Kneading You

by Simone Belarose

  Kneading You

  Sunrise Valley Book One

  Simone Belarose

  Copyright © 2019 by Simone Belarose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Claire

  2. Thomas

  3. Claire

  4. Thomas

  5. Claire

  6. Thomas

  7. Claire

  8. Thomas

  9. Claire

  10. Thomas

  11. Claire

  12. Thomas

  13. Claire

  14. Thomas

  15. Claire

  16. Thomas

  17. Claire

  18. Thomas

  19. Claire

  20. Thomas

  21. Claire

  22. Thomas

  23. Claire

  24. Thomas

  25. Claire

  26. Thomas

  27. Claire

  Epilogue

  More Sunrise Valley

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Come Say Hi!

  About This Book

  We stood like two combatants on the battlefield and judging by the spike of arousal that pinned me to the spot I wasn’t entirely sure my body remembered the countless nights I cried myself to sleep because of him. —Claire Walker

  Claire Walker understands business. Not grief. The death of her father throws her meticulously crafted life into disarray. The last thing she wants is to return to her sleepy little hometown of Sunrise Valley.

  She’s a maelstrom of emotion when she runs into Thomas Weller, her ex-best-friend who’s turned into a Greek god of brooding muscle and chiseled features. Her body seems ready to forgive his betrayal, even if she isn’t.

  All Thomas wants is to be left alone to save his failing bakery. But when Claire comes back to town feelings he thought dead and buried return to life and he can’t stay away. She broke his heart, but he’s willing to give love a second chance.

  When Claire’s father bequeaths the failing business to both of them, it’s the surprise of a lifetime, and an irresistible puzzle Claire can’t help but tinker with. Thomas is convinced that keeping Claire in town is his happily ever after, and he’ll do anything to make her stay.

  Claire has saved multi-billion-dollar companies from doom, but can she stop herself from falling for Thomas?

  1

  Claire

  “Listen, Claire,” said Howard, looking anywhere but at my red-rimmed eyes and runny makeup. “Why don’t you just knock off for the rest of the day, huh? We’ll reschedule your meeting, or you could even email me your proposals when you’ve got the time.”

  I nodded silently, pulling tissues out of the box on my office desk like a magician pulling out a never-ending handkerchief.

  Howard left without another word, shutting the door behind him. It was obvious he couldn’t get away fast enough. It wasn’t that Howard was a bad guy, but what was a forty-something man to do when he barges into the office of his usually very put together star consultant and finds her bawling her eyes out?

  You ever have one of those days where nothing seems to go right?

  That was me today.

  It started when I forgot to charge my phone and ended up running late. That was when I realized the outfit I’d laid out for work was where Binxy (the neighbor’s cat that always managed to find his way into my apartment) decided he wanted to sleep getting fur all over the clean black skirt and wrinkling the white blouse. I didn’t have time to get ready and fix the mess so I went with something in my closet.

  The skirt wasn’t as flattering, and the shirt felt too snug around my middle. I don’t know if it was that time of the month or I was just off today but everything just felt wrong. At least my flats were cute.

  Halfway through the day my phone died, so I didn’t get the call from Howard that he wanted to move the meeting up to three o’clock which was one hour after I got the email from Jemma that dad had died.

  She had tried to reach my cell first, which was how I found out it was dead and that I had missed Howard’s text. I had managed to plug the phone in with the intention of giving Jemma a call when Howard came in and saw the train wreck that was my life.

  Needless to say, I took Howard’s offer after I cleaned myself up a little.

  I worked at a big office in one of New York's most prestigious consulting firms. People talked here worse than the small town I grew up in. It almost made me miss the gossip of Miss Marsden and her bridge club. At least they didn’t use it to backstab and trample over people to get ahead.

  It’s why I never dated in the office again, or hell in the same building. I thought the “big city” would be different. That in the city people wouldn’t be so manipulative since they hardly knew you. And how could you manipulate somebody if you barely know them?

  I learned that it just makes it easier on their conscience when they walk all over you, steal your hard work and claim it as their own. The men were pigheaded jerks half the time and the women? Catty and exclusive. In the two years since getting my MBA and joining the company, I had made exactly two friends.

  Neither of them worked in my building. Big surprise.

  I drifted through the crowds in a daze, thinking about all the things I’d need to do. Dad had set up a will and had a family friend who happened to be a lawyer in our hometown to make sure his estate was in order.

  One of the perks of small-town life I suppose.

  That was all well and good, but it still fell to his two daughters to deal with the realities. Things like sorting through all his belongings, figuring out what keepsakes to keep, what to donate, contacting his friends and family, organizing the funeral, the list went on.

  I found a seat on the subway and had to stop myself. It was a bad habit of mine, preparing lists of all the things that needed to be done and all the worst-case scenarios. My therapist told me that I “ruminated” as a means of trying to deal with potential anxiety and stress, but that in doing so I actually increased my stress and anxiety. Ironic, right?

  Instead, I played my favorite game with the people on the subway, my unknowing players. I’ve always been obsessed with efficiency and being lean and practical. Where Jemma had been sentimental and artistic, I felt more at home with a spreadsheet and a presentation on how breakfast could be streamlined, cutting our morning routine down by three and a half minutes on average.

  I was five at the time. It was one of the two hobbies I had taken up.

  My obsession only grew from there and I shouldn’t have to tell you that I spent more than was necessary alone with my spreadsheets, books, and seven-point plans for improvement. I was only trying to be a good older sister.

  Jemma didn’t agree, and maybe that’s partly my fault. I did spend a lot of time riding her to be more efficient, to be better. In retrospect, I could see how she may have taken that as being unkind and unsupportive of her individuality.

  It took a long time to patch things up between us, and I’m still not sure we’re there yet.

  The train doors shut just as a haggard man in blue coveralls slipped through at the last second. Yes, I thought to myself. He’ll do nicely.

  I gave him a good once-over out of the corner of my eye and used the reflection in the windows to avoid staring. That was key, especially as a young woman in a big city, you didn’t want to draw too much attention gawking at people.

  I didn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea.

  All right, irregul
ar shave on his whiskery face. He’ll need that cleaned up. Get a nice straight-razor shave, haircut with a little pomade, and faded sides to downplay the gray there. He’s carrying himself all wrong too, straighten that back, square the shoulders and tilt the head ever-so-slightly.

  It’s the steely gaze that is hardest to impart, but it could be done. There’s a simmering anger there that I could work with, he probably works multiple jobs to pay for the ridiculous rent in this city. His gray-green eyes would work well in a dark-blue three-piece, thin black tie to offset his muscular frame. Subtle wristwatch, black face with a gold - no - silver frame.

  After that, he’ll need the right vocabulary. Making sure he used the right words and proper diction to get his point across was key. I nodded to myself. I could double Mister Hardworker’s compensation, even take him to my building and nobody would question why he was there. A few introductions, a bit of flattery disguised as a clever joke and I could get him a job.

  That was one of the other things I did. A little side-project of mine. A cross between career consultation and professional networker. So far I’d gotten twelve people new careers in sectors like human resources, software development, business consultation, and even helped a few people create some promising startups.

  It wasn’t much, and I couldn’t afford to spend too much time on my little project, but I liked helping people better themselves. It all came down to efficiency; of language, style, clothing, mannerisms and most importantly time management.

  The train stopped and I noticed Mister Hardworking positioning himself near the door. Must be his stop. I got up and maneuvered myself nearby, holding onto a pole for support. When the doors opened I moved out of the way of a girl rushing out and at the same time leaned towards Mister Hardworking.

  My business card slipped effortlessly into his pocket without anybody the wiser. I tried not to grin too smugly. My other hobby as an introverted kid without any friends? Magic.

  You’d be surprised how much learning magic not only helped me with confidence, but it actually got me my first job. I slipped my resume into a stack of papers the hiring manager had spilled to the ground when a random young woman fresh out of college with her MBA bumped into him and knocked his unlatched briefcase out of his hands.

  Oops.

  As Howard liked to tell the story, it was my drive to go above and beyond, to find unique solutions for difficult problems, that got me the job more than anything else.

  I admit it was a bit risky, and definitely not anything to aspire to. I don’t think getting a good-paying job should be as hard as it’s become, and that’s why I had my side project. So people didn’t have to resort to the things I did to get a job.

  Who knows if Mister Hardworking would call, or even notice the card. It usually took a while. People - especially hard-working people - are reluctant to accept help. The experienced are cynical enough to think it’s a scam, and even if they don’t they spend a lot of time deliberating.

  Over half the cards I gave out I never hear back from.

  I felt a little better as I escaped the underground confines of the subway and made it up to fresh air and eventually to my apartment.

  There was so much to do still, and I was distracting myself away from the reality of the situation. Dad was dead. I wouldn’t hear his horrible jokes again or taste his signature whiskey-bourbon burgers.

  Every memory was more precious now because it was all I had. There would be no more.

  I cried until I was hoarse, then cried some more. It was late by the time I finally picked up my recharged phone and called my sister back. Jemma’s voice was even worse than mine. I wasn’t surprised. She and dad were really close.

  After mom left when I was five, I did my best to fill that role for Jemma. She was only two so she didn’t remember her much and aside from awkward questions didn’t miss her too much.

  “Hi, Jemma, how are you holding up?” I asked, knowing she was taking this especially hard. She wore her heart on her sleeve, skipping through the streets without a care.

  She once told me that every hurt that it earned her only made her appreciate the good times more. I wish I could be that brave.

  “I’m better now.” There was a long pause. “Vicky and Melissa are here.”

  I also wished I had a support network like that. Though I guess that was one of the advantages of living in a small town. Jemma lived in Stony Creek, a few hour’s drive north of our sleepy hometown, Sunrise Valley.

  Living in a larger city definitely had its perks, but it was hard enough to make sure people weren’t two-faced when you grew up with them. In a city where that was the norm, I don’t know how anybody ever learned to trust somebody else without a legally binding contract.

  My own two friends were more acquaintances than anything. We went out for drinks or to go clubbing, but when something serious happened I was never called. I’d hear about it in passing after the fact sometimes. It didn’t bother me much because I never called them when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

  So why would I expect them to if I wasn’t willing to be vulnerable? According to my therapist, that was a common theme with me. The inability to seem vulnerable. As if that was a bad thing.

  I was protecting myself.

  “That’s good,” I tried to push as much of the envy out of my voice. While I was in my apartment crying alone, she had friends helping her every step of the way. “Listen, Jemma, I’m going to use some of my vacation time to go home and help put Dad’s affairs in order.”

  She made a sound of surprise but was quick to recover. “That’s good. It’ll take me a few days to arrange a ride but I’ll be there too. Unless…?”

  Did she really think I wouldn’t take off work when Dad died? I took a calming breath, trying not to let the hurt or anger seep into my voice. “I’m driving up first thing in the morning.”

  I actually intended to organize several calls with Blake Dawson, Dad’s lawyer and then make an itinerary before going but Jemma didn’t need to know that. Besides, I could be impulsive too.

  “Oh Claire, that makes me feel so much better! I know you’re really busy. It means so much to me to know that you’ll be there to take care of things.”

  I hadn’t said I would, but we both knew I would end up doing all the dirty work. “Listen, I need to get packing though. I’ll call you once I’m on the road tomorrow, okay?”

  “It probably takes you a few hours just to get out of the city, huh?”

  “That’s an understatement, especially in the morning. I also need to rent a car.”

  “I keep forgetting you don’t have a car!” Jemma gave a snort. It was one of the achievements she was proud of having over me. She only visited me once in New York, and couldn’t wrap her head around why I didn’t have my own car. I tried explaining the cost-benefit analysis I had done, but she clearly hadn’t paid any attention. I even used a pie chart.

  “Well I’m going to be getting something big if I can find it,” I said sitting up in bed. “No idea if we’ll need to haul anything, and if we do we’ll be glad to have the room.”

  Jemma chuckled. “My big sister, ever the practical one. Whatever would we do without you?”

  I shrugged, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Probably have a lot more fun. I gotta get going though, say hi to Vicky and Melissa for me.”

  “Goodnight Claire, don’t stay up too late planning, okay?”

  “No promises.”

  2

  Thomas

  Sunrise Valley Park was probably my favorite place in the whole world. It’s quiet. There are two beautiful lakes, countless nature trails, and a few winding rivers with bridges nearly as old as the town itself.

  And the best part of all? Most people didn’t come here anymore. Too far out of the way I guess.

  I liked to come to the park and think. Nature and the solitude helped me gather my thoughts, the back of the bakery where I did my work was too warm and it would be weird to sit out in the storef
ront alone in the dark.

  Besides, one of the best things about being a baker was the time most dough needed to rise. It was an excellent excuse to get out and stretch my legs. Normally I’d give Richard a visit. But I couldn’t do that tonight.

  I couldn’t do that ever again.

  It was why I was sitting on a damp bench, hands in my jacket pockets watching the dark waters of the lake shimmer in the moonlight. Richard died last night.

  I was the one who found him.

  The ciabatta was especially good that day, so I thought I’d bring him a loaf and see what he thought. Richard was a lot of things, but a flatterer was not one of them. He’d straight-up tell me if something was wrong. It was thanks to him that I’d become a better baker.

  Giving free food to people had a weird effect on them, they wanted to be grateful for it and thought that the best way to do it was to say it tasted great even if it didn’t.

  Not Richard. If I was off on a cupcake, he let me know. If a scone wasn’t quite airy enough, I could trust him to be honest.

  Honesty was rare, and in a small town like Sunrise Valley where everybody knows everybody, it’s even rarer. I’ll miss the hell out of him.

  I raised the bottle of beer I’d been nursing to the heavens, sure that’s where he was. No place better for a man that kind.

  “Hope the view doesn’t suck up there, pal.”

  Right about now we’d usually be playing cards, or he’d regale me with tales of his fabulous two girls. Sometimes he’d heckle me about Claire and I’d take it good-naturedly. Careful not to show how much it still hurt to hear her name.