Thomas
I always found the shower to be one of the few places I could get some proper peace of mind. Outside I had to worry about my life, the new stresses introduced, and everything else. But in the shower, all I had to worry about was myself. I could turn my mind off and just exist for a little while.
Back in the real world I started some breakfast, scrambled eggs with hash browns and bacon. I preferred my eggs the Gordon Ramsay way, with plenty of butter and eggs so soft they’re practically a creamy custard. It took a little extra time, but it was worth it.
Everything else tasted rubbery and overdone.
Besides, I took gleeful pleasure in being able to bake and cook. Who said single guys didn’t know how to cook well? My girl was going to be downright spoiled by all I made her. Screw the cliché of a girl spending all her time in the kitchen, that was going to be me.
In between heating the skillet until the butter was foamy and tossing the hash browns in the second pan with rendered bacon fat, I threw on some clothes. I had somewhere important to be today, so I opted to wear only the undershirt until I was done eating.
I’m far from a messy eater, but accidents happen and I wasn’t going to show up to the reading of Richard’s will - which I had only learned I was attending yesterday after Richard’s lawyer, Mister Dawson gave me a call - in jeans and a t-shirt.
There wasn’t much need for a baker to wear a suit, so it wasn’t particularly fine, but it fit my frame well. Dark blue slacks, crisp white shirt and a dark blue silk tie with matching jacket. It was the same suit I wore to the bank with Richard to get my business loan.
He’d told me they would take me seriously if I dressed like I already had the business. When I told him if I already had the business I’d be wearing an apron and jeans dusted with flour, he laughed. I wasn’t a particularly funny guy, but it always warmed my heart to hear him laugh.
There was enough time before the appointment that I undid my tie and took a few minutes to tie it in an Eldredge knot, one of my favorites. I checked myself in the mirror on the way out and couldn’t help but grin.
I looked good. Professional.
Like I belong in Claire’s world, the thought came like a lightning strike and I had to stomp out the fires it started before the idea consumed me. Sure, I was going to see Claire today, but Jemma would be there too and so would Richard’s lawyer.
This wasn’t about her.
What was left of my good mood vanished when I saw the mangled heap of my bike. I had nearly forgotten all about it. I didn’t own a car anymore, not after my truck gave up the ghost a year ago when I tried to take it into the mountains.
So I was walking, I didn’t have the best shoes to do it in but it was dry out and it rarely was hot in Sunrise Valley except in the dead of summer which we were thankfully waving goodbye to.
With no other option - the thought to knock on Richard’s door to see if Claire would give me a ride never crossed my mind - I headed down the stairs and took the first left off Main Street onto Grishner.
It wasn’t far, but even half a mile in dress shoes was more than enough for me.
The office shared a building with a flower shop, which I gave a wide berth because its owner hated my guts. Sandy had her eyes on the same location I’d gotten for my bakery, and after I did she pretty much stopped speaking to me altogether.
I don’t know how she got the notion that I swiped it out from under her, I didn’t even know she was looking to move.
Small towns, I thought with a shake of my head as I pulled the door to Dawson’s office open. Weird things like that happened all the time. People think small towns mean everybody knows everything about everybody.
What it really meant is people constantly misunderstood each other and then let a small thing like that ruin friendships for years.
“Hi, Thomas,” said Anne from behind the secretary's desk. She flicked her blue eyes from the phone and to me and roamed my body openly. “Dad said you can go in whenever you like.” She grinned and leaned forward onto the desk. “But you can stay with me out here if you like.”
“Thanks, I think I’ll go inside.” Her eyes stayed glued to me as I entered Dawson’s personal office.
“Morning Thomas,” said Dawson, coming aground the desk to shake my hand. “Have a seat, we’re just waiting on Claire.”
My heart thumped in my chest. “Just Claire?”
“Yeah, apparently her sister won’t make it.”
I sat down in the leather chair, letting the cushion hold me up. I had expected to see Claire again, but I was still surprised at how nervous I was about it. I folded my hands in my lap to avoid fidgeting.
Dawson leaned against his large oak desk and crossed his arms. He was nearly as old as Richard was and one of his oldest friends as well. One of the few that stayed in town too. Arms folded over his chest he let out a great big sigh. “It’s a damn shame.”
I knew immediately what he meant and gave a somber nod. Richard was barely pushing into his sixties. He didn’t seem old enough to go. I doubt most people knew about whatever condition he had, I sure didn’t, but it was still too young.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, running your own business isn’t easy. Take it from an old man like myself, it doesn’t get any easier either.” He hesitated, looking around the room then cleared his throat gruffly. “Listen, if you need any legal help or advice, you can come to me. I’ll give you the same rate I did for Richard. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you,” I said numbly. The offer of kindness surprised me. Dawson was far from a pro bono type of lawyer. The way I heard it, after he made bank as a big corporate lawyer he opened his own firm and settled down in Sunrise Valley.
Richard had insinuated on more than one occasion Dawson still had deep connections, and warned me not to piss him off. I steered clear of him after that.
“It’s the least I could do,” he answered with a twitch of a smile. The door creaked open and he came away from the desk, striding past me. “Good morning Claire, please have a seat and we can get started.”
The door shut and I had to strain every muscle in my neck not to turn and watch her sit next to me, barely two feet away. I caught a whiff of her scent and my mind went blank for a moment.
My mind was assaulted with old fantasies of Claire and I naked in bed. Stealing kisses under the awnings that lined Main Street as we ducked out of the rain. More naked romps in our bedrooms, her lithe body against mine.
After all these years, she still smelled the same. My pants started to feel constricting and tight, I realized what was happening a bit too late and leaned forward to cover my rapidly growing hard-on.
I took slow, focused breaths and tensed my thighs in an effort to undo the damage. Resting my elbows on my knees, I hoped I looked thoughtful and attentive.
Claire gave me a sidelong look out of the corner of her eye but said nothing to me and only then did I realize Dawson had been talking the entire time. “…bit peculiar, I know but there it is,” he said, with finality.
I looked over at Claire who was looking down in thought, worrying her bottom lip. It sent a surge of desire through me. I forced my gaze away and up at Dawson who was waiting expectantly.
“I’m sorry,” I said with as much chagrin as possible. My ears must have been beet red. They felt like glowing coals. I hoped they helped sell the embarrassment. “I’m not quite sure I understand, could you explain that again?”
Dawson gave a sage nod and rifled through a few papers. “Essentially, what it boils down to is that Richard owned the entire building in which you reside and work. This includes his side as well. Not an entirely uncommon floor plan given the town’s age.” He gestured towards the large window on his left that let in plenty of cold morning light.
“Richard was essentially subletting you your half,” he continued. “Upon his death, however, he has chosen to bequeath the property to you both. This means that you not only inherit the building, but also
all subsequent debts. I’m sure he may have meant for you and Claire to keep the same arrangement, but there is no direct clause in the will about that and will be between the two of you. What this means, in the simplest terms if that you are now business partners.”
Claire and I looked at each other. For a moment I swore her cheeks turned rosy before she pulled out her phone and looked away from me. There was an awkward, charged silence that lingered. “And the property is in both of our names, correct?” asked Claire not looking up from her phone.
Who was she typing so furiously to? I had to admit I was a little impressed - and a little turned on - by how calm she was taking everything all while multi-tasking. I felt like I was barely held together with tape and day-old glue.
“That’s right,” said Dawson. He folded his hands one over the other. “The rest of the estate is to be split between you and your sister, Jemma. I have an itemized list of everything here if you would like to look over it?”
Claire shook her head. “No, I’ll wait until Jemma gets here. We’ll look over it together, that way we can sort it out amongst ourselves.” She gave me a brief sideways glance. “I’m sure Thomas has work to do, I wouldn’t wish to keep him.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, trying to sound agreeable. “It would seem we have a lot to talk about as well.”
“It would seem we do,” she agreed.
“Well, that was quite straightforward and simple wasn’t it?” Dawson clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. Despite his age, he was a fairly animated man. “All that’s left is to dot the I’s and cross the T’s. If you won’t mind coming over here and signing, I can let you both go back to your days. And once again, Claire, my condolences.”
I took a deep breath and held it. Not even on my worst days in high school had I zoned out as badly as I had once Claire walked into the room. It was embarrassing.
The rest was more a formality than anything, but it ended up taking at least a half-hour until we were outside of the office. The slant of the sun caused Claire’s shadow to stretch and blend with mine and there was the barest hint of an autumn chill in the air.
Neither of us said anything for a while, we just stood there. I could almost believe it was like nothing ever happened. I had always felt so comfortable around her, our silences were deep and companionable.
“I guess this means I’ll be seeing you a lot more?” I asked, looking up at the fluffy lazy clouds drifting over the town.
Something shifted between us and I could almost feel the waves of tension rolling off her. I turned at once, intent on comforting her, but stopped my hands before they reached out too far.
We both looked awkwardly at one another, my hands halfway between us. I let them fall with a forced smile.
The hardened look in Claire’s eyes eased somewhat. “Would you like to grab a coffee sometime and we can go over the numbers together?”
I got the sneaking suspicion that wasn’t what she had been about to say. With a nod I said, “I’m free for the next hour or so. We can go to the bakery and I’ll brew some coffee.”
She looked at me, then around the barren parking lot. It didn’t take a lot of deducing to realize the pristine eighties BMW was Dawson’s and the hot-pink Volkswagen likely belonged to the secretary. Which only left the Suburban she had drove in on. “I’ll drive.”
Was it me, or did her tone come out a shade kinder than before?
7
Claire
I liked to think of myself as a calm, rational woman. But this had Dad’s scheming all over it and I spent the entire short drive to Thomas’ bakery and the trip inside throwing every curse I could think of at him.
I hoped he heard me up in Heaven. He was probably clutching his sides and laughing until he fell out of the beat-up leather chair. I never told him what happened between Thomas and me, and he had been understanding enough to let it lie.
Or so I thought.
That didn’t stop him from scheming this whole thing up behind my back. I knew he meant well, but if he knew the things Thomas had done he wouldn’t have been so quick to entangle us together.
I wanted to avoid what happened between him and Mom, he should have been the one person to understand. Sometimes people aren’t right for each other. Some hurts run too deep. Betrayal is not something anybody should take lightly.
“Here, it’s a little hot but I hope you like it,” said Thomas handing me a chipped mug full of steaming coffee. As soon as he let us into the back of the bakery he was quick to get us that promised coffee.
It smelled divine. I watched him like a hawk for the free moment I could inhale the scent like the addict I was without him watching. He didn’t need to know any more secrets about me.
Carried away with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, I barely noticed him set down two plates and pull up a second seat. We sat in the back of his bakery at the end of a polished stainless steel counter. It felt like we were kids again sitting at the kitchen island in my old house on Dorscher Street.
Thomas would sneak in through the backyard, and I’d let him in through the sliding glass door in the early morning. We’d talk and have gross instant coffee. We’d cup our mugs in both hands like we were adults and take turns sipping the disgusting elixir while the house slept around us.
It was hard not to smile when I noticed that both of us were cupping our mugs the same way we used to. But this wasn’t supposed to be a fond memory. I looked back to the coffee, realizing I never told him what to put in it. He must have remembered how I liked it. Two sugars, just a splash of milk and some creamer.
I bet his was as sweet as candy. I snuck a peek when he set the mug down. Yep, pale brown. So he still liked to drown his coffee in milk and creamer. It was strange how much that made me feel at ease. I had to remind myself - again - that this was all business.
Thomas seemed to sense something in me and after reaching down out of sight he pulled out a high school Trapper Keeper that looked like it’d been through Hell and back. It still had doodles on it, and I recognized my own drawing among them.
He gave me a sheepish grin that would have weakened my knees if I wasn’t sitting. “I keep all my important financials in here. I know it looks dumb, but it works.”
“It’s not dumb,” I said, immediately the urge to comfort him and make him feel better washed over me and I tried to push it away. Words were enough. He was a man now - that much was obvious - he didn’t need me to tell him things were okay.
There hadn’t been time for breakfast earlier, so I didn’t even try to resist the delicious plate of scones in front of me. I plucked a pumpkin scone off the plate - yes, I love pumpkin, and I’m not ashamed of it - and gingerly nibbled at it while we went over his financials.
“Oh my God, this is amazing!” I blurted out, then realizing that I’d just sprayed crumbs all over the paperwork I covered my mouth.
It was like biting into a dense cloud of flavor. The notes of pumpkin and spice swirled around me, there was a slight crack of sugar coating the top like a thin layer of ice over the pond in late autumn. The texture was somehow both dense and airy without being dry or crumbly.
He gave me another boyish grin, and I was overcome with the urge to feel his dark stubble. For a moment - just a moment - I let my mind wonder what that stubble would feel like on the insides of my thighs before I snuffed the thought out.
All business, today.
“Thanks, Richar- your dad - actually helped me perfect the recipe,” he said with a hint of pride. I swore his chest swelled a little and I could make out all the thick contours of his muscles beneath his white collared shirt. He’d put his jacket over the chair’s back and rolled up his sleeves to eat.
Of course, he did. The longer I spent with Thomas the less I understand how this could be the same man who had betrayed me. It just didn’t add up. It sounded like the Thomas I knew, but I had been wrong about that Thomas.
And now I was hearing stories of that same sweet boy I had s
uch a crush on ever since he first gave me his copy of The Wizard of Earthsea back in grade school.
I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
All I knew was that I couldn’t trust him, at least now with my feelings. But maybe, just maybe, I could trust him enough to work with him. I could offer him a fair deal and maybe if he wasn’t pigheaded I could help him turn a better profit.
I wouldn’t even need to slip a card into his jacket.
Together, we went over his financials and compared them to what the property was worth and what my father had offered him. This was the sort of dry, black and white numbers porn that I lived for.
I know, not very thrilling, but it was here that a business was born or died.
In this very data was the key to profitability and opening up a franchise of Game of Scones bakeries across New England or if mishandled, ending up in default and closing up shop. It was all here in the numbers, and all we had to do was find it.
We scooted closer to each other over our breakfast of delicious coffee and even better scones. If this was what he made normally, he had a stellar product that could easily compete with most of the upscale places in New York. But he needed the right approach, which was precisely what my job entailed.
There was a dinging bell and Thomas got up with a start. He looped an apron over his neck and as he tied it behind his back he looked over at me. “Sorry,” he said, cinching the knot with dexterous fingers. “I forgot all about Miss Clemens’ order. She’s going to a reunion and I said I’d make sure her order would be ready for her before she left. I’ll just be a minute.”
With that, he vanished to the front of the store and out of sight. I stayed there, looking at the papers and numbers spread out before me. It didn’t add up. He had a superior product - in fact, a wide range of pastries and desserts that bested most french bakeries I’d been to - and he was barely in the black. Even with the exceptional offer my father gave him on rent, he should have been coming out easily ahead.
Kneading You Page 5