B01HLCU8FG EBOK

by Mathew Ortiz

  “Hey, Robbie,” he called out and gingerly slipped off the stool. He kissed Oscar one last time then padded across the room and enveloped me in a bear hug. I blinked back tears and hugged him hard, inhaling the spice of his cologne and holding on to him for dear life.

  “Hi, Dad.” I squeezed him once more and turned to Oscar. Our relationship was complicated, mainly due to his age. I initially balked at having to mind a guy barely older than my big sister Vivienne. In the beginning, it had been a rough road but I had come to see him as a big brother/stepfather/friend. I hugged him and got a really good look at him. He looked tired and my father’s illness had obviously taken its toll on him. He looked like he’d aged five years since I last saw him.

  “Hey, stepdaddy,” I said and he chuckled. I had called him that the first time I met him and it’d stuck.

  “Good to see you again, Robbie.” He hugged me hard, then let me go and slipped his arm around my dad’s waist. “I hear you’re here to help, Ms. Mabel. How are you going to meld Emmett’s hillbilly style and Alex’s love of the Victorian to make a beautiful wedding?”

  I walked into the family room and they followed. I settled on one end of the couch, Dad sat in his recliner and Oscar perched on the arm of the chair. I smiled; they always seemed to be touching.

  “I have a few ideas already. If you two don’t mind, I’d like to stay the weekend and work on it. I should have something for them by late Sunday.” I shifted, toed off my shoes and pulled my legs under me, Indian style.

  “Wow, that soon?” my dad asked and I smiled. “You that good?”

  “Yes. I’m that good,” I replied smugly and my dad rolled his eyes.

  “Over confident little shit,” he growled and Oscar giggled.

  “I wonder who that sounds like, Papi?” Oscar needled my dad and squeaked when he poked him under the arm.

  Seeing them so in love only brought back my singleness. Tim and I had broken up two years ago or should I say, I broke up with him when I ended up with a case of gonorrhea. I found out he’d been trolling the truck stops for some out of town strange and brought the fucking hideously painful disease home to me. Fucking hell, it was like peeing fire and dear God it stunk. My humiliation was monumental and so was our break-up. He actually had the nerve to blame me for his indiscretions. He said I didn’t spend enough time with him. I mean, seriously, I was in school and trying to get my career started. I guess he thought that allowed him to fuck and suck every trucker coming through Tatesville.

  I really thought I was in love with Tim. I was sure he was the one and, boy, had I been a stupid, lovesick fool. My eyes stung and I banished him from my thoughts. It would only make me cry again.

  “If you don’t mind, Dad can I borrow your office for a few hours?” I stood and stretched, yawning hard.

  “Sure, son.” He leaned in and nuzzled Oscar’s neck. “We’re goin’ over to Bumper and Hale’s for dinner later. You wanna join us? I’m sure they won’t mind and Hale would love to see you again.”

  “I’d love to. I’ll be holed up for a few hours. Come get me, when it’s time to leave.” I waved to them and made my way to Dad’s office. Plopping down into his huge leather chair, I pulled out my laptop, fired it up and dove into my work. It was going to be a long weekend.

  *

  “No, no, no! I ain’t havin’ no harp! And sweet Jesus Alex… a string quartet? In Tatesville?” Emmett fumed as he sat across the table from his equally huffy fiancé. I had come over late Saturday to flesh out some preliminary ideas and, up until now, it had been easy going.

  Alex looked like a thunder cloud. “I can maybe, just maybe, do without the harp and quartet but there has to be a dress code! I want everyone wearing white or black! No color! The only ones wearing color are going to be you and me!”

  “Aw shit, ‘Lex! Come on!”

  “I’m the bride! I’m the bride!” Alex shouted and I almost burst out laughing. Mild mannered Alex King had blossomed into a scary bridezilla and Emmett’s refusal to budge had only made matters worse.

  I waved at them frantically to get their attention before this got out of control. “Guys, guys. Let’s talk about what we can agree on and see if the give and take is equal.” I had drawn up a list of wants from both and we had ticked off quite a few. “First, we capped the guest list at one hundred and fifty, confirmed?” They both nodded. “You both want to wear black tails and your color is violet.” More nods. “The arbor is going to be constructed from branches from your property and have lights, crystal and flowers. That way you get the rustic Emmett and Alex gets his bling.”

  “Yeah. So far so good,” Emmett answered and reached over to take Alex’s hand. “’M sorry for yellin’.”

  “Me too, Emmett,” Alex said contritely.

  “Now,” I said. “I want you to hear me out. First off the harp and quartet are, in my opinion, a no go. I think prerecorded music would be easier to do. Wait, Alex, wait, let me finish. I do agree with you on the dress code. It should be about you two and I don’t think a dress code is too much to ask.” I cut off Emmett with a wave of my hand. “I see his point, Emmett. When all the pictures are taken, don’t you want it to look sophisticated?”

  He hung his head and mumbled, “Alright, I give on the dress code, if Alex can let go of the harp and string quartet.”

  Alex frowned then sighed. “Done and done.”

  “Alright then.” I wanted to wipe the sweat from my brow but I had to keep my momentum going. “The food is being done by Desiree’s. Are we in agreement? Yes? Good. Now, the cake. What are you looking for, style wise?”

  Emmett’s face lit up at the mention of the cake. “We agree on the cake. I get to pick the inside and he picks the outside. We both want four tiers and I want the inside to be chocolate/peanut butter on the bottom tier, white with raspberry next, marble on the third and the top tier lemon curd!”

  Alex snickered. “That’s my man, as long as it tastes good, he doesn’t care what it looks like. However, I saw this cake on a baking competition done in swirls of lavender buttercream with cut out hearts made of gum paste. The largest heart on the top and smaller ones sprinkled down. I fell in love with it. Also, I do not like fondant, so it has to be buttercream.”

  “Not traditional at all. Can you tell me anything about this person doing your cake?” I was curious and not too sure about the cake.

  “We’re supposed to go on Monday morning to Atlanta to the 350 Degree Bakery to meet the decorator, Boone Myer.” Alex bounced in his chair excitedly.

  “I don’t know that bakery. Are they open today?” Alex nodded, brought up the number on his phone and handed it to me.

  Punching it into mine, I pressed call and a cheerful voice greeted me on the second ring. “350 Degrees Bakery, this is Penny, how can I help you today?”

  “Hello Penny, this is Robert Jonathan Gaither; I’m the event planner for the Gaither/King wedding. I need to speak to Boone Myer concerning the meeting on Monday about their cake.” Emmett smirked at the tone of my professional voice.

  “One moment please, Mr. Gaither.” The hold music tinkled in my ear and, after a few moments, she came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gaither, but Boone said he was not to be disturbed. He’s workin’ on a cake as we speak and I was told to stop interruptin’ the creative process. He said he will answer all your questions on Monday.”

  “Excuse me?” My temper flared. Interruptin’ the creative process? “Unacceptable,” I snapped. “Please get Mr. Myer on the line—now.”

  “Alright, but it’s your funeral.” She sighed and put me on hold again. As I waited, my annoyance bloomed into anger. The music on the line abruptly stopped

  “Whatyabuggin’ me for, Gaither? ‘M busy.” The rough drawl brought me up short. His voice was rough, manly and, damn it, my nipples started to tingle.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Myer. I’m with my clients now and we had some questions—”

  “Listen, sweet cheeks. I ain’t got time to
gab. The D’Argento cake ain’t decoratin’ itself.” Did he just interrupt me and call me sweet cheeks? “Ya’ll come on Monday and I’ll fix ya up. ‘Bye.” And he hung up. He hung up on me!

  “Somethin’ wrong, Robbie?” Emmett arched a brow at me. “’Cause you’re fire engine red.”

  “He-I-pompous-I never have-sweet cheeks?” I blustered and they both started laughing. My professional pride had been stung. How dare that frosting flinger talk to me like that?

  “Monday is going to be interesting,” Alex mused and shot Emmett a knowing look.

  Me? I was furious, curious and downright dubious… hey, nice alliteration! Good grief, that oafish baker had me completely off balance and that did not sit well at all.

  *

  The rest of the weekend had been very productive. Between the three of us, we had ironed out all their wishes and, on Sunday evening, I gave them my presentation. Emmett’s mouth dropped open and Alex burst into tears. Alex jumped up out of his chair, raced around the table and hugged me hard. Then Emmett reached over, shook my hand and wiped his damp eyes with his free one.

  “You did it, cuz. It’s perfect.” Emmett’s voice was rough with emotion and I beamed happily. Knowing that I had successfully melded their two divergent styles gave me a burst of pride. Now all we had to do was finalize the cake.

  Bright and early Monday morning I drove back to Atlanta and pulled into the parking lot of 350 Degrees Bakery a full twenty minutes before our appointment. I always arrived early in order to compose myself properly. Emmett and Alex had followed me in Emmett’s truck and parked next to me minutes later. I led the way into the store and a fresh-faced young woman with a blonde ponytail smiled at us.

  “Welcome to 350 Degrees, I’m Penny. Can I help you?”

  “Yes, Penny. I’m Robert Jonathan Gaither and these are my clients, the Gaither/Kings.”

  Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth quickly, suppressing a giggle.

  “Of course, Mr. Gaither. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to our senior decorator, Boone Myer.” She turned and gestured for us to follow her through the door leading to the back of the store. She led us along a small hallway and took us to the back of the kitchen.

  Is that music?

  “Isn’t it irregular to bring clients into the kitchen?”

  “It is,” she replied, “but Boone is… unique… and he hates sitting in the tasting room. He says it constipates his creative flow.” She turned and added hastily. “His words—not mine.”

  As we walked through the large kitchen the music got louder. Loud enough to cover the din of the other kitchen employees going about their daily work. I have to admit, the place smelled heavenly. I peered around at all the goodies cooling on racks and my mouth watered.

  I know that song!

  It was Meghan Trainor’s Dear Future Husband and it was blaring. We turned a small corner and what I saw would be burned into my memory forever. A tall, lanky, dark-haired man stood with his back to us. He was dressed in pink converse sneakers, tight gray shorts and a black short sleeved T-shirt—dancing. In his left hand, he held a big bag of white frosting which he sang into—badly.

  In front of him was a six-tiered monstrosity of a wedding cake. Covered in fret work, lace and an explosion of flowers, he piped more details on the overdone monster as we approached.

  I hope that’s not representative of his work!

  If it was, it was not going to work for Emmett and Alex. I was about to say something when he grabbed the edge of the work table and dropped, shaking his ass all the way down. I watched, mesmerized, as he descended. His ass flexed and clenched as he bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the music. His butt was small but high, round and tight and would fit perfectly in the palms of my hands.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  I heard snickering behind me and turned to glare at Emmett and Alex who watched me, clearly amused. Penny pursed her lips and put her hands on hips as she called out to the man.

  “Boone.” No response. “Boone!” She raised her voice but still nothing. “Boone!” she screamed and he echoed the sentiment as he whirled around. In doing so he must have squeezed the bag hard because white frosting spewed out and landed all over the front of his shorts and shoes.

  “Damn-dratted-freakin’-shitastic-fuckery!” Boone clutched his free hand to his chest. “You scared the shit outta me, Penny.”

  “You have visitors,” she sang, gesturing to us. He set the bag down on the counter, strode over to us and extended his hand to me. I stared pointedly at the frosting on it. His gaze followed mine and he grinned devilishly. “Sorry ‘bout that. Caught me creamin’ myself again.” He chuckled at his own wit then added. “And please tell me you’re Robert Jonathan Gaither.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you are the handsomest thing I’ve seen in a long time and I’d like to take you to dinner.” Boone smiled again.

  I was speechless.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter 2

  Boone

  Avery is right, I have more balls than brains.

  I can’t believe I just hit on some random guy who’d just walked into my bakery.

  But damn, he’s a cutie!

  His blond hair was shaved short on the sides and long on the top, brushed back on his head. He was clean-shaven and about my height with a rocking tight body. I almost laughed out loud at his outfit though. He looked like he’d fallen out of a Hugo Boss Catalog. He had on a crisp white button-up shirt, an adorable blue and aqua bowtie, charcoal slacks and glossy black dress shoes. He looked like he’d dressed to go to some country club event. All he needed was a cocktail in his hand and his ensemble would be complete.

  His blue eyes widened when I asked him out and for a second I thought I might have made a bad call. I was pretty sure he was gay, so I’d taken a chance. Admittedly a huge, honking chance but, as he hadn’t gone all huffy hetero on me, I had my answer.

  Now I just have to sit back and see what happens.

  Not exactly how I’d pictured my morning going. Not when I’d gone over to Momma’s the night before to lick my wounds after another disastrous first date.

  I’d closed the door to my house and trooped next door to my family’s home. Yeah, I live next door to my family and, up until a few months ago, I shared my place with my brother Cotton. Cotton had decided to move back with Momma when my other brother, Avery and his little boy, moved in with his new boyfriend Martin. I was so happy Avery was in love. Martin was a great guy and a total hottie to boot.

  Avery and his son had moved in with Momma and Mawmaw after Daisy, Avery’s wife, died in a car wreck. After meeting and falling in love with Martin, Avery moved them into Martin’s home, ten minutes from Momma’s house. Avery’s moving darn near broke Momma’s heart but she understood. Right after they left, Cotton moved into Avery’s old room.

  Cotton… my poor baby brother. Moving in with Momma was part of his healing process. Cotton was a recovering alcoholic. His love of booze had nearly cost him his job so, after detoxing in Raleigh, he moved home. I didn’t want him to go. I hated being separate from my fellow triplet. Yup, I’m one of three— an identical three. Avery, Boone and Cotton Myer, also known as the Myer Triplets and the only children of Lynda Myer.

  After three at once, our parents’ marriage had dissolved. She got us, he got his freedom and Mawmaw moved in to help out. Gladys Winston roared into our life and all our shenanigans stopped. We were too much for my momma to handle alone, so she brought in the big guns. We never got away with anything with Mawmaw. I swear she had eyes in the back of her head and we loved that crazy old woman with all our hearts.

  Cotton decided to move home because we had alcohol in our place and he didn’t want me to change how l lived for him. Now I’m alone and I find I spend more time at Momma’s than ever before. My boots clomped loudly as I took the stairs to the back door and the hinges creaked when I opened it. As soon as I entered the kitchen the smell
of cheap spaghetti and garlic bread made my mouth water. I passed by Momma at the stove and kissed her cheek.

  “Evenin’, Boone.” She bussed me back. “Grab a plate, dinner’ll be ready in five.”

  I nabbed a plate from the cupboard and kissed Mawmaw, who was slicing up the garlic bread, on my way to the table. Cotton was already sat down and I reached over to squeeze his shoulder. He grabbed my hand and squeezed back.

  “Hey, bro,” he said and smiled slightly. At times he seemed so far away, nothing like his old grumpy self. I wondered if he was still trying to figure out who he was now that he didn’t drink. He would never be cured of his alcoholism, every day was a battle for him but he was doing great so far.

  “Hey, butthead.” I ruffled his hair and he batted my hand away.

  “Don’t mess up the do, bottom boy,” he snarked and, just like that, the old Cotton was back. “How did the date go?”

  I plopped into my chair and grimaced. “It didn’t. He never stopped talkin’ ‘bout himself. Bragged all night about his job, his car, his condo, blah blah blah! That I could ignore but when we started kissin’, it was attack of the sloppy fish lips.”

  “Ew, I hate that. They kiss like they’re slurping soup. So fuckin’ gross,” Cotton agreed.

  “Language,” Momma corrected and we both groaned.

  “Momma, I thought he was going to eat my face. I had spit up my nose!” I groused and Mawmaw snickered.

  “A bad kisser is always bad in bed,” she added with a sage nod.

  I threw my hands in the air. “Thank you. After my face was mauled, I told him I had a headache and hightailed it outta there. No way was I givin’ up the goods for a face slobberer.”

  “Humph, first time for everythin’,” Cotton mumbled and I punched his arm. “Ow, shithead!”

  “Cocksniffer!”

  “Pucker-sucker!”

  “No that’s your thing,” I teased and he blushed hard.

  “You know you love it too.” He shot back.