The grumpy mask slipped and I saw for a brief moment, the vulnerable girl who up until recently worked and lived in a hotel. It probably wasn’t where she expected to be at this stage in her life.
I know I didn’t expect to be here in this town still. But now that things were working out better, I wasn’t in such a rush to leave as I once was.
“It’s okay I guess. The truth is I don’t know, man.” She took another angry bite, spraying flaky crumbs all over the table. “I just feel like I’m spinning my wheels. I go out on a new lead, some promising new career or a really great guy and I fall in love with it - or him. Just totally head over heels, y’know? And then the blinders come off and I realize how shitty the job really is. How horrible the conditions are, and I’m so thoroughly disenchanted I can barely manage to drag myself into work or stay with the guy.
“Before I know it I’m hating every little thing. I find reasons to hate this or that, I just get so bitter and toxic that I can’t even stand myself much less the job or the guy. Then, somehow, I always find myself back here. I don’t know what it is about this place. Usually, it’s the cheap-as-fuck rent at the hotel but now with your booming business even that’s gone.”
I hadn’t known about that. Though now I wondered how long it would be before she hated this job, maybe even hated me. I didn’t want to lose my friend. “I could ask Claire if you wanna crash at our place, we have a spare bedroom.”
She snorted.
I gave her a steady look.
Sam started as if realizing something. “Oh, you’re serious. Jesus, dude. Thanks but no thanks. Don’t give me that face. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to catch up with you and have you make food for me again because that was awesome and you know I was an equally awesome houseguest.”
“Fair enough. You were always helpful. So, what’s the reason then?”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
“Humor me.”
She leaned back in her chair, one arm slung over the back and gave me an eye roll so severe that I was surprised they didn’t roll out of her head. “Ugh. Fine. If I wanted to listen to hardcore porn, I’d get it on the internet. Don’t tell me you and Claire aren’t going at each other like a pair of wild animals. I see the look you get when you talk about her.”
I ducked my head to hide the blush that ran up my neck to my cheeks and made my ears burn. When I spoke I did it to the countertop. “Well…that’s a pretty good reason I guess.”
“Damn right it’s a good reason. Bad enough I got to listen to people through the thin walls at the hotel. The last thing I want is to hear my best friend going at it then have to look him in the eye the next day like it didn’t just happen. No thank you. And what if I brought home a guy?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Not that she’d done it before when she crashed at my place. I really wouldn’t have minded, but I appreciated that she respected my place enough not to have wild sex all over the place.
“Say I did actually find some guy in this broken-down old town, I bring him back and go to my room. We start going and then you and Claire start at it in the other room. We can hear you loud and clear. There are only two ways that plays out.”
I had to hear this. Checking the door and seeing the dark rainy street outside I walked out from behind the counter and sat at the table, plucking a maple bacon donut off her plate. “Do tell.”
“The first is that we find it hot and that gets me and the other dude going. One thing leads to another and we’re now screaming like monkeys trying to outdo you guys, it becomes this whole weird thing. I have such a mind-shattering orgasm that now I can’t get off unless you and Claire are doing it in the next room.”
A laugh bubbles up and out of me before I can stop it. Sam always did have a ridiculous way of painting a picture. I wiped a tear from my eye. “And the other?” She popped up one blonde eyebrow. “You said there were two ways it could go. What’s the other?”
“Oh.” A moment to get back onto her previous train of thought. She casually rolls her wrist like she’s tossing something away. “The other is that I accidentally sit in a pile of your genetic ooze and I have to burn the place down to sanitize it. I go away for seven to fifteen years.”
“That’s…oddly specific.”
“Dated a guy who turned out to be an arsonist.”
“And you ended it because you found out he liked to burn down buildings?” I guessed.
“Nah, he had this fucking annoying habit of picking his teeth during dinner. Drove me insane. So I called the cops on him.”
“For picking his teeth?”
“No, damn dude don’t you listen? For the arson.” She shook her head, doing a great job of keeping a poker face. “I don’t know what Claire sees in you. You’re dumb as a fucking brick sometimes.”
As soon as I started to laugh she joined in, and just like that it was like she’d never left.
13
Claire
I was a wreck when Thomas came home.
He looked so happy and upbeat. The way I imagine most people want to look when they come off work. Happy to be home, but coming off a good day at work as well.
No major problems. No mother that shows up out of the blue before your father who raised you all on his own without any of her help is firmly in the ground.
The smile dropped from his face as soon as he saw me. I hate that I did that to him. That I robbed him of that happiness. But I needed him so badly, I didn’t have much time to feel guilty.
I must look like I felt. He dropped the apron folded over his arm to the side and tossed the box of sweets onto the counter.
I was wrapped up in his arms before I could get a sob out.
He felt so good. So solid and sure against me.
My arms snaked around him and we stood there, me holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in the world. I never wanted to let go. I had gotten nearly nothing done all day, emails, texts and calls had gone unread or straight to voice mail.
I thought I was done with the drama, with there being some stupid problem that got in the way of my happiness.
Fate, it would seem, disagreed.
After not nearly long enough, he pulled me away gingerly and looked into my eyes with those heart-melting coffee-dark browns. “What can I do?”
Not, “what’s wrong,” or, “what happened now?” The first words out of his mouth were focused wholly on me and what he could do to help me feel better.
I do not deserve you.
I stole a glance at the couch, then back at him.
He got the hint, hefted me up off the ground and carried me over to the couch where he sat on the same cushion I had flipped over earlier in the day.
The window was still open letting in the cold rain-soaked air. It smelled deliriously good mingled with his scent of musk and sweat.
He found the freshly folded and laundered blanket, gave me a curious look and then wrapped us both up in it. I folded myself around him, cuddled up in his lap. I was desperate for his touch. I craved the assurance of him. The only constant in my life that was nothing but good and right.
Thomas said nothing. He wrapped one arm around me while the other pet my hair. His fingers dug into the hair after a moment and slowly kneaded my scalp.
Goosebumps chased themselves down my skin until every nerve in my body was awash in the unique sensation that was part pleasure, part chill. I tried to speak but my words came out slurred.
“I’ll take that as you don’t want me to stop,” he said with a chuckle.
I nodded but even that was an effort. I felt boneless beneath his touch. It brought back fond memories of younger days. I used to run track in junior high, right up until I left for college.
Being the idiot teenager who thought she was invincible to all things, I often got dehydrated or didn’t eat right. Either way, I got wicked muscle cramps. The kind that made you feel like you’re dying and you’re unable to do anything about it the pain is so paralyzing.
Thomas was never far, he’d be there in a moment and even back then he had strong hands. He’d knead and work the muscle. I’d scream at him, I’m pretty sure I hit him hard enough at times to give him bruises. But he kneaded away until the spasm stopped.
To say I was rational during one of those episodes would be a blatant lie. And having a cramp massaged, even though it ends them in minutes rather than agonizing hours, still hurts. A lot. The first few times I thought to myself that I’d remember that it helped and not lash out.
It was hard to simply remember not to hit him, to stop him from hurting me more. Some strange base instinct arose from the depths to howl and batter at this man that was hurting me. It was only after the fact that I realized what I’d done and how he’d weathered it without complaint.
For years I felt like shit about it but he wouldn’t hear a word of apology from me. From then on I always had a bottle of water or something on me to prevent it from happening. I still made sure to carry one with me wherever I went.
I’ll never know how he could be so kind and compassionate like that.
Sometimes, again being a stupid teenager, I’d pretend to have a cramp come on, knowing that he’d massage my thigh or calf. It never felt right to come out and ask him so I used the cramp as an excuse.
Pretty sure he knew. Either he didn’t care, or more likely he just wanted to touch me and help me, knowing what I know now. In either case, his hands were magical.
Nowadays, his hands were magical in an entirely different and far more pleasing way. The way he swirled and massaged his fingertips into my scalp was something I could feel in my chest, in the soles of my feet.
It felt like he was hijacking my nervous system and sending waves of relaxing euphoria through me, sometimes crossing the wires by mistake.
A massage was just what I needed and once he was done with my head he moved down to my temples, my neck and then my shoulders. I melted beneath his touch.
I’d let him do anything he wanted to me right at that moment.
I must have drifted off to sleep in a stupor at some point because when I woke up, feeling boneless and weak as a fish out of water, he was sitting on the floor with his back resting against the couch. Meanwhile, I was laid out taking up the entirety of the couch with a blanket atop me and a small puddle of drool on the cushion.
For a moment I considered snooping. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. He’d never given me any real reason to mistrust him aside from a few times I thought something was wrong and he wouldn’t open up about it. But this was a golden opportunity. His back was to me, he wasn’t aware I was awake and if I just opened my eyes a little and focused I could see what he was looking at on his phone.
What I expected was something embarrassing, maybe he was messaging a friend and said something dorky or stupid, or he was doing something suspicious. What I saw, was a jeweler’s site. I didn’t catch the name. Instant regret flooded my body and I shut my eyes.
When I opened them again, he was browsing some coffee blog with a lot of complex-looking math scrawled all over the place.
Had I just imagined him looking at a jewelry site? Was I imagining what I wanted to see, the guy I loved and had fallen so hard secretly shopping for an engagement ring?
Snap out of it, you two haven’t even been dating a month.
We hadn’t even talked about what would happen after Dad’s funeral. It sat between us like a big black hole, eating any possible future we might have. And the closer we got to it, the less I could make a decision about it.
I wanted to stay in Sunrise Valley but I also liked my old job. I liked my side project and to do that I usually relied on some of the connections I made at my day job. Only, I knew Thomas wouldn’t leave.
Scratch that. I knew he would leave if I asked him to and I couldn’t do that to him. I was selfish where Thomas was concerned, but even I wouldn’t let myself be that selfish. He deserved better than that.
He deserved better than me.
As if the dark thought called his name, Thomas looked over his shoulder at me. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like a boneless piece of chicken,” I said, flopping my arm weakly for emphasis. “I think you went into the wrong line of work.”
“Yeah? What line of work should I have gone into?” He spun around, putting his back against the edge of the coffee table to look at me. Knees up to his chest, his thick arms circled around them.
God, what a delicious question if I ever heard one. What line of work could he have gotten into? He could have worked alongside me as a consultant, he had the mind for it, but maybe not the stomach for some of the less savory things people often did in my line of work.
With that body of his, he definitely could’ve been a model, but that was obvious. He’d always loved computers, was good at math and had an analytical mind. I could see him as a sexy Silicon Valley software developer with a pair of rectangular black-framed glasses, muscles straining against his dress shirt.
I blinked back the daydream, feeling the heat of the blush on my face and the heat of arousal elsewhere. He watched me with those dark, beautiful eyes of his. The picture of infinite patience.
“Well, obviously a masseuse.” And a whole host of other things that would serve as the basis for many fantasies for me now. Thanks, brain.
“I thought about it for a while.”
That perked me up. “Really?”
“Yeah, but the reality is not nearly as sexy as a lot of people would think. One, as a guy you’re likely to be massaging only women as most men are weird about another guy touching them like that. Two, they aren’t paid nearly as much as they’re worth and even then I heard enough horror stories about people coming onto them, people not bathing before coming in, stuff like that steered me clear from that path. Besides, I want my touch to mean something.”
Thomas leaned in impossibly close, I could count all the hairs of his stubble against his sculpted cheek. “What do you mean?” I asked breathlessly.
He trailed a finger along my exposed arm. It was like being touched by a live wire. That simple gliding touch awakened my body and sent shivers of pleasure coursing through my veins. “I want the woman I’m with to enjoy my touch. I want it to be sensual, pleasing. I want it to give us a connection on a deeper level.”
It was doing that right now. His fingers lingered on my wrist for a moment and then he grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers with mine and kissed each of my knuckles.
I looked deep into his eyes and he looked back at me. I didn’t trust myself to speak because what was bouncing around in my head was grade A clingy girlfriend insanity.
If you asked me to marry you right now I would say yes. I’d have your babies, take your name, be your everything. My job? I’d quit it in a heartbeat if you asked me to. I would do anything for you, don’t you realize how tightly you’ve got me wrapped around your finger?
What I said was, “Sometimes I’m not sure you’re real.” Still a little crazy, but less scary. I hoped.
He cocked his head to the side like a lost puppy.
“I mean, you’re so unreal. Don’t you get that?”
It was obvious he didn’t. How did you explain to somebody that they were too good to be true without making it seem like an insult? I grappled for words, got frustrated when I couldn’t find the right ones and tried again.
Thomas placed a single finger on my lips, shutting down every thought that was about to spill out of my lips. I knew what I was doing and couldn’t stop myself. I was fixating. Focusing on anything but the one thing that was bothering me.
“Tell me what happened today.” He gently removed his finger from my lips and replaced it with the tender warmth of his own lips.
It was over way too soon.
He sat back down and watched me with a look of concern that I couldn’t hide from. I didn’t want to trouble him. I knew he had enough on his plate.
He was in new territory with a fresh employee and for once able to actually do what h
e wanted with his bakery and here I was causing problems in his life.
Nobody wants to be that girl. I sure didn’t but I also knew I couldn’t choose what happened to me. Thomas would tell me that I’d feel better getting it off my chest.
“My mom wants to talk to me.” The words fell to the ground like heavy bricks. I watched each word hit home and the surprise on his face was something I imagined must have been what Jemma saw on mine.
Albeit with less sexy stubble.
“Wow.”
I pulled the blanket up over my head and spoke into the darkness. “Yeah.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I’m going to do it. I don’t really have much choice, do I?” And then I realized I hadn’t told him the whole story. I pulled the blanket off my head and started from the beginning.
14
Thomas
I was stunned. Of all the things I imagined that could happen, Claire’s mom coming back from the grave and wanting to talk to her definitely wasn’t even in the same zip code as all the rest.
Claire told me the whole story. Jemma coming over and dropping the bombshell of their mother’s sudden return. The broken mugs, and the way she felt she had to meet with her mom if only to give Jemma some closure.
Though I knew she needed it just as much.
I listened as best I could. I kept her hand in mine to lend her what little support I could. I really didn’t know what to do though. How do you help the person you love through such a minefield of emotion?
Parental advice wasn’t my particular strong suit.
The only good parent either of us had was her dad.
I loved my mom but I knew she was broken from a young age. I never did figure out why. I know she loved me as much as she could but I could never quite forgive her for letting my father walk all over us.
There was no excuse for the yelling. The bruises. The split lips.
But that wasn’t Claire’s mom.
In fact, I knew surprisingly little about her. Claire never talked about her, and for the first ten years or so of our relationship I thought she had died.
Baking Up Love Page 10
