I had expected them to be eating, not talking and… wait was Jemma crying? She hadn’t cried since we were kids.
Sam had Thomas’ shirt in her fist trying to get his attention. “Hey, you can’t give my job away I worked really hard for like… weeks for that promotion!”
Thomas straightened, chuckling and then stopped when his eyes found me. He was the first one to notice me, his eyes locked onto mine and a massive grin spread on his handsome features.
It was like a physical effect on both of us. The way Thomas’ shoulders straightened like some massive weight was lifted off them was the same sort of feeling I had when I saw him after some time apart.
That tension in my chest eased when I saw him again.
He turned back to Sam. “Your job is safe, Sam. I was only kidding since you failed to tell me of a good applicant like Jemma here.”
“Wait. What?” I asked, hanging up my coat and kicking my heels off. “Jemma applied to the bakery?” I could hardly believe my ears. I had been not-so-subtly dropping hints that Thomas really needed help at the bakery and we would prefer to keep it in the family if possible.
So far, neither her nor my mother had taken the hint.
Not that I blamed them necessarily, I doubted either of them really wanted to do that sort of work. But it beat being unemployed and I knew for a fact that Thomas paid way better than he should.
Jemma’s eyes were bright and shining. She smiled at me. “Yeah.” She rubbed her cheeks. “I feel like such a baby. Yes, I applied and Thomas said I could work there.” Quick to divert attention from her she added, “Claire’s here so let’s eat!”
The dining room devolved into a blur of motion and clinking chaotic noise while all four of them scrambled about to set the table and help Thomas carry the serving dishes to the table.
I excused myself to change into something more comfortable and when I came back the noise had ebbed to a dull roar with only the occasional clatter of a utensil. Thomas pulled out a chair for me and I gladly sat next to him. “So, what’d I miss?”
Quite a lot, as it happened.
Jemma and Sam took turns filling me in on what happened while they were waiting for me to come home.
If there weren’t multiple witnesses to the events, I would have likely dismissed it as Sam messing with me or simply hyperbole.
The only thing I didn’t have a hard time imagining was Thomas casually pulling out sage advice like he kept a series of cards stuffed into his back pocket for just such an occasion.
I never knew where that man got all his wisdom from.
We talked all throughout dinner, sharing drinks and the weekly updates in our lives. Now that Jemma would be working with Thomas and Sam I tried wheedling Mom to join them but she wouldn’t budge.
If I had more time I might be able to help her. I did still keep up with my side project of helping people repair their lives by getting them well-paying jobs. Only, I no longer had the time to add to my client list.
And my Mom was a poster child for somebody who needed my unique brand of help.
There were only so many hours in the day and getting her a job wouldn’t matter if the town folded a year or two later.
No, the restructuring of Sunrise Valley took priority. I had to make sure that the town was going to still be around or else any other option was nothing more than a temporary measure.
Still, I was happy for Jemma. It seemed she had taken a chance for once and it paid off. I could only hope that she would see it as a sign to continue.
When she fell - because we all do - we would be there for her to help her back onto her feet. That was what family was for.
Every now and then my hand would drift subconsciously to my belly. Thomas caught it and gave me a quizzical look. Damn that man’s keen eyes. I gave him a subtle shake of my head, hoping that he’d get the hint that everything was fine.
The whole night’s tale reminded me of how good a father Thomas would be. I wished I had seen him use his ‘dad voice’ as Jemma called it.
Somehow that made him even hotter. Was that normal?
I couldn’t put the image of having his child out of my head. It was a thought that was never far from my mind.
It was a comforting thought, like a lullaby to soothe me when I was feeling a little frazzled. One that I hoped we could turn into a reality very soon.
Just gotta get married, fix the town, prevent mass-bankruptcy, make sure my mom has a job, keep A Game of Scones profitable, and probably knife-fight Beth in the street during a storm. That’s all.
When it was all laid out like that, it really did seem impossible. How could I fit a baby in there? How would it be possibly fair to have a baby before all of those things were done?
Thomas laid a hand onto my thigh, his touch stilled the running thoughts. I could feel the warmth through my ultra-comfy yoga pants. I didn’t care that it was a cliché, they were fucking awesome and I would fist-fight anybody who said otherwise.
We all had a few glasses of wine after dinner, played a couple board games that we kept around for family dinner nights and eventually called it a night with fond hugs and farewells.
Thomas, ever the gentleman, walked Jemma and Sam home, and my mom to her car.
“Everything go all right?” I asked when he came back. I finished placing the wine glasses in the sink just as he wrapped those big, sexy arms around me and pulled me into a hug from behind. He kissed the back of my neck and I shivered in delight.
“Yeah, just needed to talk to Jemma for a moment. Make sure about a few things.”
“Like what?” I leaned back into him, relishing in the hardness of his body. The sturdiness of him.
“Start time, if she wanted to begin immediately and how often she wanted to work.” He paused, nuzzled the back of my neck again. Another tingle as he brushed his stubble against the nape of my neck. “You want to know her answers, don’t you?”
I gave him a nod.
“Don’t suppose there’s any harm.” Thomas let go and then lifted me up into his arms like I was a sack of flour and whisked me over to the couch. My favorite place beside our bed. “She wants to work full time and is willing to start tomorrow. I was still thinking of adding a few people on top of her.”
“Yeah?” That was news to me. Thomas was always a little gunshy about hiring new people.
He seemed to think he could do everything on his own, and maybe he could. Lord knows he did for all those years when the bakery was struggling. But now it was doing well, really well in fact. He could afford to take his foot off the gas and I had been after him for a while to do just that.
I snuggled up to him on the couch, nestling my head into his chest as he spoke. I could feel the deep bassy rumble of his voice. “I was thinking of having two registers fully manned, eventually at least. Having the same person get orders and ring people up is slow. The lines are still out the door and I should fix that first I think.”
I hid a grin against his chest. I was so proud of him at that moment. As a matter of principle, I tried to stay as hands-off as possible over the day-to-day management of A Game of Scones.
It was Thomas’ business and even though Dad had saddled us together I wasn’t about to start putting my nose in where it didn’t belong.
Okay, and yes, I was pretty preoccupied with the whole saving Sunrise Valley plan lately too. But I always had time for Thomas when he’d come into the office asking a question about the business.
One of the biggest problems I saw was the wait time. It was an average of an hour for each guest and that was absolutely insane. Of course, marketing being what it was, that actually enhanced the desire for a lot of people.
Luckily, Thomas’ baked goods lived up to the insane hype and everything was fine. For now.
The problem was, it was only catering to a select group of people. No normal person would have the time - or inclination - to sit waiting in line for that long.
That’s why there were so many people placing l
arge orders and then selling off part of it at a huge markup in order to not only break even on their purchase but to make a profit.
If he could cut that time in half or less, I bet we’d see a lot more sales. Not to mention the guests would appreciate it I’m sure.
“Everything okay?” he asked, petting my hair. I breathed a sigh of relaxation at his touch.
“More than okay.” I looked up at him with a wide smile. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. So you’re going to hire enough people to cover the register twice over?”
My eyelids fluttered as he began dragging his fingertips through my hair and against my scalp. Fuck me, that feels amazing.
“That’s right. I’m going to be completely hands-off from the front unless I expressly want to. Sam is going to take over managing and I’ll stick to the higher-up business stuff and baking. And before you say anything more, I’m already looking for an apprentice baker to help me out.”
It wasn’t like I could actually say something. He had stolen my ability to speak with the orgasmic scalp massage he was giving me and he didn’t even know it.
“I’d prefer to work with a few apprentices, but I probably don’t have that luxury of time,” he went on. “I’ll likely have to hire an actual pastry chef to replace me, if not work with me to fulfill all the orders. Even if I spend all day long eight hours every single day in the back I’m not sure I can fulfill every order on time.”
I struggled to grasp onto some shred of rational thought. To say something smart and sexy but all I could do was moan and make strange grunts. The sad thing was, I didn’t even care. It felt that good.
Thomas chuckled and continued his massage, adding another hand and working up the sides of my head near my temples. Ungh. So good.
All of my stress melted away minute by blissful minute. I would probably have been drooling if I didn’t make sure to keep my mouth shut.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I finally came to, I was on top of Thomas and we were both still on the couch. His heartbeat was a steady, strong lullaby.
For a single moment, I wondered about trying to carry him to bed and realized it was impossible. I would have better luck bringing the bed to him. Not that I was going to try that either.
On the other hand, this is pretty comfortable.
Content to be near the man of my dreams, I drifted off to sleep again.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The next morning when I woke up, still on top of Thomas, I was achy and sore. My joints hurt, my throat felt like I gargled lemon juice all night.
At first, I thought that it was the way I slept last night. I’d done enough awkward sleeping arrangements in college to know how badly they screwed up my back. But this was different.
It was like all of a sudden a dump truck of aches hit me. Even my skin hurt. And then it hit me.
Oh, no.
No, no, no, no.
I was getting sick.
14
Thomas
I talked to Claire the entire time I rubbed her last night. I don’t really know how much of it she picked up on. But I knew she found my voice soothing and so I kept up a stream of running dialogue about this or that.
Nothing terribly important, really. Errant thoughts about new recipes, different applicants I had looked at and the general ramblings about being a small-town small-business owner.
When it became clear she had fully passed out, I laid down on the couch and turned on some old horror movies. I watched about half of The Ghost of Frankenstein before I passed out too.
The next morning I woke up alone for the first time in a long while.
I was usually the early-riser which meant Claire was still fast asleep when I got up.
With a shrug, I stretched and went about my morning routine. Though I did take a quick peek in the bedroom to see if Claire had pulled herself to bed and noticed that the bathroom door was closed.
So that’s where she went.
Mystery solved, I made breakfast just in time for Claire to sit down at the table as I was plating the food. She looked pretty.
Claire was the most gorgeous woman I ever laid eyes on. She grew in beauty each day, it simply was not fair to the rest of us mortals. This morning she looked exceptionally radiant and that’s when I noticed she was wearing makeup.
Look, I’m not particularly observant about these sorts of things. I thought that Claire looked perfect the way she was. But I also did not begrudge her the desire to put on whatever makeup she felt like. All I wanted was for her to feel comfortable and happy with herself.
But something about this rang a warning bell in my head. Something was not quite right.
“Everything okay?” I asked, pouring her a tall glass of orange juice.
“Just peachy,” she said. Her voice was a little raspy.
Normally I would have thought she was still sleepy. But I knew for a fact she was up well before me.
We ate in relative silence. Claire was exceptionally careful with her actions. Everything prescribed and metered as if she had to plan every move a minute in advance.
I couldn’t help but feel my concern deepen. How could I bring it up to her that I was worried? Was she feeling okay? Maybe sleeping on the couch had left her stiff and sore. That made sense, right?
She turned her head and sneezed into her sleeve. “‘Scuse me,” she said around a sniffle. When she turned back, some of the makeup on her nose had been rubbed off. It was red and chafed.
“You’re sick.” The words were out of my mouth before all the little hints crashed into my head and were tallied up. The makeup to hide the symptoms, her lack of talking to cover up her stuffy voice.
I should have noticed sooner.
I was up and into the kitchen to fix a cup of tea, she started to rise then thought better of it and slumped back down into the chair.
That alone was telling.
Claire was the sort of person that took being sick personally. As if she were somehow offended at the fact her body had succumbed to a virus. If she didn’t have the strength to object then she must be feeling truly horrible.
“I’m fine,” she said weakly.
I shoved a cup of tea in front of her, stirred in some honey to soothe her throat. “Drink.” I went back to the kitchen and rooted around for some marshmallows. They were my secret weapon against sore throats.
I tossed the bag on the table. “Eat those in between sips. It’ll help. Don’t give me that face, Claire.”
Still trying for some semblance of pretense she sniffed and cupped the mug in both hands. Claire bent her head down to smell the mixture. By the sound of it I wasn’t entirely sure she could smell anything.
“Couch or bed,” was all I said to her.
She took the words like a slap to the face. Her shocked expression slowly turning to outrage. “I only need a bit of medicine and I will be back on my feet. There is so much to do, I cannot be sick.”
Unfortunately, as much as I knew she wanted the words to be true they were not. She was clearly coming down with something and by the speed at which it hit her I would have to guess the flu.
She had been fine the night before and now this morning she was clearly groggy and stuffed up. Claire beat weakly at my hand when I tried to take her temperature with the inside of my wrist.
“Claire, you’re burning up. I’m taking your temperature. You have two options: Park your ass on the couch, or in the bed. There is no third option unless your fever is sky-high.”
Her fever must have been worse than I thought because she grasped that third option like a lifeline without realizing the context. “What’ll happen then?” she asked hopefully.
Part of me was glad she didn’t fight my authority on the matter. She looked like a child searching for any way to weasel out of an obligation.
“You’ll go to the hospital, that’s what.”
The color drained out of her face, it made the makeup stand out even more than before. But
she didn’t object.
Claire was quickly coming around to letting me take care of her I hoped. She was not the type of person to let anything go without a lengthy debate and at least four independently sourced reasons to back up the argument.
I fetched the thermometer and when I came back she was sipping her tea. “Hold still.” She obliged while I gently tugged her ear upwards and fit the probe to her ear. I waited for the beep and pulled it out to read the display. “Hundred and one, not too high yet.”
“So I can go?” she asked. It was like she hadn’t heard anything I said.
Instead of arguing I smiled at her. “Set the mug down and we’ll go.”
Claire’s eyes lit up and I couldn’t tell if it was from the fever or the childlike hope of finally getting to do whatever work she had planned for today.
As soon as she set the mug down I lifted her carefully into my arms like the most precious cargo in the world. I took her over to the couch and laid her down with a pillow behind her head to prop her up.
Next came the blanket. The coffee table was pulled closer so she could easily reach the array of items I was rushing back and forth across the apartment for. Tissues, ice water, tea on a mug warmer that I hastily plugged in, a bucket at her head on the floor and saltines in case her stomach bothered her.
“I’m fine,” she said muzzily.
She tried to swipe at me a few times and I gently gathered her wrists up in my hands and set them down. “Rest, Claire.”
More muttering. “Planner,” she pointed in the general direction of the office. “Important stuff today.”
By the time I found what she was talking about, she was fast asleep.
I didn’t want to wake her so I flipped through the pages to see what was on her schedule for today. There was an entry for signing papers, something scrawled about property ownership, and a strategy meeting for tomorrow.
None of which Claire was in any shape - or would be anytime soon - to do.
That meant it was up to me to try and pick up the slack. Easy enough.
Yeah, real easy. All you gotta do is take care of your sweet, sick fiancé, interview a bunch of people for the bakery, get Jemma up to speed on the wonky nature of a mechanical register, bake a metric ton of orders, sign some documents, and go to a strategy meeting. Oh, and yes, find time to sleep in there.
Bun in Her Oven Page 10