The Holly Hearth Romantic Comedy Collection

by K B Cinder

He didn’t need his ego inflated any more than it was. I’d already moaned his name a shameful amount of times in the almost-three weeks since we’d first gone at it in that grimy supply closet. He knew to an extent how much I liked the way he made me feel, and that was enough.

  He had one group session left, and then the truth would come out. There was one day between me and reality, and I didn’t want to think about that. I wanted to focus on the positive.

  The early morning sun ricocheted off the glass door as I pulled it open, leaving me partially blinded as I stumbled inside an hour before my shift.

  I’d traded my Tuesday training session for Wednesday that week, my trainer, Trevor, needing a day off to wine and dine his latest lady.

  The six-foot-eight Norse god stood at the free weights as I entered, the beacon of muscle surrounded by other carved bodies pumping iron in the distance.

  Not a single one of the sweaty, beefy sex machines packing the gym caught my eye on the way to him after I’d tucked my things under the front desk with Georgie.

  Weeks earlier, I would’ve been in horny hog heaven, but now that’d I’d had a taste of a delicacy, I wasn’t interested in sniffing around.

  I had what I wanted.

  The only problem was; I couldn’t really have him.

  I put my frustration into the exercises with Trevor, finding it easier than the previous sessions, especially the leg press. I hated to admit it, but Sage was right: Working out helped my leg.

  And it was only after I’d stood at the front desk for two hours straight without reaching for my stool that I realized how much of an improvement I was seeing. It was as if the regimen had worked out rust like I was the Tin Woman.

  Right on schedule, Cass arrived for her class with Sage, but she handed me a paper instead of heading straight to the back as usual.

  I turned it over, spying it was a membership form. “Dang-o, someone’s getting serious about her fitness!” I teased, flexing a puny bicep. “I need some of your mojo, girl.”

  I was a little surprised she’d finally taken the plunge. She’d talked about it on and off, but after going back and forth so many times, I figured she was blowing hot air.

  Cass smirked as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Be my workout buddy.”

  Guilt settled in my chest. “I can’t, sorry. I’m in a modified program for my leg. I can’t really do what everyone else can.” I genuinely hated telling her no.

  Her brows snapped together. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “I was in a car accident,” I explained, just as Georgie reappeared from her bathroom break, smelling suspiciously like cigarettes. “My knee is a scrap yard on the inside.”

  Cass’s lips twisted. “That sucks.”

  I nodded as Georgie plucked the membership form from my hand. “Sage is stuck on a conference call. He asked if you can handle warmups with her.”

  “Sure,” I said, seeing Cass’s face light up. “Do you need me to do anything quick?”

  Georgie shook her head. “You already hooked me up with a cake pop and a hot chocolate at lunch. You’re in my good graces for eternity.”

  I smiled, walking around the desk to join Cass as we ventured toward the row of lat pull-down machines.

  “Can you do some stretches first?” I asked, stopping as we found one far from sweaty men wearing next to nothing.

  She kicked at the rubber floor, losing all traces of teenaged invincibility. “Yeah. Which ones?”

  “Let’s start with neck tilts from side to side,” I suggested, realizing she was more clueless than me.

  I modeled one, cringing as my neck cracked.

  She cringed too, her eyes popping wide as she cupped her hands over her mouth in horror. “Oh, my God. My neck won’t do that, right?”

  “Maybe,” I laughed.

  Gingerly, she bent her neck from left to right, her blue, chunky pigtails jabbing at her shoulders as she did. Much to her relief, there didn’t appear to be any neck crackage.

  “Now some chest expansions,” I continued. “Arms way out to the side and bring them forward to a point in front of your chest like a giant clapping sea lion.”

  She made a face at me, before sticking hers out, half-assed, and bringing them back in to meet.

  Again, half-assed.

  “Are you a T-Rex?” I asked, mimicking her attempt with little arms. “Full extension, kid. You’re not even old enough to have purse Advil yet.”

  Her hands fell to her hips. “Purse what? I don’t carry a purse!”

  “Exactly,” I sighed. “Try again. Make sure your form is perfect, or you’ll end up hurting yourself. You don’t want to pull a boob muscle.”

  “It’s called a pec,” she corrected, doing as I directed. “Aren’t you supposed to be the pro?”

  “Nope, I’m just the help,” I laughed. “But thanks for the anatomy lesson.”

  She grinned, repeating the exercise. “Anytime, rice crispy treat.”

  I raised a brow. “Rice crispy treat?”

  Her grin widened into a full-blown smile. “I call my dad that since all he does is snap, crackle, and pop when he moves since he’s old.”

  This kid…

  Thankfully, Cass and her pokes about my age didn’t last long, as Sage came to her rescue before I made her do lunges around the gym as payback.

  He got even for me somewhat, making her do a round of burpees for rolling her eyes at him before starting their lesson.

  I laughed from the safety of the front desk, far from the teenager’s ‘tude.

  As much as I liked the blue-headed hellion, she reminded me a lot of myself, and not in a good way.

  Had I had a Sage around at that age to force me to do exercises for stepping out of line, maybe I wouldn’t have grown to insist on doing everything my way. That, and I might have six-pack abs and a Sports Illustrated cover under my belt. I wouldn’t have been able to run amok after his leg day regimens, either.

  The rest of my shift sailed by, and before long, I was walking up the stairs of my parents’ home, the modest split-level bringing nostalgia as usual. Coming home finally felt like home.

  Mama was in the living room with the dogs as I entered, Papa’s truck gone.

  His semi-retired bowling league met for once, giving Mama the place to herself.

  Until I moved back, at least.

  Dressed in pajamas and a Snuggie, she settled in for her own wild night with a glass of red wine and a heaping bowl of pretzels on the end table beside the couch.

  “Hey,” I greeted, slipping out of my shoes and hanging my jacket on the coat rack.

  “How was work?” she asked, not looking up from the book in her hand, a Portuguese romance novel whose cover housed a muscular man with chest hair that you could knit into a sweater.

  I looked away from Sasquatch 2.0 to pet Gordo, the fatter of the two dogs waddling over to see me. “Good. I trained before my shift today instead of yesterday. My leg’s feeling a lot better.”

  “That’s good,” Mama muttered, still not looking up from the tales of the hairy Amazonian. “How’s Sage? Did you see Rini?”

  I flopped Gordo’s good ear, the only one he could still hear from at aged fossilized. “He’s fine, I guess. The gym’s busy. Rini doesn’t really come in much. The girls and Kinx keep her running around all day like a madwoman.”

  Mama tsked her tongue, shaking her head. “She offered you a job to help. She’s got so much going on. You could help her.”

  “I wanted something to get me out of the house,” I explained, not sure why I bothered to when she still didn’t look my way. Papa and I might’ve seen an inch of progress, but Mama and I were still at a stalemate.

  She sighed, thumbing to the next page. “You always want to be out and about doing the Raya thing. You should help your sister.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to help myself for once,” I said, moving heading to the stairs to go rot in my room, as usual.

  All it took was one exchange, and my good
day went up in smoke.

  A hot shower blasted away the bad vibes, and I settled into bed in my pajamas despite it being only six o’clock. I’d ordered sushi and was waiting for the delivery guy, not wanting to cook anything in the kitchen and be more of a burden than I already was.

  I had four classes left.

  Four weeks of ankle monitor hell, and then I’d be free.

  I’d toyed with staying home and taking things slow on the job search front, but Mama lit that plan on fire.

  I’d grab any job I could find and work as many hours as I could to afford a place of my own. I never wanted to feel unwelcome again. To feel like a burden or a black sheep.

  Angry tears dared to drip from my eyes, but I wiped them away as fast as they appeared.

  I knew Mama was disappointed, but I couldn’t fix it. I’d never shine as brightly as Rini or Lita. The damage was done in her eyes.

  My phone buzzed as another tear fell, likely my delivery driver letting me know that my food was waiting on the step. I always left a note to leave it, not wanting to piss Mama off with the doorbell. I existed like a mouse, tiptoeing to keep the peace.

  I lifted my phone, feeling a little lighter when I saw it wasn’t a delivery guy.

  Rebel: Happy Hump Day, Spanky.

  Rebel: *Sparky. Unless you want to be spanked.

  I brushed away a tear as a smile tugged at my lips.

  Nope. It wouldn’t hurt if you called me by my name, though.

  As endearing as his nicknames were, Sparky made me feel like a Dalmatian, not a woman.

  Spanky was just straight hell no.

  Rebel: Fine. But I’m sticking to Raya. Soraya’s a little too angelic.

  My fingers hovered above my phone for a moment before replying.

  Only if you let me know what Lev is short for.

  I’d never met anyone named Lev. Paired with his last name, he sounded like a video game character. Or a porn star.

  Rebel: Just Lev. Sorry to disappoint.

  It didn’t seem fair that he got to tote around a badass name and look. His parents had hooked him up.

  Meanwhile, there were men out there that had to hope their dates could moan Gaylord with a straight face.

  Bummer. I was hoping it was Levbert or something.

  At least then I would’ve had some decent teasing ammo for a rainy day.

  Rebel: Anything crazy planned tonight? Partying on the sofa? Spelunking in the tub?

  I wished my cell phone had a zap button right about then because he deserved a jolt or two.

  I’m all spelunked out. Just waiting for my sushi to arrive.

  I walked over to the window to peek at the front porch, finding it empty still.

  Dammit.

  My food couldn’t come fast enough. I’d fantasized about spicy tuna rolls the entire drive home. It took everything in me not to stop and pick an order up at the place across town. Stupid ankle monitor.

  Rebel: I thought we could be friends, but I don’t hang out with sea sirens, sorry.

  I moved back to the bed, my hip cracking as I sat, making me laugh, reminded of Cass and her rice crispy treat taunt earlier.

  Sea sirens?

  He’d officially lost me.

  Rebel: Mermaids? You know… lure men to their deaths? Remind me never to go near water with you.

  Again, I was totally lost.

  How TF am I a mermaid? I can’t swim.

  It was embarrassing to admit, but I’d never learned. One fall in the deep end during elementary school was all it took to turn me off from swimming for life. It sucked, seeing that Lita owned a house a block from the ocean.

  Rebel: You eat raw fish. But after that revelation, we’re definitely going near water so I can teach your tea bag ass to swim.

  As tempting as it was to take him up on the offer of having him half-naked and wet within arm’s reach, that’d be a hard pass. Hot or not—I wasn’t stepping foot near the water with anyone.

  Now you’re threatening me? Thanks.

  I wondered what he was doing with his night. Maybe catching a Phillies game with friends at a bar or shooting pool at some rundown dive. I could easily picture him doing either.

  Rebel: I’m saying you sink, dear. Not threatening the act. I’m old. My tea-bagging days are behind me. Achy knees.

  I threw back my head and laughed, needing it like he couldn’t imagine.

  17

  Raya

  I woke up at six o’clock in the morning, a full three hours before my Thursday shift.

  Not to squeeze in an early morning workout to tone my buns or catch up on reading, but because Cass was bringing Izzy with her later that day as a treat for her birthday.

  I wanted to surprise them with something—a gesture to say hey, I care. A card wasn’t right, but cupcakes fit the younger, sweeter sister perfectly, and cupcakes made everything better.

  At least for a little while.

  Luckily, Papa really had cleared the baking aisle like he’d teased, and paired with the frozen strawberries I hoarded for smoothies and daiquiris when Rini visited, I crafted strawberry cupcakes from scratch that left my mouth watering with every whiff.

  I’d gone a little overboard, baking two dozen, but I doubted my parents would complain about extra cupcakes around the house. Mama’s latest attempt at keto was over, judging by the sheer amount of carbs in the house and her nightly cap of pretzels and wine.

  All I had left to do was make buttercream frosting.

  I waited until the master bathroom’s shower started to turn on the mixer, knowing Mama had roused from her precious slumber. Otherwise, there would’ve been hell to pay if I disturbed the beast.

  The butter and sugar creamed beautifully, the addition of crushed strawberries and a drop of food coloring giving the mixture a bright pink hue that had Izzy all over it.

  I wanted to make batches of purple and blue, too, but didn’t really have the time.

  Papa walked in as I was loading a pastry bag with frosting.

  “Someones feeling chipper this morning. What’s the occasion?”

  “A birthday,” I replied, putting another glop of buttercream into the bag. “A little girl comes in with her sister sometimes at the gym. Long story, but she can use some sweetness in her life.”

  “Don’t leave the old man hanging,” Papa grumbled, heading for the coffee machine. I’d already brewed a pot, knowing he and Mama drank it on the back deck every morning with the dogs. “I like sweets too, ya know.”

  His cardiologist would kill me, but I waved at the second rack of cakes. “I know. I’m leaving a dozen here.”

  “Your mother is going to lose it,” he laughed, taking his Eagles mug from the cabinet. “She was just complaining about her pants getting too tight.”

  “Good thing her son-in-law owns a gym, right?” I said, scraping the bowl to add the final scoop in with the rest of the frosting. “Her daughter works there, too. I could reserve her favorite machine for her to keep it sweat-free.”

  Papa chuckled as he stuck a heaping spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “You two could take a mommy-daughter class with Sage.”

  I reached for the first cake to bathe in frosting. “We’d either kill one another, or Sage would kill us. He’s a hardass.” It was precisely why I was glad I trained with Trevor—far away from the man who swore squats were fun. I didn’t need that kind of crazy near me.

  “Hey, bonding never killed anyone,” Papa defended, shuffling toward the fridge to pluck out the creamer.

  I shrugged, continuing my frosting adventure one by one until all twenty-four were piped to perfection.

  I topped each with a white chocolate-dipped pretzel stick, forming a cute little unicorn horn before dusting them in homemade glitter sugar.

  Papa watched as he sipped his coffee, Mama stopping in and joining him rather than heading to the deck.

  The tension that typically clung to the air dissipated, replaced with the homey vibes I missed as the three of us laughed about
my baking disasters of years’ past. When I’d made a test wedding cake that collapsed because my supports sucked. Or when I’d burned caramel so bad that Dash and the rest of the fire crew had to come out, our neighbor’s son in a panic to hear the Nunes’ house was on fire, only to find fourteen-year-old me and caramel churning thick, black smoke.

  If you looked studied the ceiling long enough, you could still see a faint black outline, no matter how much Mama scrubbed it or Papa painted over it.

  Papa left to walk the dogs as I wiped down the counters after washing the mountain of dishes I’d made, and on the way back to the counter from tossing the paper towel into the trash, Mama gestured for me to come to the table where she sat.

  I eyed her carefully, half-expecting to get hollered at as she surveyed me in head-to-toe velour, a tracksuit outfit of choice as she prepared to scour the house for a spring deep clean.

  “What’s up, Mama?”

  She hugged me close when I was an arm’s length away, her perfume blanketing me along with her arms.

  “Welcome back, Raya. Please don’t leave us again.”

  I hid the cupcake container in a PetSmart bag in the break room refrigerator, stapling a handwritten note about a stool sample on it for good measure.

  In a workplace overrun with hungry men, you could never be too careful trying to keep your food from growing legs.

  The morning rush brought plenty of interesting patrons, one brave soul free-muffing it in leggings and treating me to a sight I never wanted to see again. I almost wanted to ask her to leave before she scurried out with the worst wedgie—front and back.

  Georgie called out sick, leaving me with an extra cake pop and a hot chocolate, both of which Sage was happy to take off my hands.

  Despite being relatively new, I handled the mad dash of the morning like a seasoned pro, only swearing under my breath once when the phone rang back to back for a half-hour straight—most of which were telemarketer calls.

  Cass and Izzy walked in just after three o’clock while I was reading news articles to pass the post-lunch slump.

  The birthday girl rocked pink and purple ribbons in her braid, while Cass, as usual, looked like a blue-haired female Cobain with a tattered flannel tied around her waist.