What the Flock

by Savage, Vivienne

  After loading doughnuts into the fryer, they shoved croissants into the oven, greased the grill, and fried two dozen eggs for the croissandwiches. While those bubbled, she tipped the basket of doughnuts onto the wire cooling rack. Ellie had a time-saving system she’d devised based on experience, moving from one task to the next efficiently without burning a single item. Back when the bakery staff was only her, she’d had to show up at one in the morning to tediously prepare, performing one task after the next.

  At first, she’d doubted Grace could keep up, but the old woman had enough endurance that after a while, Ellie stepped back and let her run the show.

  By the time Luke arrived, they had the cases stocked and the second morning wave of customers were gone.

  “You know, the real test will be whether or not she can remember everything without one of us here,” Luke murmured to Ellie as she loaded a dozen doughnuts into a box for Portia and Emma. Grace was on the grill, melting slices of cheese over ham for more sandwiches.

  “Then next week will be the next test. You down for training her tomorrow or do you require some financial motivation to take over my early shift?”

  “Count me in. The only motivation I need is the promise of being able to fucking sleep in more than once a week.”

  11

  “I kinda have some time off, and it’s up to you how we can spend this,” Griffin said into the phone.

  Ellie was standing at her kitchen sink, preparing the usual dinner for three now that Griffin joined them almost every night of the week for supper. Her little girl loved him. Dean had been disappointed to find he was losing the coveted position as Emma’s favorite person.

  “Oh?”

  “Figured we could go out for a concert at the House of Blues tomorrow night. I got us tickets. The Midnight Sirens are performing.”

  Ellie swore internally. She loved the Midnight Sirens and kept their albums in frequent rotation in the bakery. “Without even knowing if I was available? Griffin, what if you’d wasted your money? I’m supposed to open the bakery Saturday.”

  “I didn’t say I bought tickets. I said I got us tickets. My sister received these from a business associate, but she has to fly out to Chicago in the morning. They’re ours if we want them.”

  “How good are they?”

  “VIP table.”

  Not a cheap pair of tickets at all.

  A moment of silence passed over the line before Ellie replied. “I’ll ask Grace if she feels comfortable opening Saturday morning, then ask Luke to pop in a couple hours after to make sure she’s doing all right.”

  “Great. Pack a bag.”

  “What? Why do I need a bag?”

  “Because we’ll be staying overnight in Houston.”

  * * *

  Few things made Ellie feel like a loser more than staring at a closet filled with frumpy clothes, battered jeans, and second-hand shirts from Goodwill. She hadn’t bought anything nice for herself in years, the “nice” clothes in the wardrobe consisting of pedal pushers, yoga pants, and maxi dresses for warm summer evenings.

  The clock continued to tick, less than an hour remaining until Griff arrived to whisk her away for a Friday night concert. Ellie still wore her damned bra and panties while Madeleine sifted through her meager makeup collection.

  “I don’t know what to wear.”

  “You’re in luck,” Maddie said cheerfully, “because Portia is on the way right now to watch Emma, and I told her to come prepared with some of her club wear.”

  “I’ve seen what that girl wears to Shenanigans. No thanks.”

  The locals called the place Shenasty’s. While the club was clean, the same couldn’t be said of the population who frequented it. The clientele had earned that moniker.

  Five minutes later, Portia had joined them in the bedroom and spread six different outfits over Ellie’s mattress, none of them appropriate for a thirty-three-year-old mother.

  “He’s going to think I’m a skank.”

  “He’s going to think you’re a hot mama who knows how to have fun.”

  Ellie blew out a breath, tossing her bangs off her forehead. “I don’t know…”

  “At least try them on,” Portia insisted. “Christ, Ellie, you’re only thirty-three. And why does it matter how old you are? Clothes are clothes, and you’re hot. I saw a sixty-year-old hippie lady in booty shorts and a crop top the other day at Walmart living her best life. And you know what? She was also hot as fuck.”

  The first dress was a tiny navy blue number with a plunging neckline. It disagreed with Ellie’s considerable post-breastfeeding bosom and was unlikely to remain in place without copious garment tape.

  “Ummm,” Maddie said. “No.”

  “Fine,” Portia agreed. “I still think you look hot in it, but that doesn’t matter if you’re not comfortable in your own skin and what you wear out. Try this.”

  Three outfits later, Ellie remained uncertain. They’d pulled on micro skirts, plunging blouses, and little halter tops that exposed her flawless back, but none of them felt like her.

  Finally, Portia held up a shoulder-baring little black dress. Ellie squeezed into it and checked out her reflection in the mirror, suspecting she’d be squeezing into her mom jeans soon enough.

  She also didn’t hate how she looked. The vision in front of her was a woman who didn’t look quite thirty, with a subtle curve to her stomach. Her voluptuous hips stretched the black fabric taut, but not too sheer for the public. It hugged her in all the right places, and the hem stopped just below her butt. “This doesn’t cover my ass.”

  “It covers your ass,” Portia disagreed.

  Ellie twisted around and glanced over a shoulder, viewing the insignificant dress from behind. This is really hot. I look really hot. Instead of saying that, she surrendered to the insecurity niggling at the back of her mind. “I feel air on my ass cheeks.”

  “It’s your imagination,” Maddie replied.

  “My ass is too big for this.” The words on the tip of her tongue: I’m way too fat for this. Never mind that she and Portia shared a size. Never mind that any time she saw her best friend’s little cousin in a daring, gorgeous outfit for her bartending job, the girl looked absolutely amazing.

  The mirror was cruel mistress. Self-esteem was even crueler.

  “Your gorgeous ass will be planted in a seat most of the night, but if you like this style…try this.”

  The next ensemble was high-waisted black shorts and an off-the-shoulder corset top with a ruffled trim hanging from her shoulders. Her breasts had never looked better. “Winner. It’s probably going to give him the wrong idea, but fuck it, let’s go crazy.”

  “Puh-lease,” Portia scoffed. “He rented a hotel, Ellie. That man is gonna bang you like a screen door in a hurricane regardless of what you leave this house wearing.”

  “Portia!” Ellie wanted to be mad, but the laughter spilled out of her before she could reel it in and get ahold of herself.

  Too much of her tits were on display, and the air conditioner’s current chilled her bare thighs, but when Ellie gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she felt ready to go wild.

  “Griff is here!” Emma shouted from the living room.

  “Shit. He’s early,” Ellie muttered.

  “Portia, you fix her hair up. I’ll stall!” Maddie volunteered before rushing from the room and leaving Ellie in the hands of a twenty-one-year-old fashionista.

  * * *

  Emma let Griffin inside and hugged him tight. “Are you and Mama going on a daaaaate?”

  “We are. Is that okay with you, darlin’? Do I need to have your mother back at a certain time?”

  Emma bobbed her head. “It’s great! I hope you have a good time. She doesn’t like to stay up late though.”

  “Maybe I can change that.”

  Then Maddie barreled out of the bedroom and seized him by the arm. “You. Come with me.”

  “But I just got—”

  “She’s not ready. So you’r
e gonna have coffee with Dean until she’s ready to go.”

  That was how he wound up in the kitchen nook at Maddie and Dean’s house sipping coffee and confessing plans that Ellie was either going to love or loathe with every fiber of her being. He hoped for the former but prepared for the latter. He’d barely been in the door before Maddie had fucked off into her workshop and left the two men alone, like Dean had been charged with babysitting him.

  Dean cocked a brow at Griffin. “That’s your plan for the weekend? For real?”

  “For real.” He hesitated. “Is it a bad idea? Is this relationship suicide? Give it to me straight, man. I care about this woman, and I just want to show her a good time out on the town away from all her responsibilities.”

  “Well...” The fox shifter’s nose scrunched up. “She’s kind of a control freak. And if I didn’t know how fucking much she needs a little vacation, I’d say you were making a big mistake.”

  “Shit.” Griff pinched the bridge of his nose and reconsidered his plans. All he’d wanted for the past year, ever since he first saw Eleanor come close to bursting into tears of frustration over an asshole customer, was to sweep her away for a stress-free weekend. Now he had his doubts.

  “No. Don’t listen to me. She needs this.”

  “She really does!” Maddie’s voice echoed from the next room. She emerged from her workroom, wiping her hands on a glaze-stained apron. Scarlet and blue pigments were in her hair and smeared on her cheek. “Your plan has the BFF seal of approval. Go forth and woo her. Execute this brilliant master plan. And if she does get furious at you for it, totally tell her that we put you up to it.”

  “You want me to throw you under the bus?”

  “Sure. I can take it. I’m not saying I know what’s best for Ellie, but I know how much she needs this. She wants everyone to think she’s Superwoman but the truth is that she needs a timeout before she goes crazy. For the past two years—almost three years, actually—she’s been systematically moving like a robot from one task to the next. No vacations. No breaks. She’s gonna burn out.”

  “You know, my mom was a single mother too,” Dean offered, rubbing his chin. “And she loved the fuck out of us kids. Spoiled us. But once a year my grandfather would swoop in and take us away for a couple weeks to give her a breather. I’m not a mother so I can’t relate, but I’m gonna say I think single moms don’t like to ask for help.”

  Maddie smiled at him. ”Ellie feels awful about you taking Emma off her hands for even a few hours.”

  “Then I guess I’m doing the right thing.”

  * * *

  The rhythm of the drums pounded through the concert venue like the music had its own pulse. Last time Ellie purchased tickets for a performance at the House of Blues, she’d been stuck in standing room with the rest of the inexpensive general admission tickets. While fun, she’d been miserable, her feet ached, her makeup melted, and dancing all night had reduced her to a sweaty mess.

  As much as she would have loved dancing the entire night away with her sexy police chief, she totally appreciated her comfortable chair at the elevated VIP tables. It sucked to be so far from the stage, but she had a perfect view and her feet weren’t screaming for relief.

  The cocktail server arrived with their drinks, placing a frosty beer in front of her and a second before Griffin. It was her third. She intended to try every craft beer on the menu.

  “Thanks.” Ellie sipped gratefully then licked the chilly foam from her upper lip.

  “Can I get anything else for you two?”

  “I don’t think so.” Griffin caught her eye and cocked a brow, but Ellie shook her head. “That’ll be all for us.”

  Once the waitress was out of sight, Ellie leaned in close, tangled her fingers in Griffin’s dark hair, and kissed him. It wasn’t as dark as she remembered. The chestnut brown dye had faded to a muddy gray, and more of his roots were showing than ever. She liked it. Her silver fox.

  During her favorite songs, they abandoned their seats on the elevated platform to dance. The Midnight Sirens were one of the few female-led rock bands to remain together since their teenage years. Ellie had listened to them for just as long, and still carried fond memories of following one of their tours overseas with Maddie.

  They remained for the encore before moving downstairs to the VIP lounge to eat their fill of dinner and soak up the beer they’d guzzled during the concert.

  Ellie eyed her Moscow mule. “I feel like an asshole drinking when you can’t.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t mind sobering up for the drive. Besides,” he murmured, voice dropping to a low and seductive tone that made her core tremble and involuntarily tighten, “I want to be completely sober and aware of everything I do to you once we reach our room.”

  Ellie missed her mouth. A splash of cold vodka splashed on her cleavage. Swearing and jumping, she tore a few napkins from the holder and patted them against her chest while her boyfriend shot her a mischievous grin from across the table. “Fucker.”

  “Not yet.” Griffin glanced at his watch. “In about an hour, maybe.”

  Her body heated a little more. In only a few words, Griffin had taken her from one kind of famished to suffering from another type of hunger.

  12

  Griffin had given her every opportunity to decline staying overnight, but the unspoken agreement between them seemed to be that they were going to have sweaty, dirty sex without the risk of Emma stumbling in on them or banging on the door during a critical moment.

  He gave her one opportunity after the next to change her mind and ask to go home.

  Ellie didn’t.

  His warm hand rested on her thigh during the drive through Houston’s streets, and nightlife glowed vibrantly on each stretch of city block. Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a night on the town.

  Not since…

  She bundled up those awful, depressing thoughts and stowed them away where they belonged. Tonight, there was only room for one man in her head, and that man was chatting casually about—

  “Really? I’ll let her know you’re cool with it. We can fly on Charlotte’s private jet and take her tickets for Hamilton too.”

  “Huh?” She stared at him.

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  “Um…”

  The car was at a standstill, his pretty black Jaguar not what she expected a police chief to drive, especially an officer in a small town like Crisis where cops either worked due to a love for law enforcement, or no other departments willing to take fresh and inexperienced peace officers.

  “You okay, Ellie?”

  “I’m fine.” She lowered her palm to the top of his hand and caressed his knuckles. “Was just thinking about tonight.”

  “Yeah?” His brows knit. “That’s not the kind of expression I want on my lady’s face when she thinks about sleeping with me.”

  “You’ll have the opportunity in a moment to put a whole other expression on my face.”

  That shut him up and ended the questions. Five minutes later, they pulled in front of an extravagant hotel, he passed the keys to the valet driver, and they were riding an elevator to one of the top floors.

  “I have a confession to make,” Griffin said.

  Something about his cocky smile told her to prepare for the worst, to both loathe and adore him all at once. “What did you do?”

  “I kinda booked this place for two nights.”

  “But my bakery—”

  “Is taken care of. I spoke with Grace about potentially filling in for you Sunday morning, and she was delighted. Luke’s going to pop in and check on her at the usual time.”

  Ellie pressed her lips together. Irritation spiked up her spine. “You had no business going behind my back and speaking to my employees.”

  “And then I told them both it was ultimately up to you to decide if we’re doing it. So you can turn it down and we can head back in the afternoon as planned, or…”

  She
could accept his arrangement for the gift it was and enjoy a weekend away from her child for the first time since Emma was born.

  The elevator opened into a hall that shone radiantly with expensive fixtures and glossy marble floors. “You upset with me?”

  “No.” His expression turned skeptical, and he hesitated at the door until Ellie slipped behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist, her chin on his shoulder. “Hurry up. I don’t want to wait.”

  The door opened to reveal paradise, the extraordinary suite fancier than any home she’d ever stepped inside. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it: the Houston skyline, the romantic sight, a bucket of champagne on ice beside a box of Godiva chocolates.

  Mad at him was the last thing she wanted to be.

  In Ellie’s head, and in the scene she’d rehearsed a dozen times that afternoon while packing for the night, she’d head into the bathroom and drag on a little scrap of silk, donning the pink baby doll nightie Maddie had crammed into her bag that afternoon.

  Deciding the lingerie could wait for the next night, Ellie spun toward Griffin and smashed her lips against his in a desperate kiss. His words, whatever he’d wanted to say, died on the first syllable, swallowed by her mouth.

  No time for changing her mind or second-guessing. Their tongues met, sweetness and heat enriched by igniting passion until there was an almost feral quality to their hungry kisses. Startling her with his eagerness, Griff tugged the laces to her top. His hands remained in motion, stripping her clothes away one article at a time. Without warning, he hauled her up with both hands under her ass. Her legs automatically framed his hips.