Bad Traveler

by Lola Karns

  All he had left were work and fantasies.

  Chapter Five

  With the storefront mostly ready to go and with the respectable cookie-delivery sales during final-exam week, Gwen decided to soft open her bakery in the days leading up to Christmas. As she reupholstered chairs, she kept the doors unlocked. Samples in the display case showed customers what they could order for delivery from her home until she received her county health permit. Although her parents, sister, and Kyle knew of her plans to soft open, signage and word of mouth comprised her only advertising. Why spend the money until the students arrived back in town?

  During a last-minute check of the product and cash register Monday morning, movement at the picture window caught her eye. Recognizing his coat, she waved to Kyle and crossed the beautiful floor he helped to install. The sleigh bells, picked up last week on sale, jingled as she unlocked the front door to let him in.

  “Technically, I don’t open for a few minutes, but it’s too cold to wait out there.” She flipped the sign to open. May as well.

  “Thanks. Looks like I’m your first customer.”

  As he took off his gloves, he flashed a lopsided grin that turned her legs to pudding. The tips of his ears were reddened from the cold. How long has he been outside?

  “I know what you need. How do you take your coffee?” She gestured toward a table, but he walked with her toward the coffee machine and stayed on the other side of the counter. “And that coffee?”

  “Black.” He looked into the glass-front display case. “Are those lemon-poppy muffins?”

  The sturdy white mug slid smoothly on the counter. Not a drop spilled. “I have a few samples today. Would you like one?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Using one of the waxed-paper sheets kept just inside the counter doors, she retrieved the best looking one. When she rose, muffin on plate, he opened his wallet.

  “Your money is no good here, Kyle.” Taking his money didn’t seem right, not after all he’d done to get her shop ready.

  His gaze locked with hers. She recognized intensity in his expression, one she’d describe as smoldering if he thought of her as more than a down-on-her-luck pal. Unable to force herself to look away, she fought the urge to kiss him.

  He spoke in a conspiratorial tone, shattering the illusion of desire. “If you give out too many freebies, you’ll never turn enough profit to buy food and clothes and a puppy for Chloe. Besides, I insist on paying. I want to be your first customer.”

  “I don’t think my parents would let us have a puppy. We’ll have to move out first.”

  “All the more reason to let me pay.” When he flashed those white teeth in a broad grin at her, she resigned herself to doing whatever he wanted. He unzipped his coat as she rang up the sale. “I also brought you something to celebrate your first customer.”

  “Really?”

  From somewhere deep inside his coat, he pulled out an empty black photo frame. “I thought you might like to frame your first dollar for luck.”

  His thoughtfulness impressed her. She loved restaurants that displayed a memory of their first sale. It reassured her about the business.

  “Thank you! You’ll have to sign the bill, of course.”

  He pulled out a Sharpie and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You are too much, Kyle Collins!” The jingling of bells announced the entrance of another customer, double parked in front, but intrigued by the new business.

  As the days ground on, the local population was more interested in baking their own holiday cookies than buying hers. Business will pick up when the students return. She might close during spring break to avoid the same problem. Then again, she owned a secret weapon. Her competitor, the campus coffee bar, closed when classes weren’t in session.

  A member of the city government came by Wednesday to check the licenses on an unfamiliar business. “That’s a nice-looking machine you have back there. Can I get a latte?”

  “Sorry, I can’t make one for you. I don’t have a level-four business permit to allow me to sell perishables.”

  “Right answer, although I’m sorry to hear it.” Forty minutes later, he returned with another man, a thermometer, and a flashlight. By the end of the day, she displayed a city-issued temporary license valid for thirty days, or until the state inspector came through—whichever came first. She suspected the latter since she was on day eight of waiting for the state inspection.

  Word of her espresso maker increased business on Thursday and Friday. Her fully automatic wasn’t the fastest machine, but the preprogrammed buttons let her make a few standard drinks with the touch of a button. It even frothed the milk for her so she didn’t need to learn to be a barista, too, if her coffee menu stayed simple. The average of fifteen customers a day included pity visits from her parents. As a test, she left them a plate of muffins and a pot of fresh-brewed coffee on Wednesday morning. When they brought Chloe to the store for her morning meal, they ordered scones and coffee. The untouched plate remained on the kitchen counter at the end of the day.

  Stacking the chairs, the plainness of the walls assailed her vision. Perhaps the art department might be interested in displaying student or faculty work. A cork bulletin board in the hallway leading to the restroom would give her customers a community center, eventually. The only adornments up were the framed temporary license and the autographed bill.

  ***

  Each morning, Kyle brought his newspaper from home, ordered a mug of coffee, and perused the daily assortment of scones, muffins, and cookies before making a selection. He couldn’t make a bad choice.

  Thursday, citrus and something tart filled the air as he opened the door. Her broad smile brightened her face, and his morning. A silvery coffeepot dangled in her hand.

  “Good morning. One cup of coffee, black, just as you like it.”

  She slid the white mug across the counter. Their hands touched briefly. She peeked at him through her long lashes, a shy smile on her face. Heat flushed through him.

  “This will help warm you up.”

  “I bet.” Just being in her presence warmed him—especially since she brought Chloe today. Wearing a pair of pink-footed pajamas, she played with a rattle in the comfort of her portable crib.

  “What do you recommend today?”

  “I like the orange-cranberry scones. They smell like Christmas.”

  “Is that what smells so good? I’ll take one. I’m headed out of town for a game, and I’ll come back just long enough to repack and get to my parents for Christmas, so I won’t see you for a few days, unless I can convince you to make a couple dozen toffee cookies for me to take along. I was going to leave on Christmas Eve.”

  “Could you call me on the twenty-third? I’ll bring them over to your place if that’s okay.”

  “Perfect.”

  He set his breakfast on the table closest to the counter. Peekaboo with Chloe beat reading the paper. How could her father reject her? That’s not how a man behaved, at least not an intelligent one. She was so sweet and innocent. As the girl chuckled so hard he thought she’d fall over, his heart softened. Thinking of Gwen made his heart beat faster, playing with Chloe made it expand.

  At least he hadn’t lost his head. Not yet. His heart was a lost cause, but he’d deal with that later. The problem was his heart gave him hope he and Gwen could have a future together. His mind recognized the improbability of that future.

  ***

  The bags grew heavy on her arms as she waited for him to respond to the doorbell. Unlike the entryway to the apartment complex, the inner door looked new, solid, and secure. She drummed her foot. What is taking him so long? She wondered if this complex allowed children. So many in town didn’t. She leaned in to press the bell again as the door opened.

  “Is this a good time?”

  Her gaze dipped to his bare chest, a view definitely worth waiting for. She hoped Kyle would assume the flush in her cheeks stemmed from the cold wind outside.


  Movement from his arms reminded her to look up, and he took the bags from her hands.

  “I know asked you to come over, but I didn’t expect you so soon. Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me in the shower. Come in.”

  The apartment door opened into the living room dominated by a large flat-screen TV and two recliners. She tried not to gawk at Kyle’s chest, but she couldn’t help sneak a peek at his six-pack abs and the damp curls peeking above the waist of his jeans. His body was more magnificent than she remembered, and more scarred. Shiny patches of skin flecked his right side. What happened?

  “This is quite the bachelor pad.” And he probably entertains women here regularly.

  His bare shoulders nudged upward, and his right arm wrapped across his torso as if he were self-conscious about those parts of his body she longed to touch. “I watch a lot of game tape. It fills the time. Could I get you something to drink? I was thinking of making some decaf.”

  “Sounds good.”

  After setting her purse on the kitchen pass through, she draped her coat on one of the two chairs by a small wood table in the eating nook. It had nice Scandinavian style, but still looked like a lonesome place to eat dinner. She hated eating dinner alone. Did he even eat at the table, or did he balance a plate on his legs while watching TV?

  As he worked in the kitchen, she appreciated the view of his broad shoulders moving with ease as the muscles rippled. The impulse to kiss him took over her brain. Her feet started toward him. She’d closed the gap about halfway when he turned around.

  He startled, as if he’d forgotten she was there. That was about par for the course. Ever since her pregnancy started showing, she’d turned invisible to the male eye, unless nursing.

  His brows furrowed. “I’ll be right back.” He walked down the short hallway of his apartment and disappeared through a door on the right.

  He hadn’t touched her, or given her any signs. Those smiles he offered her at work, different than ones offered by other customers, must have been a figment of her imagination. Disappointed, she unpacked her canvas totes, extracting several clear bags stacked with cookies and tied with red ribbon at the top. Last came two plain white boxes, labeled A and B.

  When he returned wearing a long-sleeve gray T-shirt, she wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved she wouldn’t embarrass herself by drooling.

  “Here are the cookies you ordered. I forgot to ask if you wanted them gift wrapped or plated, so I put them in bags.”

  “They look great. Is that your logo?” His finger traced the swirling steam rising from the cup of coffee on the left side of the oval to the top of the arc where similar swirls arose from a muffin in the lower right quadrant.

  “Almost. To keep the state happy, so long as I’m working in my parents’ kitchen, I need to label all baked goods as home produced. On the store version, ‘Homemade by Gwen’ will be replaced with the Sweet Shop. And that coffee will be the perfect palate cleanser. It beeped while you were down the hall. I have two types of brownies, and I need your help picking the best.” Staring into his eyes made her wish he would try something.

  “One is the same recipe I used to make for you; the other is a new variant. I thought you might need a little cheering up after that road game.”

  “It was a doozy. On the plus side, Coach Meyer said he wouldn’t be surprised if someday I’m coaching on the opposing sideline, crushing him as badly as his former assistant did to us.”

  “That’s good news?”

  “He thinks I have what it takes to be a head coach.” His face beamed with pride.

  “That’s terrific. So let’s celebrate with sugar.” God, she loved his grin and how it brought forth the crinkles around his eyes and dusting of freckles across his nose.

  He poured two cups of coffee and brought plates and napkins to table. She put brownie A on the plate. Lifting the chocolaty goodness to his mouth, he closed his eyes as he bit into it. She tried not to wonder if he had the same contented look after sex. “This is the new one.”

  “How? You haven’t even tasted the other yet. Try them both first.” She brought two chocolate styles, knowing he would identify the mint ones as new.

  He drank some coffee and tried the second. “After all the time I dreamed about your brownies, I didn’t think it would be possible to improve upon them, but you did. The first was so much richer, more complex, and simply delicious.”

  His hand reached across the table, covering hers. She gasped, and their gazes locked.

  “They might even be addictive.” His voice rumbled.

  Maybe it was the chocolate effect, but she knew what she saw reflected in his eyes. Lust. Her eyes likely told him the same thing. Her vision shifted, blurring around the edges. Time slowed, becoming irrelevant. It could have been seconds or hours. At least one breathy sigh escaped her throat.

  He coughed, releasing her hand, and looked away. “I’ll get us some refills.”

  Whatever she thought had passed between them dissipated by the time he returned with steaming mugs. Maybe she had been too forward, sighing like a French whore from his innocuous touch. Nothing had changed for him in that moment, but everything had shifted for her. Which had to be why she was so empty inside after he closed the door, and she drove home with overheated hormones and a couple of wrapped presents.

  Chapter Six

  Gwen wanted Chloe’s first Christmas to be special; limited space and finances dictated sticking to necessities. Chloe didn’t even meet the mall Santa, but as her parents reminded, babies didn’t anticipate the holidays. Next year, she would be able to tear open the paper herself and be less susceptible to picking up a cold at a crowded mall full of germy children.

  Finding room for Chloe’s gifts proved challenging enough with her family’s overwhelming generosity. Her sister, Keira, gave Chloe a much-needed snowsuit. Her parents bought toys and a wood toy box. She protested the size of the toy box, but her mom said they wanted one that fit in front of the fireplace, making the parlor a better play space. Kyle offered the biggest surprise. The box he handed her the other night contained a pink Ravens onesie and sweatpants for Chloe and a feminine-cut Ravens Basketball T-shirt for her.

  The holiday was bittersweet, in spite of the joy of family. Chloe meant so little to her birth father that he hadn’t acknowledged her first Christmas, but part of her was relieved. He didn’t care enough to track down his daughter, so he wouldn’t want her back.

  She moved without leaving a forwarding address other than a Yahoo e-mail account. In spite of encouragement, she refused to set up a Facebook account. Since becoming a mother, she worked hard to avoid the news, social media, and anything that fed her anxiety. Cody’s mother had her e-mail address and her dad’s office address. It wasn’t fair to deny her access to her granddaughter, even if her son was useless, so she e-mailed Gammy regular updates and photos. In her replies, Babs thanked her for everything and expressed the hope she might reunite with her son, who was “getting better.” No way.

  The problem came a few days later. A handful of customers trickled in to her shop, several ordering cookie trays for New Year’s Eve. The orders were a positive sign, but doing the math, she wouldn’t be able to afford to pay all the outstanding bills and herself for the month of December. Being financially dependent on her parents took an emotional toll.

  The spring semester couldn’t start soon enough. She hoped students would remember the cookie deliveries and look to her shop as a place to congregate in the morning before school and in the evenings since Keira had offered to help two evenings a week. Her sister deserved wages, of course, but…. Failure wasn’t an option. She needed to make the shop a success for Chloe and herself.

  Her foul mood deepened when she arrived home to find the living room overflowing with large and small boxes.

  “The UPS man stopped by our house today. Apparently, someone was a busy Internet shopper.” The accusing tone in her mother’s voice made her cringe.

  S
urprised, she read the labels Chloe Mitchell care of Gwendolyn Jones. Her throat tightened. This wasn’t right. Her daughter was Chloe Jones. “Mom, did you see any return addresses on these?”

  “Every box I looked at said Amazon or Toys R Us or Fisher Price.”

  “I can think of one person who would use Chloe Mitchell rather than Chloe Jones. Her father.”

  “Oh.” Mom abstained from another lecture, but her crinkled nose revealed her distaste louder than words.

  They sat in silence with their thoughts. The more she looked at the boxes, the more her stomach churned. Antacids couldn’t help this sick feeling. Why had the boxes arrived here and not at Dad’s office? Cody must have put forth some effort to find them. After all this time, his motives seemed suspect. She doubted he’d had a sudden change of heart because he never had a heart to begin with. Maybe his bipolar disorder had shifted into a manic phase again.

  “Do you think we should send them back?” Mom asked.

  “No. I don’t know what that would accomplish except making him angry, and then he might come out here. I suppose we should open them. If nothing else, he is showing interest in Chloe.”

  The first box contained an oversize jointed teddy bear in a pink dress. Cute, but too delicate to give to a baby. The packaging suggested it for ages eight and up. “I’ll find somewhere to store this after we take a photo of Chloe next to it to send to her Gammy. She must have sent this.”

  The next box held pair of sparkly red shoes with a computer-generated card claiming these shoes would work just like Dorothy’s in the Wizard of Oz. One click and Chloe would be home. Her stomach seized as it did weeks ago on the flight here. She extracted several outfits of questionable taste, all with notes about how cute she would look in them. The most outrageous gift was a hot-pink motorized car designed for children ages three and older.