by Nia Arthurs
4 Ollie
Why. The hell. Did I. Hug Chandra?
It’s been a day and a half since I fixed her pipes and I still don’t have a solid answer to that question.
None.
Zip.
I’m the one who rejected her. Slammed the brakes on her hypothetical proposal so fast it left skid marks.
So why did I turn around and hold her close like a damn fool?
My thoughts careen to a stop when I see Griffin walking into the gym. Scrambling down to the first floor, I gesture at his duffel.
It’s wider than his usual gym bag, which means he has plans to shower and head to work right after.
“How much time do you have?” I ask.
“I’ve got a meeting in two hours.” He checks his watch. “Why?”
I nod to my office. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He looks perplexed but follows me to the lobby.
We inch past the counter where new clients come to sign up and old clients stop to flirt with Jenine, the leggy receptionist with a propensity for beach blonde hair dye and cheetah print.
Despite her appearance, Jenine is an accounting genius and keeps this place running like a well-oiled machine. She’s also happily married to her high school sweetheart and is an awarded triathlon competitor while also raising two healthy, rambunctious kids.
I call her Superwoman for short.
“Morning, Griff.” She nods politely. “Ollie, the treadmill’s broken again.”
“I’ll fix it.”
“Why don’t you order a new one?”
“Because this one just needs a little tweaking.”
“Mm-hm. I’ll order from our usual supplier. Any objections?”
She’s asking, but she’s not really interested in an answer.
I keep quiet.
Working for—I mean with Jenine has taught me a lot about how to handle women and the best way to keep them happy.
Which is to shut up and go along with whatever they say.
Keeps the conflicts to a minimum.
And me?
I’m not big on back-and-forths.
Not unless they’re with a certain someone who owns a bakery, wears red, and donates cupcakes to homeless shelters…
“Thought so.” Jenine slants me a tight-lipped smile. “You’re the best, Boss.”
Griffin chuckles.
I shrug what can you do?
He laughs harder.
We continue to my office.
The room is in desperate need of a little organization—papers scattered all over the desk, boxes piled in corners, and dead potted plants… I really should throw those out.
Griffin closes the door behind him.
I head to the armchair that’s covered in dust—I rarely see clients in this office, preferring to meet them where they are in the gym—and clear it off so Griff has somewhere to sit.
When I turn back, I find him eyeing me.
“What?”
“Since when do you ask to talk?” Griffin arches an eyebrow. “You just… talk.”
“It wasn’t a topic I could discuss in public.”
“Something happened between you and Chandra, didn’t it?”
“Of course not.” Shoot. Did I answer too fast?
“Nice try. You fast-talk when you lie.”
Dammit.
His voice turns probing. “I asked Chandra about the pipes. She didn’t say much.”
“Because there’s nothing to say. I came in. Fixed her up. Left. Done.”
She also asked me out.
And I hugged her.
But Griff really doesn’t need to know all that. Especially if Chandra didn’t tell Cobie about it.
“You’re being real shady, Ollie. Should I call Chandra and ask myself?”
“Try and I’ll break your finger.”
Griffin grins, cell phone in his hand. “So something did happen. And I’m guessing it wasn’t initiated on your end.”
“Says who?”
“You’ve been into Chandra for a year now and you haven’t made any moves. In fact, you’ve done exactly the opposite.”
He’s right.
Chandra…
The woman just gets under my skin in a crazy way. I don’t know what it is—the wary eyes beneath the come-hither gazes, the long legs, the glossy dark skin, the don’t mess with me smile…
Like I said on Sunday, balance and control aren’t my strong suits. And Chandra tempts me more than any red velvet cupcake ever could.
“It’s not that.”
“What is it then?” Griffin blinks.
“We’re just friends.”
Friends.
The word sounds hollow in the room.
All this while, I’ve been careful, cautious, around Chandra. That day, holding her felt… right. I didn’t mind the differences between us. Didn’t care about her past or my scars.
I let her share my space. Touch my chest.
Honestly, if she’d made any signs that she was open to kissing, I would have done that too.
Which was why I backed the hell up and ran out of there.
Friends might hug, but they don’t ravish each other.
Not the way I’d been wanting to ravish her.
“All of a sudden?”
“Don’t worry. That’s as far as I’m going.” Shame cuts me in the chest. I don’t deserve to go any further than that.
Griff looks angry. “Why not?” A harsh scowl cuts into his mouth. “What’s so wrong with you that you can’t be happy?”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence, but you know why.”
“Screw that.” Griffin frowns. “I mean, for one—even if you are an ex-con—you’re ten times better than those jerks Chandra’s used to dating.”
That’s not saying much.
Dogs are better than that Rick-guy. I’m sure of it.
“Two—Chandra’s beautiful. She’s funny. Loyal to a fault. Kind of tough around the edges, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.” He nods. “She could be exactly what you’ve been missing.”
I swallow a chuckle. Griffin’s getting surprisingly worked up about this, which I can only assume is Cobie’s propensity for emotional outbursts rubbing off on him.
“Who says she’d be into me?”
“She is or you wouldn’t have dragged me in here.”
“I asked you here to discuss a marketing gig.”
“Liar.” He shrugs. “Back to the point, I suggest you get Cobie’s okay first before you do anything serious. She’s pissed off at Chandra right now, but she’d still go to war for her.”
It’s true.
I’ve never seen two women as close as Cobie and Chandra. They’re joined at the hip. I predict them sticking together to old age, rocking on the porch complaining about their aching knees and twittering over the scandalous twist in the latest soap opera.
“I can’t say I’m not interested…”
“Exactly. So why don’t you—?”
“In hooking up.” I glance at him. “But that’s it. I don’t want anything serious.”
Griffin rubs the back of his neck. “Definitely don’t tell Cobie that.”
I chuckle. Run a hand through my hair. Getting Cobie’s permission to screw her best friend is not on the table. She’s a fierce one, that woman. I’d just as soon lose my life.
“Are you sure that’s all you want from her?”
“I’m not dating Chandra, Griff.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Apart from my own baggage, she’s got her own. And hell, isn’t she into rich guys? I’m the farthest thing from her type and she’s not mine. We’re too different.”
“You’re making assumptions, bro. Take it from me. Not a good look.”
“Griff, she struts around in luxury clothes and name-brand heels, swinging purses that cost as much as my car payments. If that’s not a neon-sign that we’re complete opposites I don’t know what is.”
“It’s just clothes.�
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“It’s not just clothes. It’s her. She’s too…”
“What?”
“Out of my league.”
Griffin stares at me for a while, brown eyes poring over my face.
I squirm, shuffling my tennis shoes that are scuffed and worn from constant use. His intense scrutiny leaves me unsettled. And that turns into annoyance.
It’s a defense mechanism, a desperate attempt to look formidable. Not because I’m as strong as I seem on the outside.
Because I know one tap against my walls and they’ll shatter like glass.
I’m a blink away from telling Griff to buzz off when he starts to smile. “Alright.”
I eye him suspiciously.
When Griff is on a tangent, he’s like a pit-bull in fight mode. The guy latches on and never lets go.
“I’m not into wasting my breath, man.” Brown eyes gleam at me. “You’re so far gone, you can hardly convince yourself that you’re not into her.”
“You’re wrong,” I say. It’s a wimpy rebuttal at best.
He smirks. “I guess time will tell.”
I scowl.
Time? That freaking psycho? The one that’s supposed to heal all wounds and bring new seasons and crap like that? Yeah, Time’s never been on my side. I don’t know why he’d start now.
At the end of the day, I’m nothing but a struggling addict with a struggling gym. I may be muscular. I’m good-looking, if the number of girls who flirt with me is any indication. And I’m fairly intelligent.
But I’m no catch.
In the past, I would have bought everything Griff was selling. Would have slammed my hands on the table when Chandra asked if we could be more than friends and yell ‘hell yeah’ before pulling her into my arms and devouring a luscious dessert that far outrivaled Zania’s cupcakes.
I would have made her mine.
Completely.
Totally.
No questions asked.
But my wounds are still ugly, oozing pus and aching. Time’s done nothing to fix me up and as much as I try to keep my head above water, I’m not doing a good job either.
Sometimes, life is about giving up. Accepting defeat before you take risks and humiliate yourself in front of people you want to impress.
Is it the coward’s way out?
Maybe.
But I’ve never wanted to be anybody’s hero.
I never was.
In fact, I’ve been the villain of someone’s story. Thwarted their happily-ever-after.
I don’t deserve happiness.
I don’t deserve love.
And I definitely don’t deserve Chandra Howard.
5 Chandra
The bell jangles as I unlock the door and shove it open.
Sunlight floods the bakery. A gentle breeze shoots from outside, playfully lifting my pleated skirt and chasing the heat emanating from the kitchen.
The door falls closed.
And the heat pushes back.
I sprint straight to the air conditioner and turn the dial all the way down. Cold blasts of air shoot from the machine.
Hot versus cold.
It’s a short-lived war.
The air immediately begins to cool.
I smile and inhale a deep breath of the savory fragrances coming from the back. As I stroll that way, I let my gaze run over my shop.
Red chairs, cream walls, white-and-black tiles, eclectic paintings. The books I’ve read, want to read or would recommend to others are crushed in the shelves I bought at an over-priced department store.
Brew Drop is cute and cluttered, just the way I envisioned it. I wanted something inviting, a down-to-earth hole in the wall. A place of comfort. Sugary indulgence. No judgment.
I set my purse in my office and pop back out to greet Zania.
She’s at the kitchen counter, back to me and eyes fixed on the pastry in front of her. It’s a carrot cake. She’s decorating the tasty white cream frosting with eyes and whiskers. The bunny ears will be added later.
I know this from watching her, not from personal experience. If I ever had to tame this kitchen by myself, I’d probably burn the whole place down.
“Hey, Chan.” Zania wipes her forehead with the side of her hand. Thick braids are tied up with a brown ribbon. Dark skin with shimmery golden undertones gives her an exotic appearance. With that off-hand smirk and quirky personality of hers, she’s often been mistaken as my nicer, cuter little sister.
“Morning. When did you get here?”
“Three-thirty. I had an idea for a new recipe.”
I cross my arms. Lean my hip against the counter. Stare at her with a contented sigh.
I picked Zania up while she was still green. She had way less experience than some of the other bakers Rick recommended. It was a risk but, of all the pastry chefs I considered, Zania’s passion struck me the deepest.
It was the best decision of my life and I plan on growing this place with her. Maybe even making her co-owner someday.
Anything to keep her here.
Losing Zania to another bakery would be a tragedy.
“Would you taste this for me?” Zania offers a large mixing bowl. “I can’t seem to get the texture exactly the way I envisioned in my head.”
I push off the wall and eagerly trot over to her, always happy to be her guinea pig. Swiping my finger in, I put it to my lips and moan. “That’s so good.”
“Really? Because I thought it was a little too sweet.”
“No it’s perfect.” I point a finger to the bowl. “This is why I pay you the big bucks.”
She glances at me. Smirks. “You pay big bucks? Since when?”
“Is this your sneaky way of asking for a raise?”
“I’m not going to object if you’re offering.”
“I’m offering.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been meaning to since this quarter started. You’ve more than earned it.”
“Thank you, Ms. Chandra.”
“I’m ‘Ms. Chandra’ now?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“You are when you’re writing the checks.”
“How refreshing.” I smirk. “Your honesty is why I like you, Zania.”
“The fact that you like my honesty is why I like you.” She swipes flour-dusted hands on her apron. Appraises me with almond-shaped eyes. “Is something wrong? You don’t usually come in this early.”
She’s right.
I have a secret love affair with sleeping in.
And napping.
Oh, man, I love napping.
There is nothing like curling up in bed and forgetting the world around me exists, even if it’s for an hour, a half-hour, five minutes.
Sleep was my escape, my happy place, but now it’s turned into my Can’t Stop Thinking About Ollie place.
Every night this week, I’ve had dreams about him. Dirty dreams.
His hands on my thigh.
His tatted arms beneath my fingers.
His moans in my ear.
His lips on top of mine.
Man, I want a taste of those lips.
I want them all over me.
At least the Dream Me does.
Given the creativity of my subconscious and its ability to come up with the most inappropriate Ollie-related scenarios, I’ve been waking up in bed at odd hours of the night, all hot and bothered, staring at the ceiling trying to figure out if I’ve gone crazy.
Even now…
Just thinking about the dream I had this morning. Where Ollie’s hand was. Where my mouth was…
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure Zania will be able to hear.
“I’m fine.” I force a smile. Turn on my heels. Walk to the door. “Do you, uh, need any help?”
“Now I know something’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“You never offer to help me in the kitchen.” Zania tilts her head, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed in a silent instruction to spill.
I ease back forget it.
&
nbsp; I am not having this conversation with an impressionable young adult who has her head screwed on right.
Zania doesn’t know about my past or Rick or how I got this bakery.
And I like that.
She sees me as a normal business lady—confident. Put-together. Sophisticated. She’s the only one in my close circle who does. And I refuse to replace her starry-eyed gaze with the variation of pity that Cobie, Griffin and Ollie wear whenever I’m around.
She wants to be closer to me. I can tell. But that would mean revealing that I can’t stop fantasizing about a growling bear of a man with eyes as blue as the sky.
So no.
Not today.
“I’m not that horrible. I am capable of the basics, you know.”
“Chandra, please don’t fool yourself. The last time you tried to ‘help’, you mixed up sugar and salt. Then you broke the mixer and spattered chocolate mousse everywhere. There’s still a stain on the wall.”
I roll my eyes.
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Zania picks up her decorating tool. “You don’t have to change the subject by using threats.”
I snort.
Only Zania would take my offer to help in the kitchen as a threat.
“I’ll put on some coffee. I can at least do that much, right?”
“Of course, Boss Lady.”
I shake my head and move to the front where I start the brew. After filling the display racks with Zania’s incredible creations, I change the sign outside from ‘CLOSED’ to ‘OPEN’.
It’s a little early, so I don’t really expect anyone to walk in for another half-hour.
I’m surprised when the door jangles five minutes later.
I perk up. “Good morning. Welcome to…” The words fade on my lips as a man enters.
Nerves tangle in my stomach.
Ollie?
The sunshine glowing behind him throws his face into shadows but, when he steps closer, I realize I’m mistaken. This guy has the same height, the same straight, dark-blonde hair and rugged jaw, but he’s much leaner than Ollie.
He’s also wearing a tailored blazer, designer jeans and a Rolex. All things Ollie doesn’t own and has no interest to.
“Morning.” Not-Ollie’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Can I get a coffee? Black?”
“Sure.” I turn away and start to prepare his order.
My hands are trembling. Am I so obsessed I’m seeing Ollie when he’s not there?
