Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2

by Burgoa, Claudia Y.

  “They didn’t think much of it at the beginning. All my years of high school, I had tutors,” I explain. “They prepared me to reach the perfect GPA and test scores, which I did. I refused to apply to any school, to which Dad justified it by believing Mom burned me out, and I needed a break. She didn’t like it but let me wait a year before I started my college applications. By then, I had enough money to rent my own place, which I did. I moved to a studio on the West Village, close to Willows. She didn’t like that I took a lot of her tight-fisted control away. While I made a plan, I continued working for Parker, and when I found the perfect spot, I presented Dad with my idea. A complete business plan, it had a name, cost, flavors, production—you name it. Mel bought the building and had rented it to me since day one. Fair price, before you think she was giving me some kind of discount for being me. However, Dad refused to lend me the money, because of the absurdity of the business.”

  “He has enough money to take that kind of risk,” Mitch states. “The law firm he heads is one of the best in New York and Welsh Industries, the company he inherited from his father is considered a Fortune 500 company.”

  “Thank you for that fact, sir.” I stare at a pigeon who’s eating some crumbs from the ground. “He’s where he is because he has a degree and invests his money on pursuable ventures. That’s what he told me back then.”

  “You’re doing great, Hayl.” He sound like an encouraging teacher; his words include a pat on the shoulder. “And your cupcakes are an excellent product.”

  “You say that but everyone is waiting for me to fail and go back to school.” I press my nail hard into my arm; as exciting as my five-year plan sounds, things will cool down, and I’ll end up where they want me, with a debt I shouldn’t have incurred from the beginning. Not only that, they’ll say, “I told you so”. “I take it one day at a time.”

  “Come on, Muffin. Let’s take one of those old boats for a spin,” Mitch says, pulling me towards the rental site. “I think I like you; I might just adopt you.”

  I look at him sternly trying to decode what he means by that.

  “I’m not a puppy or a stray, Mitchel,” he frowns. “However, if you’re nice, I might become your friend… that includes zero nicknames.”

  Chapter 8

  Mitch

  “Repeat after me,” Hayley says. “‘This is good’, or if that’s too hard for you, try to say: ‘Not bad’ then rub your tummy and make a yum sound. Now, if all of the above are beyond your scope, then stay quiet instead of making yourself sound like an arrogant ass.”

  “Arrogant ass?”

  “Yes, it’s when you say things like: ‘I can cook you something much better. This is too greasy.’”

  “Do I also sound like a whiney little girl?” she stomps her foot and makes a noise that sounds more like a moan.

  We’re at the bowling alley at four in the afternoon eating junk: mac-n-cheese—Hayley’s favorite meal, nachos and a variety of tacos. They are acceptable but as I told her before, I can cook something better.

  “From the first day we’ve eaten together, you’ve made sure to inform me that there’s nothing better than what you cook.”

  “You admitted that my mac-n-cheese is the best you’ve ever tasted,” I say as she takes her bowling ball. She walks toward the lane, seizes the target and swings her arm after walking two steps, then Hayley and I watch her stupid ball score another strike. As of yet, I haven’t found anything that’ll take her concentration away. “I haven’t said such a thing about your pastries, Miss Éclair.”

  “Because those are baked goods.” She grins.

  I shake my head, surprised that she didn’t sneer about the nickname. I need a new pastry related nickname for her.

  “You’re the one who makes me sound like an egotistical asshole.” I grab my ball and head to the lane. “Which I’m not.”

  “That’s you, Mitch, without the a-hole part,” she says as I try to tune her out. “Your ego likes to take part in every event, Mr. Knight. I can guarantee you that it is the biggest thing you have going there.” She pokes me on the back with that pointy finger of hers.

  Gutter ball.

  “Oh sweetheart, I do pretty well in all departments.” I turn to look at her and pin her down with my stare, one I try to complement with a provocative grin. I’m trying to behave and stay away from those tempting curves of hers, but there’s only so much a man can stand before acting stupid instead of moving away. I bend to brush her cheek with my lips, and the surge of electricity that hits me is too intense for me to handle, but I try to act casual. A week with this woman has been more fun than I thought. “I have something bigger than my ego; let me know when you want to try it.”

  “And that would be?” she takes her ball and releases it, not missing one pin, damn it. When she comes back I look down at my groin; the furrows in her brow deepen, and her eyes shine for a second before they close. “Are you going to finish losing or would you rather call this a day?”

  Nice recovery, I want to say.

  “You defeated me.” I throw my hands in the air since I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore. My next move will surpass a brush on the lips but if I raise the stakes too high, I’ll end up with my balls cut off for trying to make a foolish move. “We can head to one of my restaurants for some real food.”

  “Not that I didn’t enjoy today,” Hayley says stretching her neck to look up at me.

  I tower over her a little more than a foot and she looks so darn cute frowning with annoyance at me.

  “Are we going to waste this food? I didn’t get to eat more than a bite of those—not as amazing as yours—tacos.”

  “Tell you what, we’ll go to Frida & Diego’s, eat there while checking up on Johnny.”

  “Your assistant?” I nod.

  “As long as you don’t do the same thing you did on Saturday,” she lifts that index finger pointing at me and I raise my one eyebrow expectantly to hear what I did. “Putting me to work in the kitchen when I enjoy serving in the dining hall more.”

  “Nope,” I refuse to let her interact with my customers. I recall the time she kicked a customer of Le Cuisine for being rude to her. That’s something the manager should solve, not her. “Muffin, when you let me take care of your customers without babysitting me, I’ll let you wait on my tables.”

  “Never.”

  Thank God.

  *

  “I apologize, ma’am but I can’t be responsible for a cake that will travel to the other side of the coast.”

  Hayley has been on the phone for a long time talking to a customer or maybe two. Because one of those times she said, “As I explained to your daughter, I can’t guarantee it’ll be fresh.” She’s wearing a baseball hat today, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt; her summer attire, even though it’s only the beginning of May. Those thin purple frame glasses make her look… different. Yes, I’ll go with that word because saying hot will imply that I’m attracted to her, which I’m definitely not.

  “Not sure who told you I baked a cake for James Rembrandt.” The singer for Power Sound? I mouth, and she answers me by chewing on her lip and turning around. “If you feel like my service isn’t up to your standards…”

  I hear her voice crack at the same time her head drops, my chest constricts and I walk to the phone taking it away from her.

  “Who am I speaking to?” I ask as I pull Hayley to my chest and stroke her back. I sense the bitch or asshole on the other side of the phone is threatening her with some crap.

  “Rachel Knight.”

  You got to be shitting me. Not a bitch, a Mama Bear, who I love dearly.

  “Mrs. Knight, as Miss Welsh informed you, the cake won’t make it all the way to San Francisco. I gave you several names already, hire a baker down there, Mother.”

  “Mitch?” Mom asks just as Hayley lifts her gaze and questions, “Mother?”

  “What are you doing there, Mitchel?”

  “Hayley’s a friend of mine, Mom and at
the moment you’re giving her a hard time about her policies.”

  “Mitchy, please.” Emma begs, Great, Mom sent me the bride-to-be. “Please tell her to bake my cake, strawberries and cream with—”

  “Em, we can’t transport the cake.” I hope she can understand. “Your cake won’t make it in one piece.”

  It might, but I can’t guarantee that and I know Hayley, she’s going to bake three cakes to prevent a catastrophe.

  “Mitchel you’re not being very cooperative here.” She sobers up and now is starting to sound vicious. “Next time you need a favor, I’ll say no. In fact, I’m not going to stop your mother from inviting that girl she wants you to date.”

  “She’s inviting a date for me?” I bet Emma’s bluffing, Mom knows better than to set me up.

  “Uh-huh, cake and I’ll make the blind date go away.”

  I look down to find Hayley’s big hopeful eyes staring back at me.

  “Nope, sorry, Emma. Muffin girl can’t do it.”

  “Tell your sister that I can bake one for her when she gets back from her honeymoon—free.”

  “You heard?” I ask Emma.

  “Yeah, I guess I’ll take the peace offering. Hey, did she really bake a cake for the Power Sound dude?”

  “I have no idea who she bakes cakes for,” I definitely want to find out. “I have to go, see you later.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” Hayley says as I hang up the phone. “It’s part of my NDA with Susan Darling, I can’t confirm the rumors.”

  “I want to see that NDA, it sounds obtuse.” I continue drawing circles on her back and sucking in that peachy, vanilla aroma of hers.

  “You’re touching the Hayley.” She pushes me with her forearms, and once we lose contact, she continues talking. “Are they okay with the cake agreement? Now I feel worse about the wedding cake, they’re your family.”

  “Can you do it?” She shakes her head. “Then no, is no.”

  A hard concept to grasp for my entire family, but I’ll make that grasping happen for now.

  “I wish I could but she’d need to transport it on Friday and have someone assemble it Saturday morning. However, she wants it for Thursday morning, and she plans on storing it in her grandma’s refrigerator for two days. Which may or may not fit. For that to happen, I’ll have to bake them Wednesday and decorate as much as I can during the night… but then again, there won’t be a second cake to cover my ouchies—”

  “You’re talking too fast,” I put my palm in front of her trying to bring her to a halt. “I was the one who said no. From this moment forward, that specific request has to go through me. The answer won’t change. Now can we go back to the kitchen? We were about to start kneading, remember?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

  “Kneading the dough, Mitchel. You make it sound so dirty, if you say something like ‘Apply more pressure, baby. Use the balls of your hand and squeeze it tight, Babe,’ I’m going to kick you on the balls.”

  “You had me at ‘squeeze it tight, Babe’, then you lost me at ‘kicking balls’, Muffet.”

  The damn bell rings at that moment, I turn around and spot a woman in her mid to late thirties wearing a short skirt with a pair of fuck me high heels, a top that barely constrains her breasts, platinum blonde short hair and dark olive skin. She pats her hair and swags her body as she walks towards us.

  “Well, hello there,” the woman places the tip of her tongue on her upper lip. I get it, she’s flirting but she’s not that hot and now that I look at her closely, she’s at least ten years older than me. The whiff of her strong perfume makes me want to cough, but I control it. “Who is your friend, my darling girl?”

  “Mom.” The low tone sigh is followed by a body slump.

  What? The lady is too young, and they look nothing alike. Not to me, well, I guess if she takes those shoes off, she’ll be the same size as Hayley. The woman’s skin tone explains why Hayley has a pretty tan that looks custom made just to highlight her pale green eyes.

  “Mitchel Knight.” I extend a hand; she does the same and after shaking, she rubs my wrist with her thumb. I feel as if I’ve touched dirt and I need to scrub my hands.

  “Caroline Roth,” she purses her lips. “Hayley, sweetheart what’s on our agenda today, other than entertaining your handsome friend.”

  “Are you flirting with him, Mother?” There’s a snarl, followed by a huff and the usual bottom lip fidgeting.

  “How many times have I told you that you have no right to judge me?” The woman’s voice goes up in volume. “I’m being pleasant with your friend, Hayley. I taught you manners, didn’t I? This is how one behaves when trying to be social.”

  “Yeah, the last time you were pleasant with a friend of mine, you had sex with him.”

  “Ted was just a fling.” The woman lifts a hand and waves it, as if Hayley is blowing things out of proportion.

  “No, I was talking about my friend, Bob. Ted was my boyfriend, Mom.”

  The cheap comedy that unfolds in front of my eyes seems to have no end as the newcomer continues talking. The Mom slept with her ex?

  “Bob.” The woman tilts her head and taps her chin a couple of times. “Was that the lanky blond with glasses?”

  Hayley doesn’t answer, instead she covers her eyes with the palms of her hands. I look above Caroline Roth and see that Augustine Welsh is walking towards the bakery.

  “I take Chinese Torture,” I hear Hayley whisper. “One cut, I need one more.”

  Chapter 9

  Hayley

  “Mr. Knight,” Dad’s dominant tone comes out at the same time my bell rings.

  I slide my hands down from my face to find Dad looking pristine in his three piece black pin striped suit with his white shirt, gold cuffs and black tie. Certainly, I want to die, since I know things will turn ugly if Mom continues flirting with Mitch. Not because Dad cares about my mother, but because Mitch is younger. That’ll open the door for Dad to call her a cougar and her to call him other names. Where is the fire extinguisher? A water hose or at least a pitcher with cold water to stop them from killing each other?

  “Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Mitch takes a step beside me and places his hand behind my back drawing soothing circles around it and making me want to purr like a kitty cat. “You’re a little late today, sir.”

  “I had a court appearance,” that answers why he’s wearing his lucky suit. “Hi, Cupcake. You look a little tense.”

  “Hi Dad,” I don’t want to remind him that I don’t like when he calls me cupcake, pumpkin or muffin. “I hope everything went well in court.”

  “Yes, of course, I only went to support Ben with a case that’s been dragging for a few months. Do you have any muffins left?”

  “You should eat healthier, Augustine,” Mom pats his stomach.

  “Don’t touch me, Caroline, respect my boundaries.” His menacing voice is followed by a glare.

  “I remember the times you begged me to touch you.”

  “La, la, la, la,” I cover my ears with my hands. “I’m right here, you two need to stop right now before I get a graphic description of anything. I still have nightmares of you two having sex in the bathroom—I was just a child.”

  “I don’t particularly care for your attitude today, Hayley,” Mom sets one hand on her hip and points at me with the other. “First you insult me for being nice to your handsome friend—”

  “Oh, boy,” Dad sighs. “You’re not planning on fucking this one too, are you Caroline?”

  “Mrs. Roth was only being polite, sir,” Mitch’s voice cracks and I think he’s about to either burst into a laugh or start crying.

  “Ms. Roth,” Mom indignantly corrects him, as she points her chin high to the skies she continues talking. “You make me sound like a cheap lay, Augustine.”

  “You’re not cheap, Caroline. I’m still paying for my stupid mistake.” He then snaps his head towards Mitch and I. “Hold the sweets; I’m not in the mood anymore. If you’ll excuse me, I refus
e to continue this stupid discussion.”

  “Thank you for ruining my day, Hayley,” Mom spins around and as usual slams the glass door.

  My limbs feel heavy and I have a difficult time trying to exhale all the air I hold. To top it all off there’s someone here so I can’t go into the bathroom. Or can I? Yes I can, I rush to it and lock the door behind me. The box is right where I always put it, under the sink. The internal discussion of doing it or not overwhelms me. I promised myself not to do it anymore, to deal with my problems through a different venue. But what venue?

  “I’m still paying for my stupid mistake.”

  As the blade slashes through the skin of my belly, their voices fade away, and the dizziness takes over. Like a junky getting her fix, I rest my head on the wall and enjoy the seconds of release.

  *

  “Pinch and pull up, Hayley,” Mitch instructs me, as I try to create perfectly round rolls. “Keep doing it until it’s a perfect round shape.”

  “I know, pinching and pulling.” I sigh; today I’m having a hard time interacting with him. On one hand, I had a bad night, tossing and turning thinking about my parent’s altercation and how Dad never said something like, “You’re not the mistake.” or “I love you.” or… Just thinking about it brings back the stomach pinch, heavy heart and the mass on my back that weighs more than a car. “Can you sprinkle more flour on top, please?”

  “Where are you today?” I raise my gaze from the wooden board to his dark green eyes, trying to understand what he means. “I lost you yesterday, Muffin, between my family’s cake request and your family’s crazy scene.”

  “You mean when my mother came on to you,” I stammer awkwardly. I start to regret saying it because I don’t know if he wants Mom and I’m about to put my foot on my mouth or what. I continue with yesterday’s events. “Dad calling her a slut and calling me a mistake? Or are you talking about the part where you left without even saying goodbye?”

  “I had an emergency at Alexander’s,” He places a hand on top of mine stopping my pretend pinching and pulling. “I left a post-it on your monitor, I wished I had stayed. Really.”