of my neck and he grazes his teeth along the skin just under my ear. I can’t contain the moan that escapes as he teases my erogenous zone.

  “Come for a drink with me.”

  “One drink.” I whisper before my body completely submits.

  He steps back and frees me, instantly satisfied with himself.

  “What time shall I pick you up?”

  “Not tonight, I have plans. Ask me next time we mysteriously bump into each other.” I turn back to the mixer and switch it on, “I was serious about you leaving, I don’t want you here.”

  There’s no eradicating his smile; he looks like the cat that got the cream. But he does as I ask and leaves me to my bakin
g, throwing his business card on the counter on the way out.

  ~

  The raspberry ripple cupcakes are the best cakes I’ve made for months and I made a light butter cream to ice them with, and my phone starts ringing while I’m busy clearing up. It’s Grace, Jonas’ girlfriend.

  “Hi, Grace.” I answer.

  “Jenna, hi. I’m going into town if you want to come. I asked your mum but she’s busy and I could really use some advice on an outfit for the weekend. Jonas is taking me to London to the theatre and I’ve never been to the city before.”

  “Sure.” Good timing. I could do with by something new for dinner with Kip tonight, “I’m in the shop so I need to go home and clean up. Give me an hour okay?”

  We hang up and I switch off and lock up, taking the cakes with me in a little white box. I manage to shower and change out of the pencil skirt I wore to meet with Perry this morning, get the verdict on the cakes from Mum, Dad and Jonas, and I’m ready by the time Grace gets to the house. I offer to drive, seeing as I haven’t got much use out of my car since I got back.

  “So what’s the deal with you and the Reid brothers?” Grace asks from behind the curtain of the dressing room.

  The Reid brothers?

  “There is one hundred percent nothing going on. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I saw you having coffee with the older one, and then there’s you and Deacon.”

  “I grew up with them, Grace. I’ve known them my whole life. Bradley is a great friend.”

  “Well, I think Deacon is lovely. There’s just something about him that screams ‘I’m a man, come get me’.”

  What? Did my brother’s girlfriend really just say that?

  “Are you nearly done? I’ve got plans for tonight.”

  Kip meets me at the restaurant, after parking in the visitor’s car park at the entrance of town. I’m already two glasses of wine in when he joins me and orders a lemonade.

  “So how was your day?” I ask as innocently as possible, remembering I had another man’s hands and mouth on me today. Guilt washes over me as I twirl the stem of my wine glass.

  “It was work, Jen. I made a few calls, made a few sales. A pretty good Friday as far as stock broking goes.”

  I nod and take a bread roll from the middle of the table.

  “What’s the matter?” He asks, looking at the butter I’m spreading on the bread, “You don’t eat bread.”

  “I have some news,” I answer, not looking at him. It’s easier to tell him I’m staying here for the foreseeable future than risk telling him what else I’ve been doing.

  “You’re finally coming home.”

  “Actually, no. I didn’t want to say anything until it was finalised.” The waiter brings over Kip’s lemonade, “I’ve bought my third shop. Here, in Folquay.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  I shake my head, “No. It just felt like the right time and place to make another investment.”

  “I thought you were going to open up in London?”

  “I was.” I quickly jump to defend myself, “But it just seemed like a good business move. I can work here during the season and spend more time in London when it’s quiet here.”

  “And what about us?” he looks hurt.

  “It’s only a few hours’ drive. We can swap weekends or something. I don’t know, I haven’t figured it all out yet.”

  He rubs his hands over his face, and stands up.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, as he puts his suit jacket on and pulls out his wallet.

  “Going home. I need some time to think about if that’s the kind of relationship I want, and you need to figure it all out. Call me when you have.”

  I’ve hurt him. I didn’t think he’d be so offended by my choice to open up a shop here. He said he wants to spend more time with my family and wants me to open up another shop, so what’s the problem with it being here?

  “Kip,” I say standing up as he puts money on the table for my wine and his lemonade.

  He places his hands on my cheeks and kisses me, softly and kindly.

  “I know coming back here has messed you up, but I can't keep coming back here every weekend. When you know what you want to do, call me. I love you.”

  I smile up at him, because that’s what I do when he says those three words. He understands that. And then he’s gone. I sit back at the table and pour the last glass of wine from the bottle. I pull out my phone and open up a text message.

  ‘Fancy that drink? J’

  Fifteen minutes later, Deacon walks in the door and sits down opposite me.

  “Date didn’t go so well with lover boy?” He asks, gesturing to the untouched lemonade.

  “Don't start. You wanted a drink, we’re having a drink. Then you can get off my case.”

  “I’m not on your case.” He calls to the host and I look at the light blond, almost invisible chest hair that peeks out from his shirt. A few buttons are undone and I can see his chest is as smooth and tanned, as it is strong.

  Deacon orders a bottle of Sauvignon and sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Those arms are incredible; I swallow hard and my heart begins to race as I imagine those arms wrapped around me. When I look back into his eyes he’s looking straight at me, the crooked smile on his lips telling me he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I blush and squirm in my seat.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Have I ever told you that you’re stunning?”

  “Shut up.” What’s his game?

  “It’s true. You’ve really bosomed. I mean, blossomed.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I look around the restaurant, pretending the thought of him even looking at my body hasn’t set me on fire. I’m grateful for the wine to cool down my burning libido, and I take a large mouthful.

  Deacon plays with the glass on his lips before taking a small, savouring sip.

  “So, what’s this drink for?

  “We live in a town with a couple of hundred people if that, and there’s enough lust between us to burn it down.” My words exactly, “We used to be friends once, so I propose a truce. We have to be civil if we’re both going to live here. And civil people go for drinks.”

  I stare at him, shocked that a rational sentence with no sexual undertones just came out of his mouth.

  “Okay, truce.”

  I reach out to shake him on it, but regret in the moment he touches me. I gasp as his fingers brush against my skin, his firm grip driving me wild at the natural masculinity he possesses. I exhale quickly, trying to get my breath back.

  “So why can't I have your bakery contract?” Deacon asks, perusing the menu. Apparently we’re eating too.

  “Because I don’t think we can work together.”

  “I’m a professional, Jenna. I take my work seriously.”

  “I remember when you used to say that about your Lego,” I laugh.

  And then I stop laughing, knowing Deacon is thinking the same thing as he looks back at me; both of us wondering why we couldn't be graced with the friendship we used to have, for life. Things used to be easy between us; silence was never awkward, conversations were never embarrassing. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t talk to him about. Now all I want to do is throw myself across the table at him, but that won't simplify the situation.

  “What are you eating?” He asks, looking back to the menu, and I’m glad that he didn’t come out with some sort of smart remark.

  “I thought this was just a drink?” I ask, but reach for the menu.

  “So you’ve eaten?” I shake my head, “Then we’re eating.”

  I take a deep, submissive breath and look over the menu. It’s the only fancy menu in town and I can't think straight about all the elaborate words while Deacon is looking at me. I don’t look at him, but there’s a charge in the air and I know he’s watching me, in that way he seems to have that has never made me feel so uncomfortable, or so at ease.

  “What can I get you?” a fire-haired w
aitress appears at the table with the bottle of wine and a notepad in her hand ready to take our order. She looks familiar. I snap my fingers when I remember she was in the year below me at school. Deacon smiles and shakes his head and I feel my cheeks redden.

  “We’ll have some bread and olives. Does it come with olive oil?” Deacon asks while I continue scouring the menu and avoid eye contact.

  “Yes, it comes with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. The bread is freshly baked in house.”

  I look up at when she I hear the way she speaks. She’s blushing, and runs her tongue along her top lip, her eyes clearly assessing Deacon. Oh, Jesus.

  “Yeah, we’ll have that. What are you having, baby?” I almost choke on my mouthful of wine and my wits have vanished again.

  “Uh,” I stutter, desperately wanting to smack him in the face, “Chicken... Uh, the chicken with lemon and thyme. No potatoes. Please.”

  A smile plays on Deacon’s lips and he bites on his bottom lip, his attention solely on me as the waitress waits for his order.

  “I’ll have the steak. Rare,” he hands her his menu, and mine, seeing as I am physically unable to move, “Thanks.”

  “What was that about?” I ask, through gritted teeth.

  Deacon just smiles at me, and lifts his wine glass to his lips.

  “Deaky!” someone shrieks from behind us, and Deacon’s eyes fly open, nervously.

  He mumbles an expletive under his breath as a towering brunette appears at our table and throws herself on Deacon’s lap, barely having to squeeze into the tiny gap between him and the table.

  “Baby, I haven’t heard from you.”

  Baby? Oh, so this must be number three. How many more are there? I wasn’t aware so many beautiful women inhabited this tiny town.

  “Uh, Kate,” he says, shifting in his chair, “I’m busy.”

  “Don't stop on my account, please,” I throw my hands in the air and shove my napkin on the table. I stand up and drain the last of my glass of wine.

  “Jen-”

  “No!” I shout, losing my composure. I turn to the woman on his lap, the kind of woman who would make models cry, “Nice to meet you, Number Three.”