Sausage King: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Crescent, Tara

  “I am,” I confirm, my trust-me smile still in place. A woman I dated once called it the kind of smile a shark gives you before he gnaws into your flesh. She hadn’t meant it as a compliment. “Do you have a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you about your store.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Is something the problem? Town council has already harassed me about the paint and the garden.” She shivers as a cold blast of wind hits us. “I told Roger that I can’t afford the fines. As soon as it warms up, I’ll mow the lawn.”

  The lawn? It’s the end of April. Why the fuck does the city care about her lawn? Yes, Mrs. Shepperd’s garden looks scraggly, but it’s hardly the worst offender.

  Then I register the rest of her comment. Roger Wexler. Of course. Sounds like the real estate developer wants to expand his holdings, and the way he’s going to do it is by harassing Mrs. Shepperd.

  Asshole.

  “I’m not from the town council, Mrs. Shepperd. Let me guess. Roger Wexler made an offer for The Frozen Spoon.”

  She sighs. “How did you know? Yes, Roger wants to buy it.” Her expression is sad. “This used to be my mother’s house, and her mother’s before that. It’s been in our family for generations. I don’t want to sell, but I don’t think I have a choice. Samuel works in the city, and his wife’s been diagnosed with breast cancer. Even if he wanted to help, he can’t.”

  Samuel must be her son. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much did he offer?”

  “One-fifty. I know it’s low, but Roger said he’d need to spend thousands of dollars to bring this place up to code.” She sighs again. “I’m behind on my tax payments. Jim used to handle it, you know? The CRA sent me a bill in March for twenty-five thousand dollars. I have to fix the stairs before I can open this season, and I have to add a wheelchair ramp. I just can’t afford it.”

  One hundred and fifty thousand. Outrage stiffens my spine. Yes, the building is in rough shape, but the land alone is worth at least double that, and Wexler knows it. The douchebag is taking advantage of Mrs. Shepperd.

  Aren’t you planning to do the same thing? My conscience prompts.

  I quell that voice. I’m an ex-lawyer; I’ve had a lot of practice ignoring my conscience. “Have you signed anything?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Yes! Excellent. “Mrs. Shepperd, I’d like to make a counter-offer,” I tell her. “Unlike Roger Wexler, I’ll pay fair market value. Three-fifty if I can take possession at the start of July.”

  If I’m to get the place open before summer’s over, I’ll have to start construction almost immediately. First, the wheelchair ramp and the stairs. Then the deck, and finally, give the entire place a coat of paint.

  I stopped by the Frozen Spoon last year. From what I can remember, the interior shouldn’t need much work. I can slap on a coat of paint for the moment, and work on refinishing the hard wood floors and moving the interior walls during winter.

  If I hustle, I can get the restaurant open by the first of August.

  Mrs. Shepperd stares at me, her mouth open. “Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” she says, sounding dazed. “Two hundred thousand dollars more than Roger Wexler.”

  Unlike Wexler, I don’t cheat defenseless old ladies. “The Frozen Spoon is in a great location. I’m willing to pay a premium for it.”

  I’m already making a to-do list. Ben Watanabe did my commercial kitchen last year, on time and on budget. I don’t know what his schedule looks like, but I’ll need to get on it as soon as possible. The deck is a must-have.

  The stairs and the ramp, I can probably do myself. I’ve been practicing my handyman skills by renovating my grandmother’s cottage. I need to drive to the city tomorrow for meat anyway; I’ll add a stop at a hardware store to buy lumber for the project. I could begin work as early as Wednesday.

  I open my mouth to ask Mrs. Shepperd how quickly we can move, and then I take in her expression. Half-shocked, half-saddened. I remember what she said. This property has been in her family for generations, and both Wexler and I are circling it like sharks sensing prey.

  Julian, for fuck’s sake, don’t rush the old lady.

  I soften my voice. “Take some time to think about it,” I encourage Mrs. Shepperd. “Talk to your son, talk to your friends and your lawyer. I can have the papers drawn up tomorrow. I’d like to open this summer. But there’s no real hurry. I’ll leave the offer open until the end of summer.”

  She nods wordlessly.

  I’m still a shark. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll stop by on Wednesday and fix your stairs and install a wheelchair ramp,” I add. “With the ramp in place, you can open this weekend.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Let me guess. You’ll charge me for your time if I decide not to sell?”

  “Not at all.” There’s a time for the stick, and a time for the carrot. The real art is knowing what to use when. “I’ve no doubt that when Roger Wexler hears my bid, he’ll counter. He won’t offer three-fifty, but maybe he’ll remind you that he’s on the town council, and he can make your life miserable if he chooses.” I give her a steady look. Mrs. Shepperd isn’t a fool; she knows I have ulterior motives. In situations like this, a little honesty goes a long way. “I want you to sell to me, Mrs. Shepperd. The ramp is a goodwill gesture.”

  She looks at me for a long time. I wait. I have endless reserves of patience.

  Finally, she inclines her head. “When you come by on Wednesday,” she says. “Bring the papers. I’ll take a look.”

  We shake on it. I walk away, anticipation adding a spring in my step. I’m about to be Madison’s newest restaurateur.

  Brace yourself. The Sausage King has arrived.

  3

  Dakota

  Dakota’s Pizza is closed on Mondays. Doesn’t mean I don’t work. I march to my office, seething with indignation at Julian’s comment. Coffee powers her broomstick.

  He thinks I’m a witch? Puh-leeze. He hasn’t seen anything yet.

  Admit it, Dakota. It was pretty funny.

  I catch up with a week’s worth of paperwork. Invoices, orders, payroll, shift schedules—all of this gets done on Mondays. Normally, I power through the backlog quickly and am done by lunch, leaving me the rest of the day to do with what I will.

  Not so today. Over and over, my mind keeps returning to Julian, to his sexy, smug smile.

  You moaned out my name, Dakota.

  Yes, I did.

  You shuddered through orgasm after orgasm on my tongue.

  Guilty as charged.

  Anytime you want the king again, sweetness, you just have to ask.

  Never. The nerve of the man. Yes, the sex was good—okay, fine, the sex was the best I’ve ever had—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to crawl back into his bed. For one thing, he’s just too goddamn confident it’s only a matter of time before we sleep together again. I don’t really play games, but I resent his assumption that I’m a sure thing.

  My stomach growls loudly. I look at the time on my computer and stifle a curse. It’s twelve-thirty. I’m supposed to be done, and I still have another hour of work left. I can’t stop thinking about Julian.

  Stupid Sausage King.

  This won’t do at all. I need distraction, stat.

  I get to my feet and head over to the Madison Brewpub. Like Dakota’s Pizza, the brewpub is also closed on Mondays. Vicki’s is seated at a table, typing something on her laptop. Cat, my soon-to-be sister-in-law is in the back, fiddling with a dial on one of the brewing tanks.

  Vicki looks up when I walk in. “Is it lunchtime already?” she asks with a groan. “Crap. I am so behind this morning.”

  “You’re not the only one.” I pull up a chair and wave to Cat, who waves back and holds up three fingers. Yeah, right. Three minutes my ass. I know Cat. When she’s in the middle of brewing something, she forgets to eat. In ten minutes, Vicki and I will have to drag her out. “Do either of you have time to take a break?”

  “Sorry, you can’t have my fiancée.” My brothe
r Dominic walks in, his clothes covered, as usual, in a thin layer of sawdust. “I’m kidnapping her.”

  Cat looks up and beams with pleasure. “Dom,” she calls out. “What are you doing here?”

  “You forgot to eat breakfast again, kit cat.”

  “Crap, you’re right.” She stops what she’s doing and joins us in the front, standing on tiptoe to kiss Dominic. “I left the sandwich you packed me on the counter, didn’t I? Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “I put it away. Do you have time for lunch? I’ve got to head to Marmet for a delivery. Want to come? We can stop at that Italian place you like on the way.”

  “Yes please,” Cat says promptly. “Sorry, Vicki, Dakota. When my fiancé says jump…”

  I roll my eyes. “The two of you are sickeningly cute,” I tell them. “Have you set a date for the wedding yet?”

  Cat shakes her head. “Maybe at the end of summer, once the tourists are gone. It’ll be pretty low-key.” She takes off her apron and shakes out her hair. “See you two later.”

  I watch them leave, feeling kind of doleful. They’re in a relationship, and they’re really great together. Good for Dominic. I thought the two of us were scarred forever because of our father, but I was wrong. Last year, Dom had met Cat, and practically right from the start, he seemed to know that she was the one.

  They’re a fantastic couple. They're supportive, they make each other laugh, they help each other out. It's almost enough to give me commitment fever.

  You climbed on top of me and rode me until you came again. You don’t remember any of that? Because I do.

  Stop it, Dakota. That’s just sex. Don’t confuse it with anything else.

  I can’t fall in love. I can’t afford it. After my father left, my mother hadn’t dated for almost twenty years. She’s just started going out with Tim Pollard, who has been crazy about her for longer than I can remember.

  As much as I want to pretend that I have nothing in common with Sandra Flanigan, we’re identical in this. I still can’t think of my father without reliving the pain I felt when I realized he wasn’t coming back. My mom and I, we love too deeply to risk our hearts.

  I date casually; I have discreet one-night stands. I just won’t risk heartbreak. It’s a decision that’s served me well. Dakota’s Pizza is doing well enough that I can afford to expand. I’ve bought the place next door. My focus is on my business, and that’s just the way I like it.

  I drag my attention back to Vicki. Her expression is wistful. “When’s Liam coming up?” I ask her. Liam is Vicki’s boyfriend. The two of them have been in a long-distance relationship for over a year. “I haven’t seen him around lately.”

  “He’s not. We broke up.”

  Ah, crap. “I’m sorry, Vicki. Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shrugs. “It was probably always doomed. I just didn’t let myself see it. I assumed Liam would move to Madison, even though he never gave me a sign he wanted to leave Toronto. I thought that he because he was a writer, he could work from anywhere. I finally came out and asked him if a move was even on the cards, and he said no. We should have had the conversation nine months ago, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and he didn’t want to hurt mine.” She grimaces. “Of course, that’s what we ended up doing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.” She sighs. “The thing is, I get it. I understand why Liam doesn’t want to move away from Toronto. Some days, I miss the city so much that it hurts.”

  I didn’t know Vicki was having regrets about moving to Madison. “It’s been a long winter,” I say carefully. “I went stir crazy in February. And it still hasn’t warmed up.”

  “It’s not the weather. The snow didn’t help, but that’s not it. I miss sushi. I miss walking out my door and being stumbling distance to three amazing pho restaurants. In Toronto, when I wanted curry at two in the morning, I knew where to go. I miss the rhythm of the city. The pace, the energy.”

  “Does Cat know how you feel?”

  Vicki nods. “Yes, I’ve told her. I want to sell my stake in the business. I would sell it to Cat, but she has no interest in being a restaurateur. She likes brewing; she doesn't want to run the front of the house.” She looks up at me. “I’ve been meaning to broach the topic. I thought you might be interested.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Cat’s marrying your brother; the two of you are going to be related. You already get along. You know Madison like the back of your hand, and you have a ton of restaurant experience. You bought the place next door. If you managed this place too, you could convert all three restaurants into one interconnected space.”

  Ooh. That’s an attractive vision. For a second, I’m seriously tempted, and then reality intervenes. “I can't swing it anytime soon,” I say regretfully. “I put a fifty-grand deposit on the place next door. Until it’s up and running, I won’t have any money.”

  “That's fine,” Vicki replies. “I'm not in a huge hurry. I don't want to stay here forever, but I'm not going to screw Cat over. She’s the one who will be in a partnership with whoever I sell to, not me. We talked. She has the right of refusal on anyone who might be interested. I won’t sell unless she’s satisfied.”

  Could I make it work? I’d be overextended, but it’s still a tempting proposition. Real estate on Front Street is impossibly hard to acquire. The Madison Brewpub is popular. An opportunity like this might never come my way again. “Are you considering anyone else?”

  “You're the obvious first choice,” she says. “But I thought that if you weren't interested, I might ask Julian.”

  I grit my teeth. “Julian King?” Trust the jackass to worm his way into Vicki's good books.

  “Yeah. He already supplies our sausages. He's a fast learner, smart as hell, and he gets along pretty well with both Cat and Dom.”

  Ugh. I try to imagine Julian working at the Madison Brewpub. Every time I walk into my restaurant, I’ll risk seeing him. Every time I leave, he’ll be there, smirking his smug male smile, flashing that sexy dimple, tempting me with his hard body.

  As it is, a year after our hookup, I can't get him out of my mind. I haven’t even been on a date since I slept with him.

  The idea of him being right next door, all the time? I can’t let that happen.

  “I’m definitely interested.”

  Vicki gives me a curious look. “Dakota, do you not like Julian? Is there something I should know?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask warily. Damn it. Vicki won’t gossip, but I should still conceal my emotions better. First Sherri, then Leela, and now Vicki. So far, I’m zero for three.

  “Well, you slept with him the day of our opening, didn’t you? The two of you couldn’t take your eyes off each other, and you left at the same time. I just assumed…” Her voice trails off and a rueful look fills her face. “I’m getting as bad as everyone else here.”

  Not really. Vicki, whatever her other faults are, doesn’t gossip. If I tell her a secret, I can pretty much guarantee it’ll stay that way.

  “Yeah, I slept with Julian. It was just the one night.”

  “Then he moved to Madison, and you do your best to avoid him. You can't say a single nice thing about him.” She leans forward, a concerned look on her face. “Did he do anything he shouldn't have? Say the word, and we’ll find a different supplier.”

  She's asking me if Julian sexually assaulted me.

  I can't stand the asshole. He’s cocky and arrogant. Every time he smiles his smug smile, my fingers itch. I want to slap the smirk off his face.

  “No, of course not. I was a willing participant.” A very willing participant.

  She looks at me curiously. “What’s the deal with the two of you?” Her eyes twinkle. “Was the sex awful? Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?”

  I haven't been able to talk to anyone about my one-night stand with Julian. There are lots of women I’m friendly with, but if I tell them, word will get aro
und.

  But Vicki won’t talk.

  “Every single sordid detail.” She rubs her palms together in anticipation. “Did he hum during sex? Did he thump his chest and call himself the champion after he came? Did he obsessively dab himself with hand sanitizer? Did he ask you to rate his performance?”

  I burst out laughing. “Tell me you’re making these things up.”

  She shakes her head. “Sadly, no. I slept with the hummer.”

  I have to know. “What song did he hum?”

  “Cotton Eye Joe,” she replies, deadpan. “He thrust in rhythm to the chorus. It was surreal.”

  I’m laughing so hard I almost choke. “No way. You’re joking.”

  “I’m dead serious. Now it’s your turn. How was the sex?”

  How can I describe my night with Julian King? “Have you ever done cocaine?”

  Vicki’s eyes widen. “No, have you?”

  “Are you kidding? Can you imagine my mother’s reaction? No, my roommate in freshman year of college did coke. She would go on and on about how great it was. According to Christina, when she took a hit, every sense was heightened. She said she felt everything, and everything was euphoria and excitement. She called it a rush of intense pleasure, so intense that she didn’t think her body could bear it.” I take a deep breath. “That’s what sex with Julian was like.”

  It’s the first time I’ve admitted that out loud.

  Vicki whistles through her teeth. “Well, damn. Why aren't you taking another hit?”

  “Because he’s like cocaine, Vicki. One hit, and he's rearranged your body chemistry, and you're addicted. Sure, the high is great, but the crash?” I shake my head. “I don’t do drugs, and I don’t do Julian King.”

  Vicki frowns at me. “You're so cynical. You shouldn't be. I don't know if Julian is the right guy for you, but neither will you if you don’t give him a chance. Even now, fresh off my breakup with Liam, as miserable as I am, I know that my heart will heal and when it does, I'll be ready to search again. I want what Dom and Cat have.”