“Holy shit. That’s pretty detailed.”
"It's a good bit of work," I acknowledge, shrugging. "But I like it. It's relaxing."
“Where did you learn to do all of this?”
I shrug. “My mother made cakes. I helped her a lot when I was a kid, and then after Adam ”
I stop suddenly as a surge of heat rises to my face. I don’t want to talk about my dead husband. Killian looks at me funny, and I quickly turn away to hide my flush, walking back to the counter and sliding my hands under the board the cake rests on. I clear my throat. “Employee-training going well?”
“Best part of my day."
I snort. “I’m sure. Can you open the freezer for me?”
Killian holds the door open while I slide the cake back into the freezer. “I like a woman who knows her way around a kitchen.”
Spinning around, I face him with my hands on my hips. “How is it that you say a couple of nice things and then revert back to being a misogynistic ass?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” Killian grins, looking overly pleased with himself, and I realize he’s just saying stuff like that to ruffle my feathers.
Well, he’s not ruffling my feathers, that’s all there is to it.
“One of those talents must be getting on people’s nerves." I loosen the tie on my apron and hang it on the hook, glancing up at the clock. For once I’m not rushing like a madwoman to go pick up Chloe because I was helping out in the front of the store. That also means that for the first time in a while, I won't have to return back to the store after picking her up, just to finish a cake. I admit, that could be a perk of having Killian here.
You know there could be other perks to having Killian in the store.
I push that thought right out of my head.
Killian laughs, the sound echoing through the space in the kitchen. His laugh is deep and warm, and it immediately makes me smile, like some kind of involuntary reflex. “I’ll grow on you."
“Like a disease, I assume.”
“Hopefully a sexually-transmitted one."
“It’s such a turn-on when guys talk about growing on me like STDs,” I say, turning to leave.
Killian pauses for a second, looking off into the distance.
“What, no witty comeback?” I ask.
He makes a show of shaking his head and refocusing his attention. “Sorry. All I heard was ‘it’s such a turn-on’.”
I roll my eyes. “See you later, caveman.”
"Later, cupcake."
10
Killian
“You smell like…” Luke sniffs, the movement exaggerated. “Cake. Or is it cupcakes?”
“What are you talking about?” Autumn walks toward the door, Olivia, beside her. The kid hides behind her leg and stares at me like I have three heads. I don't know if it's a kid or a baby. It can walk, but it’s still pretty short, and it talks, so it’s in that in-between stage, I guess.
“It’s Luke." I shake my head. "Does anyone ever know what he’s talking about?”
“You’re probably smelling that berry cobbler that you’re baking.” Autumn slides her arm around my shoulder and draws me in for a hug. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the house coming along?”
“It’s coming along.” I stand there awkwardly while Autumn beckons me into the living room, past the kitchen and all of Luke’s pots and pans on the stove. “Your place is looking good.”
God, this whole making-polite-conversation thing is so awkward.
“It is, isn’t it?” Autumn asks. “The contractors were really able to get it done pretty quickly after the fire. Now I can’t get Luke out of the kitchen.”
“She keeps me barefoot in the kitchen, waiting on her,” Luke yells.
The fire that burned the kitchen happened when I was out in Texas, the night Jed Easton came after Autumn and Luke and the baby. I still feel a pang of guilt when I think about how I wasn't here the way I should have been for my brother and his girl.
Olivia tears past Autumn and pulls a plastic piano out of a wicker basket. "My piano!"
"Oh, crap." June sighs as the kid plops down on the floor and begins pounding, producing slightly off-key notes at a deafening volume.
Shit, is this what it’s like being a parent? Losing your hearing while being forced to pretend to appreciate your kid’s musical genius?
“That’s …uh … loud,” I yell over the din of the music.
Autumn sighs. “I took the batteries out of that, I thought.” She glares at Luke when he comes into the room with two beers. “Did you put the batteries back in there?”
“What?” Luke's voice is innocent. “I’d never do something like that just to drive you crazy. That would make me a terrible person.”
“Sleep with one eye open tonight, buddy," she advises, her eyes narrowed.
“You should probably take her seriously." I take a drag on my beer. “I hear she’s real handy with a rifle.”
“Liv-bug.” Autumn picks up a small toy house and some figures that look vaguely like plastic people with oversized heads. “Look at this! Wouldn’t you like this instead?”
I take another drag on my beer while Autumn negotiates with her child, handing the toy to Luke when she successfully negotiates a trade. “Hide this someplace or get the batteries out of there. Or else you’re a dead man.”
Luke laughs. “No sense of humor."
“I’ll remind you to have a sense of humor when I buy Olivia her first drum set. Next week.”
I listen to them playfully bicker back and forth as I sit on their beige sofa in the ranch house. This home is so unlike anything I ever thought my brothers or I would ever have. This place, with its white walls and whitewashed floors and airy curtains hanging on the windows, a trail of kid's toys running from the living room into the kitchen, is the opposite of the kind of place we grew up. Hell, I’ve never lived in any place like this. I feel as uncomfortable as I can, sitting here in my jeans and boots like I’m going to muck up all of Autumn’s nice things.
It’s funny how Luke’s adapted to this life, I think as I watch Autumn looks up at him lovingly before he wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her tight against him. It’s like he was always meant to be here.
For a split second, I feel a pang of jealousy.
“Luke made hors d'ouvres.” Autumn's voice breaks through my thoughts.
I look at Luke. “Well, la-de-dah. Are we having tea with the Queen, too?”
“Keep talking and you’ll get nothing," Luke says. "They're bacon-wrapped jalapenos."
“Could you keep an eye on Olivia for just a second, Killian?” Autumn asks. She turns around and follows Luke into the kitchen without waiting for my response.
“Uh…” I eyeball the kid who is attempting to shove one of the plastic people into the chimney on top of the house where it clearly doesn't fit. She becomes increasingly upset and smashes the figure against the house a few times, finally stopping when she looks up and notices that Autumn and Luke aren't in the room. She eyes me warily.
“So …” I hope she doesn’t move. Or cry. That would be bad. After I returned to West Bend, I came over here for dinner once before, at Autumn’s insistence, but they didn’t leave me alone in a room with the kid.
Olivia points at an inflatable plastic ball beside the sofa. "My ball."
"Yep. Your ball," I repeat. So what am I supposed to do here? Do I talk to the kid like we’re having a normal conversation?
“Ball!” she yells, louder and more insistent this time.
“Yeah, dude, I get it. Ball.” I hold it up to her. “Do you want me to throw it?”
She claps and tries to grab for the ball. “Yes. Throw ball!”
Alright, I can do this. I toss the ball gently to her, but she drops it and it rolls across the floor. She stares at me for a moment, her expression indignant. Then her eyes well up with tears.
Oh shit.
And she starts wailing, screaming and flailing her arms wildly lik
e I just took away her birthday.
Autumn walks out from the kitchen with a plate in her hand, and I hold both of my hands up, looking warily at the kid who’s standing in front of me screaming accusatorily.
“Uh…I threw the ball and she dropped it,” I start.
“The ball! Him! The ball!” Olivia wails, her scream hysterical now.
Autumn sighs loudly. “It’s right here, Liv." Autumn speaks calmly to her, handing her the ball.
“I thought she wanted me to throw it,” I say sheepishly.
Autumn shrugs. “She’s a toddler,” she explains. “They scream. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. But that’s just confirmation of what I already know, and that’s that I don’t fucking understand kids.
11
Lily
“I know that running by the bakery is boring,” I admit. “But I’ll be just a few minutes. You can have a snack and then we’ll head to swim class. We won’t be late.”
“Can I have a double chocolate cupcake?” Chloe asks casually.
“Don’t push your luck,” I tell her, looking at her in the rearview mirror. She catches my eye and gives me her best sad puppy-dog look. “I have fruit and cheese sticks at the bakery.”
“Ugh, gross." Chloe rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“Why are you giving me the 'ugh, gross' thing?” I ask, distracted as I turn down the main street in town. “You like that stuff.”
“It’s fiiine."
“Not as good as double chocolate cupcakes?” I tease.
“I don’t like cheese sticks anymore."
“Uh-huh. Since when? You had them yesterday.”
“Since today.”
“Fine. We’ll find something healthy and non-cheese stick for you, then.”
“And a cupcake after dinner?” she asks.
“Maybe. If you get your homework done and clean up your room.”
“Mo-om,” she whines.
“What?”
“That’s really not a fair trade,” she says. “I have to do math and it sucks. Plus, there are a lot of toys in my room to clean up.”
“Life’s not fair.” I turn into the parking space in front of the bakery. “And if you have too many toys, we should definitely get rid of some of them.”
“What?” she squeals. “No way.”
“Yes way." I unbuckle her from her car seat and she jumps out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She walks ahead of me, bouncing on one foot and then the other as she skips the cracks in the sidewalk like she’s playing hopscotch, her brown ponytail swinging back and forth.
“I don’t think we need to get rid of my toys, mom,” she says, holding open the bakery door for me, suddenly congenial.
“You don’t, do you?”
It's almost four and the bakery is empty. Generally, I try to have things completely wrapped up by the end of the day so I can pick up Chloe from school and focus on her for the rest of the afternoon. But I need to grab some paperwork to work on while Chloe’s at swimming lessons, and check on the delivery that should have come this afternoon.
I walk quickly through the store toward the kitchen. "Pull out your homework and start working on it," I tell her. Why she has so much homework in first grade, I just can't understand. I don't think I had homework when I was her age. "I'll grab you a snack."
"I don't like the math problems," she calls.
"You have to do them anyway."
The back door in the kitchen is open, and I stop short when Killian enters from outside carrying a fifty-pound bag of flour over his shoulder . . . shirtless. Sweat glistens on the wide expanse of his muscles and I just stand there for a second with my mouth open, gawking at him.
Shit. I'm leering at him like I've never seen a bare-chested man before. Except I have. I've seen a bare-chested Killian before, in fact. The image may be burned into my brain.
Killian sets the bag of flour down on the floor and wipes his brow. "Didn't expect you back here," he says.
"Oh?" I ask, forcing nonchalance into my voice. Sound casual, Lily. Like you're not gaping at his pecs. Or his abs. Or the tattoo that covers his chest and winds up over his shoulder and down his bicep.
I forgot what I was going to say.
Killian smirks like he can read my mind as he reaches for his shirt on one of the shelves.
"Hey mom!" Chloe yells, barging through the swinging doors. "Ugh. Totally gross. Why is your shirt off? I don't need to see that."
I laugh at her bluntness, but choke and wind up coughing loudly. Killian scrambles into his shirt, and when I look up, I think I see a faint blush on his cheeks. Oh my God. Is the caveman embarrassed?
"I didn't know anyone was here," he says.
Chloe walks over to the refrigerator and throws open the door with a bang. "You're probably getting sweat everywhere, you know," she yells. "Did you know sweat contains bacteria?"
"He's bringing in a delivery, Chloe," I say.
"It was warm outside," Killian explains.
Chloe reappears with a bowl of cut-up fruit. "No, it's not," she argues. "We had to wear jackets at recess today, and East took his off, and then Mrs. S told him to put it back on so he didn't catch a cold."
"That's not really how colds work," Killian says. "Is East a kid?"
"Yeah," Chloe says, popping a grape into her mouth. "That's his name. East."
Killian snorts. "Who names their kid something dumb like that?"
I clear my throat and glare at Killian. "Do you have anywhere else to be?"
Chloe's eyes get wide. "See, mom?" she asks, looking at me and then back to Killian. "I said it was a stupid name and I got two of my toys taken away because mom said I shouldn't say mean things. This guy just said 'dumb'."
Killian shrugs. "Some things are self-evident."
"Mr. Saint shouldn't have used the word 'dumb'," I say sternly. "Because we don't call people dumb. How would you like it if someone called you those things?"
"I didn't call East dumb!" Chloe protests. "I said his name was stupid, and I didn't say it to him, I said it to you. If I said it to him, that would be mean."
"We don't say other people's names are dumb!" I reiterate firmly.
Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. "He said it."
"He's an adult, and sometimes adults say stupid things," I blurt out. I immediately regret my choice of words.
"You just said stupid! Now you have to lose a toy."
"I don't have any toys to lose." I think I hear Killian cough and then clear his throat. Of course. I'm sure he assumes I'm a hard-up single mom with a drawer full of battery-operated toys. Okay, so that’s not far removed from reality. "Why don't you take your fruit out to the table and do your homework?"
Chloe ignores me. Instead, she looks at Killian through narrowed eyes and pops a piece of pineapple into her mouth. "Are you working for my mom?"
"He's helping out for a little bit, yes, Chloe. What did I say about your homework?"
"This is a bakery," Chloe says, frowning as she looks at him. "Only girls work in bakeries."
"That's not true," I say. I swear I’ve taught her better than that.
Killian interrupts. "You've never seen a male chef?" he asks, his voice gruff. "Men can work in bakeries just fine."
"How would you like it if someone told you that you couldn't play with something because it was a boy's toy?" I ask.
"That's what East says at school whenever I try to do math," Chloe complains. "He says girls can't do math."
"Well, there you go, East does sound like a stupid kid," Killian says.
"Killian!" I hiss. I'm going to kill him.
"I know." Chloe nods sagely as she looks at Killian. "But I'm not going to tell him that because that would be mean. I'll just think it in my head when I look at him."
"Homework," I growl.
“I’m going!” she says. “But don’t forget swim lessons!”
“I’ll only be a few minutes.
You have time to do at least five math problems.”
“Two,” she says casually, as she walks out the door.
“This is not a negotiation!” I call. When she’s gone, I turn to look at Killian. “That’s not true,” I admit, exhaling heavily. “Everything’s a negotiation.”
Killian shrugs. “At least she’s got opinions.”
“That’s for sure. You stayed here to wait for the delivery?”
“I heard you say they were late. I wasn't about to leave Opal here to move this stuff.”
“We usually just let the delivery guy in and he leaves it all in a pile here.”
Killian shrugs again. “Didn’t have anything else to do anyway."
“You might want to get some friends,” I suggest.
“Are you volunteering?”
“Not to be the kind of friend you’re talking about,” I call, walking to my office. “Office” is a polite term for the room in the back corner of the kitchen that’s approximately the size of a closet. It has just enough room for my desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.
After I grab the paperwork and file a stack of receipts, I walk back into the kitchen to find that Killian has already put everything from the delivery away where it belongs.
“What kind of friend do you think I’m talking about?” he asks. I stop short as I walk right in front of him. There's all this space in the kitchen, and somehow I keep winding up mere inches away from him. How does this keep happening?
I cock my head to the side. “You know.”
“Oh?” His voice is low and gravelly and his eyes linger on my lips as I stand there unmoving. I think he might kiss me again. I think part of me might want him to kiss me again. Instead, he steps back. “I have to go. I have to be someplace.”
I clear my throat. “Hot date?” I blurt out, immediately regretting my choice in words. Shit. Was there an edge to my voice? Did I sound jealous?
I’m a hundred percent not jealous. The opposite of jealous, in fact. I hope he’s going on a hot date. Maybe that will get him out of my hair.
Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Page 6