by Roxy Wynn
Sugar and Spice
A Hot Romantic Comedy
Roxy Wynn
Copyright © 2020 Roxy Wynn
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Created with Vellum
To all the girls who deserve so much more than they give themselves credit for, this book is for you.
Contents
Sugar and Spice, and Everything Nice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Reviews
About the Author
Also by Roxy Wynn
Sugar and Spice, and Everything Nice
About this book
What happens when the hunkiest vampire on tv meets a quirky bakery owner and charms her apron off?
A whole mess of paparazzi, that’s what!
As the hottest actor on T.V., Jeffrey Jaxon thought he had everything. Money, looks, fame. The only thing missing was the perfect investment property for his new restaurant concept.
He wasn’t counting on the one thing standing in his way being the vivacious blonde with curves to die for, and a smile so sweet it could give you a heart attack.
Chrissy is a hot mess, in the most delicious way. Fueled entirely by cinnamon rolls and copious amounts of 80’s music, she works entirely too hard, and never takes time for herself.
She desperately needs a distraction to get her mind off work.
And this vaguely familiar hunk of man meat, stuffing his face with a croissant might be just what the doctor ordered.
Chapter One
Chrissy
For someone who spent so much time perfecting her eyeliner, I despised having my picture taken. When I see a camera pulled out of a bag or pocket, a part of me wants to run screaming into traffic.
Luckily when Beauregard Duplass, the Mont Clare Tribune reporter, came in to interview us for our grand opening, I had my bestie by my side as back up.
“When did you girls come up with the idea for Ruby’s?” He asked.
I looked to Sarah for help, and she did not disappoint.
“Well, we have been attached at the hip since we were in grade school and spent a lot of time baking together. One night during a sleepover, Chrissy said ‘Hey, let’s open a bakery’ and I agreed. As soon as we graduated, Chrissy enrolled in culinary school while I took online business classes. And here we are, ready to take over the world.”
We watched him scribble in his tiny notebook. The interview had been going on for the better part of an hour, and I couldn’t help but daydream about our soon to be open bakery in lieu of paying attention. According to Sarah’s research, if we gave a high energy interview today, the customers would line up around the block when we opened.
“And what kinds of pastries do you intend to sell?”
“Cakes,” I blurted out.
Sarah gave me her patented stink eye before elaborating. “Well, cakes, yes. But lots of other things too. Chrissy created all of our recipes herself using the best ingredients and old school fermentation techniques. We will have cinnamon rolls, croissants, cookies, and cupcakes all baked fresh in house daily. To supplement that, we will also carry sack lunches with artisan sandwiches. Our products are the best out there, and we can’t wait for the patrons of Mont Clare to try us out.”
Thank God Sarah had rehearsed her answers. She was so much better at this than I was.
Beauregard was intrigued, but more by my words than Sarah’s.
“Cakes? What kind of cakes?”
I had to fight back laughter each time the man asked a question. If Foghorn Leghorn was a real guy instead of a cartoon rooster, he would be Beauregard Duplass. From the thick accent, to the beach ball shaped belly; the man was a caricature.
The only difference between him and the cartoon rooster was Beauregard was a sexist pig. Technically still an animal, just of a slightly different variety. From the moment he had walked in the door, Beauregard Duplass had been eyeing my cleavage like tits were a new discovery. Each new question was another opportunity for him to address my rack instead of my eyes.
Besides zipping my jumpsuit up to my chin, I didn’t know what else to do. “Well, I love making all kinds of cakes, but I enjoy making wedding cakes the most. We want to be a one stop pastry shop with a cake centric focus.” Something Sarah and I had disagreed on from the start.
“So like birthday cakes and whatnot?”
Was this guy even listening?
“Yeah, birthdays, anniversaries, special events, but weddings mostly.” I specifically wanted him to highlight the wedding cakes part in his article. If we could get a couple on the books right away, I would be a happy camper.
“I really enjoy making that kind of stuff.”
He put his pen down and looked around at our quaint little shop. Judging from his ample body, Beauregard was no stranger to bakeries. “Well, I think this sounds like a lovely idea, girls. I, for one, can not wait until you open, so I can sample some of your… treats.”
Sarah and I locked eyes. Was I imagining things or was he actually drooling?
“Caroline!” He shouted to the mousy assistant who had been standing in the corner patiently waiting to be called.
“Take the photos of these two girls please. We want one over here by this stainless steel countertop, beautiful checkered floor by the way, and one in front of the main entrance. We also want each girl separately since they dressed up so pretty for me today.”
Once again, his eyes roamed my body like I was sprawled naked and covered in chocolate. Had Sarah or I known that our navy blue jumpsuits and red bandanas would cause such an uproar, we would have chosen different uniforms.
Like burlap sacks.
“That sounds wonderful,” Sarah said. “But can we also do one in front of the Ruby’s logo with us holding the Rosie the Riveter pose? You know, the ‘We Can Do It’ one with our fists up in the air? We are a woman owned business after all, and we want to show that off.” Beauregard gave a disinterested nod.
While Caroline began taking photos of Sarah, I did my best to cross my arms over my chest.
Foghorn leered at me.
“So, I don’t see any rings on any fingers, is it safe to assume you girls are also on the lookout for husbands? I think it would help bring a lot of single young men in here. And you know something all young men have in common? They’re hungry.”
I glanced at Sarah, wondering if she was hearing the same sexist garbage I was.
“Um, no, I don’t think either of us are on the lookout for husbands. We do want hungry
young men and women… and hungry old men and women. Hell, we want to feed everyone. But running a small business is especially busy work, so I don’t think we’ll have time for much dating.”
He put his chubby, damp hand on my shoulder. “To be honest, I think a pretty girl like you should settle down and have kids right away.” His breath smelled of stale cigars and bourbon. “Sure, having a little bakery can be a fun hobby, but you really should think about finding a husband.” He licked his lips. “I know of quite a few fellows who would be more than happy to take a nice girl like you out.”
Taking a step back, I removed his hand. “I guess I’m just a little too busy for that right now.”
Like most young southern women, I kept a smile plastered on my face. From the time I could talk, I was taught to be polite, even if the person I was speaking to was full of hot air.
But right now, I felt like a piece of meat, with my bright red lipstick and winged eyeliner.
“Oh, looks like Caroline is ready for me to jump in there.” I darted toward my friend, leaving the lecherous old man to continue scribbling in his notepad.
“Jesus, he’s a peach isn’t he?” I whispered to the two women. Caroline was busy taking pictures of the vintage cash register along with all of our fun thrift store decor. We wanted Ruby’s to look like an old school malt shop, complete with a stainless steel counter and red leather topped stools.
“Yeah, he is a sucker for a pretty girl,” Caroline said as if sexism was as normal as can be. “But I usually tell the women to let him say what he wants to say. He couldn’t hurt a fly, and he will give you a nice write up.”
For a woman approaching her 60s from the deep south, she was used to men acting this way.
“Yeah, but we want to open a business that empowers women,” Sarah said. “By allowing this kind of stuff from the start it sends a terrible message, doesn’t it?”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Girls, you have an opportunity to smile, show some cleavage, and get some butts in your door, I suggest you take it.”
I looked at Sarah and gave her the biggest, cheesiest grin I could and pulled the zipper of her jumpsuit down three inches. “Push those tits out Sarah, let’s open this fucking bakery with a bang.”
Chapter Two
Chrissy
One year later…
Keeping Sarah entertained at four in the morning while we opened our bakery was no minor feat. While most people were grumpy at that hour, Sarah often took her sass to a whole new level if I didn’t have a juicy story to tell.
Slow sales and a three-year-old at home will do that to a person.
The usual routine consisted of her doing the financials and stocking the dry goods while I filled the display case with the pastries our bakers had made overnight.
Then we would make a giant pot of coffee powerful enough to put hair on our chests in anticipation of our morning rush.
Lately, all of my stories had been extra juicy since I had been trying my hand at the exciting world of internet dating. With the bakery being as slow as it was, I had some time on my hands. I thought meeting new people would be fun. Little did I know, internet dating was like playing Russian roulette.
It’s all luck based and every now and again you just might shoot yourself.
“So? How did everything go with Jerry last night?” She asked, slamming the register shut and signaling that she was ready for all the gory details while we drank our rocket fuel and split a cinnamon roll.
I thought about keeping Jerry’s assholery to myself, but I knew she would hound me until I spilled the beans. She always did. As a single mom, Sarah not only liked my stories, but she needed them to survive.
I turned away from her and took my time choosing the perfect cinnamon roll.
“Chrissy, you’re killing me,” she yelled. “Did you get laid?” She leaned against the stainless steel counter, watching me, her brown eyes wide with anticipation. Thank goodness there were no customers yet.
I shook my head and dug my fingers into the center of the cinnamon roll. Before I could go on, I needed the perfect bite; something my best friend and business partner knew all too well.
Even though I saw she was getting antsy, I took my time chewing and savoring the gooey sweetness while trying to think of a way to relay the story of last night’s date without getting upset.
What was there to say about Jerry? Well for starters, in his profile, he mentioned that he was twenty-eight, had a decent job, and played football. On paper, he checked all the boxes. In reality, I learned the true meaning of the term Catfished.
“It was… okay.”
It was not the answer she was hoping for. I walked out from behind the counter and glanced at the full bakery case before checking out my lipstick in the reflection on the espresso machine.
“He was a friendly guy, and we had fun, but I don’t think I want to see him again. I just didn’t feel that spark, you know?”
Her shoulders slumped, as if I had let her and all single mother kind, down.
“I don’t understand you. Why not give him another chance before you write him off? Sometimes it takes a few dates for people to come out of their shell.” While I had my back turned, she attacked the unattended cinnamon roll. We each had a favorite bite, mine was the center while hers was the outer start of the roll.
We were not only best friends but also each other’s yin and yang.
“You don’t give anyone a chance,” she added.
I would never understand why she was so invested in my love life. Since Bailey’s dad left three years ago, Sarah had sworn off men for herself completely.
At the time I agreed that men were jerks, and I didn’t need one in my life either. But then I realized that I was going through batteries faster than a kid on Christmas Day, so I reluctantly gave dating a chance again.
“Oh, he popped out of that shell with a bullet,” I joked. “I’m just not feeling a second date. I mean he was fine, but I don’t see a future with him.”
She walked out from behind the counter and put her hands on my arms, turning me to face her. “Chrissy, it’s not all about finding a guy to marry. Mindless sex is fun too.”
She winked and nudged me with her elbow.
“Oh, you would love all those details, wouldn’t you?” I said.
“Naturally. Until Bailey is old enough to understand mommy needs a man in her life, I have to live vicariously through you. And you have been letting me down. Big time.”
That was easy for her to say. She was a tiny, adorable pixie who could snag any man she wanted. At 5’2” with long, wavy chestnut brown hair and wide brown eyes, Sarah was a hero’s wet dream. I, on the other hand, was a tall, full figured woman.
While she fit into almost any outfit she found at Forever 21, I had to shop at the big and tall section at Macy’s because they were the only retailer that had tops to fit over my boobs.
Sarah could take her pick of handsome men. Me? I took what I could get. And when that didn’t work, I told people I was holding out for the right guy.
But my date last night, Jerry, was not it.
In between getting sloppy drunk and eating all the mozzarella sticks I ordered for us to share, Jerry’s hints about liking ‘bigger women’ were nauseating at best.
It took all of my willpower not to smash my pint glass over the top of his balding head.
OkCupid had not, in fact, found me my soulmate.
I did my best to make polite conversation and show that I was an excellent listener while he prattled on about his job and all the things going on in his life.
When it came time for the check, I gave my credit card to the waitress and told her to split the bill. Jerry laughed softly to himself.
“Is there a problem with that?” I asked him when she walked away. We had each had two pints and shared the mozzarella sticks, so I didn’t know what he found funny.
“No, not a problem. I’m more than happy to go halfsies on the cheese sticks. But you ate most of
them.”
I rolled my eyes.
Okay, pal.
He even had a dollop of marinara on his shirt to prove he had indulged just as much as I had.
When it came time to walk me to my car, he kept his hand low on my back. Too low for my liking. While I knew nothing would come of this date, Jerry seemed to be under the impression he was coming home with me.
This is what I get for being polite when someone is an ass to me.
When we got to my car, he spun me around to face him while he put his hands on my hips. “Come on, let’s get into your car and drive to a park or something to fool around.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he leaned in and kissed me. The taste of stale beer and cheese on his lips while he pressed his erection on my leg was the biggest turn off in the world.
Unimpressed, I pushed him away.
“I wanna slap that big, fat ass of yours.”
“Excuse me?!” I said through clenched teeth, trying to sound more indignant than hurt.
“Come on, I love big chicks, let’s just go somewhere, you and me. I wanna see those tits.”
“I’m sorry, I have to work in the morning,” I said.
Why am I always fucking apologizing?