by Sara Whitney
The buzzing of her phone startled her out of the dirty fantasy that was starting to formulate in her mind, and she blushed to see a text from the man himself. Thank God he wasn’t a mind reader. Before she could juggle the box to text a “Call you in a sec” reply, the next available clerk summoned her forward, and she dropped her burden on the counter with a huge exhale.
“Wow, what do we have here?” the clerk chirped, her purple acrylic nails sliding across the box surface.
“The intestines of my enemies.”
The younger woman snatched her hands away, and Josie rushed to erase the horrified look on her face. “Ha! Um, no, just some wedding stuff. For my friend who’s getting married.” She added the last bit because the clerk looked ready to offer congratulations. She’d already had to correct Lily at the flower shop; was she really expected to wander the whole of Chicago, announcing her single status to every person she met?
Her joke was rewarded with a suspicious round of “Anything liquid, fragile, or perishable?” before she was able to swipe her credit card and escape government-office purgatory. Her phone buzzed again when she hit the sidewalk, and she answered without looking.
“You’re calling me for a change, Man Bun? I’m touched.”
“Josephine.”
The cool voice startled her so much that she froze midstep, forcing the man walking behind her to veer sharply. His briefcase clipped her on the way by, and she sucked in a gasp at the stinging pain. “Mom. I didn’t—”
“So you need photos taken?” Josie’s mother never had time for pleasantries, not even with her only child.
“I-I do, yes.” Josie gripped the phone with one hand, cradled her bumped elbow with the other, and tried to ignore the pathetic swell of happiness that enveloped her to be hearing from her mother after so many months of silence. “It’s for—”
“I got your message. A bakery website you’re launching. I’m in town early next month, so I could squeeze you in on the weekend. Maybe a Sunday.”
“That would be great. Thank you. How’ve you be—”
“I need to run, but text me the location.”
With a click, nationally renowned photographer Pamela Ryan ended the call, leaving her daughter with a throbbing elbow and a blank phone screen. She stared down at it as if it would flare to life with a follow-up message. I love you. I can’t wait to see you. Sorry I suck so much as a mother. Sorry I turned my daughter into a bottomless hole of neediness, willing to accept any scrap of affection that lands like soft rain on her parched heart, forever chasing relationships with unworthy men, doomed to be alone forever, yearning for a connection that never comes. Hell, she’d even accept a winky emoji.
When her phone buzzed again, she almost fumbled it out of her hands, and this time she checked the caller ID before answering. “Man Bun. Calling me for a change. Wow.” The same joke but delivered in such a subdued tone that Erik paused before speaking.
“Uh. Everything okay?”
Well, shit, the man with no emotions was alarmed by her existential despair. She must be in a bad way. She pursed her lips and exhaled on a slow five count, reaching inside herself for the fire she’d learned to nurture and feed as a child. “Good. It’s all good. What’s up?” There, she sounded more like her perky ol’ self.
“Just checking in. You worked out the transportation?”
“Yep. It’s handled.” This was her zone. She launched into motion again, rejoining the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk as she filled him in on the details she’d arranged. “I asked my friend with a Jeep if we could borrow it for the open house. We should be able to load up all the containers in the back. You’re all set there?”
His answering grunt sounded affirmative, so she assumed he’d acquired the containers and other serving supplies he’d need.
“I was thinking I’d be at your place around eleven on Saturday. The open house runs from two to five, so that should give us plenty of time to get things loaded and set up at the store.”
“You’re going to help?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not useless.” Snippy, Josie. Don’t take your bad day out on the innocent man.
“Didn’t say you were,” he replied levelly. “I appreciate it.”
Of course he wasn’t saying that, and of course he was appreciative. He had good manners when he actually chose to speak to people, and she was a touchy bitch. Regardless, time to change the subject. “I found you a photographer. My mom. I’ve set it up so she’ll do the photo shoot at your place when she’s in town in a few weeks.”
That prompted a trace of surprise from him. “Your mom’s a photographer?”
“A good one. Look her up: Pam Ryan.” Pride mixed with bitterness in her mouth as she said it.
“Cool. Oh, did you talk with Lily about the centerpiece-arrangement idea I had for Richard and Byron?”
She reached her train stop and climbed the steps to the platform, stepping around a cluster of men in jeans and work boots, presumably headed home for the day. Lucky bastards. She had a corporate dinner to swing by to see for herself that the room had been arranged to the company’s directions.
“Yeah, I did. She loved the feather idea. I’ll run it by the boys next.”
The testosterone-y group all climbed onto the red line as it slowed to a stop, leaving her alone on the platform.
She dropped onto a bench and flexed her feet in their pointy heels. “I love that you’re better at this wedding stuff than I am.” A grunt was Erik’s only answer, and she had to laugh. “At least we know you’re not better at this talking stuff than I am.”
“Yeah, you’re the talking champ.” She heard a soft noise that could almost be a chuckle, then he ended the call with “See you Saturday.”
When her train arrived, she was still thinking about that small sound, wondering if that really was a twinge of affection she’d heard or if she had only imagined it.
Eleven
“We’re here!”
Josie’s bright voice crackled over Erik’s ancient apartment intercom as he was snapping a shot of the bounty he’d assembled for the Fielder open house that afternoon.
He pressed Send to text the pic to Gina, then hit the button to let Josie up, wondering who “we” was. Ninety seconds later, he had his answer when Josie appeared in his doorway dressed in a twinset and loafers like a modern Mrs. Brady, a man by her side.
A tall man. A tall, handsome man.
Erik crammed his phone in his pocket and stepped back to let them into the apartment, an irrational part of him taking pleasure in the fact that he had a couple of inches on the guy following at Josie’s dainty heels. Of course, since he was six foot five, that meant the stranger was over six feet tall himself. But still.
“So this is your place, huh?” Josie swept her curious eyes over the small space. “Is this where you come to do all the talking you don’t do with other people? Does it know all your secrets?”
He hmmmed and moved to lean against the countertop, imagining what she was seeing as she looked around. A couch. A kitchen table and two chairs. Unadorned walls. A closed door leading to the equally unadorned bedroom.
“Wow. We definitely can’t have you meet clients here.”
“Obviously.” Like he’d want anybody to be in here. He was jumpy having her invade his space, let alone her friend, who looked utterly out of place in an expensive suit and tie. These weren’t people who should fit into his life.
“Hi. Jake Carey. You must be Erik.” The black-haired man moved toward him with his hand extended and a confident smile on his face. Erik performed the obligatory shake and hated him the whole time, this good-looking guy who’d arrived with Josie. Guys who wore suits for a living rarely ruffled his own sense of self-worth, but he was suddenly aware of the frayed hem of his jeans and the lack of a collar on his gray T-shirt.
“Oh, sorry. Jake, this is Erik Andersson, my pet baker.”
Erik cut his eyes to her, surprised at the title. He was nobo
dy’s pet and never had been. Then again, if he belonged to anybody at this point in his life, it was her. What a thought.
“This is Finn’s brother,” she said. “We’re borrowing his Jeep for the night.”
“And Finn’s brother needs to get back to the office.” Jake checked the time on his phone. “You’ll text me when you’re done so I can come get my baby?”
Josie slapped her hands over her heart, the polish on her short nails bright against the yellow of her cardigan. “I get to interrupt Chicago’s most successful accountant twice on a Saturday? My horoscope did say I’d have a lucky week.”
“Ha.” He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Remind me why Finn keeps you around?”
“My restful presence?” She fluttered her lashes at Jake, who scoffed in disbelief. Erik tended to agree but kept his input nonverbal.
“Anyway,” Jake said, “I’m here now. Do you need help before I head back to my spreadsheets?”
Erik pushed off the countertop, relieved to have an excuse to cut their banter short. He positioned himself between Josie and the guy she’d brought into his home and pointed to the rows of containers stacked on the counters. “It all goes.”
“Okay. I’m not sure how legal my parking job is, so let’s get the Jeep loaded.”
Twenty minutes later, the three of them had packed every square foot of the vehicle with baked goods and the accessories he’d need to serve them. His bun had gotten scraggly from the effort, and as he pulled out the band to reset it, Erik couldn’t help but notice that not a hair on Jake’s shiny black head was ruffled even though he’d stormed up and down stairs over and over in a suit. Fucker.
“You’ll be careful with her?” Jake rested a hand on the hood, and Josie rolled her eyes.
“Yes, I’ll be very careful with your twelve-year-old Jeep.”
She extended her hand for the keys, but he paused before relinquishing them.
“Everything’s good with Finn? She’s all set for rent? She’s still happy with that guy?”
“You know she makes bank at her job, and I’m slapped in the face with her happiness on a daily basis.” She snatched the keys from him, but her face softened as he continued to frown. “Hey, she’s good. She’s really good. If you came around more, you’d be able to see for yourself. She doesn’t want your money. She wants your time.”
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled hard. “I know. It’s just crazy right now at work.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like always. If that ever changes, you know where we live.”
Erik listened with interest to see if he’d promise to visit, but Jake settled for patting his Jeep one more time and climbing into his waiting Uber, heading for whatever fancy skyscraper held his office.
“Shall we?” She jingled the keys at him and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“I still need to change into service clothes.” And wouldn’t that be quite the contrast to the man who’d just left?
“Well, hurry up! Your new business can’t afford a parking ticket.”
He suppressed a smile and took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, where he threw on a pair of black pants and a polo and slung his apron over his shoulder. Back on the street, he slid into the passenger side, grateful to be riding in a tall man’s vehicle with ample room for his legs. Josie fired up the engine and pulled away from their definitely illegal parking spot, and Erik found himself uncharacteristically curious.
“So, uh.”
He didn’t have to say any more; Josie laughed as she navigated lanes of traffic toward Lake Shore Drive. “Let me guess. What’s the deal with Jake?”
He shrugged, knowing full well that whatever it was he was doing, no part of it was playing it cool. How long had she known the guy? Was there any chance he was actually a married father of five or moonlighting as a Catholic priest? Was it true that Josie only turned those flirty eyes on men in suits?
“That was Finn’s stupidly hot, perpetually single, all-work-no-play brother. He’s a kick-ass accountant at the best firm in town.” The admiration in her voice dissolved into a theatrically over-the-top sigh. “I’ve known him for basically the entire six years I’ve known Finn, and tragically, he’s never once considered marrying me and making Finn and me sisters for real, no matter how hard I’ve tried.”
An unexpected rush of disappointment clogged his throat, and then she surprised him by laughing ruefully.
“Alas, Jake and I have zero chemistry. You can imagine how frustrating that is since hot, übersuccessful businessmen are exactly my type.”
Erik said nothing but filed away yet another piece of evidence that Josie preferred fancy men. Outgoing men. Not-him men.
“Eh, it’s just as well,” she said easily. “He’s better off as a friend. Most of the guys I date don’t stick around past a week or two anyway.”
Idiots. What would it be like to be the person she wanted? Just imagining it made his skin heat. Sure, she assessed him all the time with a professional eye, but to have her look at him with desire? To have her use that persuasive charm to get him to put his hands where she wanted, and then his mouth and his tongue—
He dragged his eyes away from her pert profile and forced his mind elsewhere. They were speeding past the familiar Chicago skyline. Somewhere in all that chrome and steel, the type of guy she actually wanted was toiling away at a computer, not worrying about napkin counts and whether he’d made enough pear tarts.
The reminder tossed cold water on his thoughts, and he let her chatter wash over him as they drove. Her words stopped when the car did, and before they exited the Jeep to start setup, she turned to face him.
“Nervous?”
“No. Maybe.”
“Don’t be.” She dropped the keys in her purse and grinned at him. “I snuck a few samples as we were carrying everything down. It’s all delicious. People are gonna go nuts.”
And they did. Five hours later, he and Josie were left with mostly crumbs and empty platters among the racks and racks of sturdy-soled shoes on display. The raspberry-lemon cake that had been the centerpiece of his service had been consumed down to the last crumb, and the supplementary pear tarts and snickerdoodles were nothing but picked-over remnants.
“It couldn’t have been better!” she crowed. “The Fielders are thrilled. And I gave out so many of your business cards.”
“I have business cards?”
She reached into her pocket and handed him a small square with a flourish. “This isn’t amateur hour, my friend. Of course you do.” The card was emblazoned with the logo and sketch of him that he was trying very hard not to warm up to, along with his brand-new web address and his cell phone number. At the bottom in a simple font, she’d had printed Delicious Outside, Delicious Inside.
He curled his fingers around the thick paper, thrilled at how official this made things and a little touched that she’d remembered the tagline they’d joked about weeks ago. “Thank you.”
She leaned around him to snag the last tart from the tray. “Just keep doing what you do best, and I’ll keep doing what I do best.” With a wink, she darted off to talk with Mr. and Mrs. Fielder, and damn she was cute when she talked with her mouth full.
He squashed that thought, shoved the card into his back pocket, and started carrying empty trays to the back. On his second trip, voices just outside the stockroom door had him pausing with his fingers on the handle.
“I wonder where she found the unbelievably hot baker.”
“Right? I couldn’t stop looking at him.”
He was the subject of this conversation? Erik peeked through the crack and confirmed that it was the pair of young Fielder Shoe employees who’d been on hand for crowd control.
“Those forearms!” the woman with braids crooned.
“Those forearms,” the short-haired woman agreed. “That guy’s a snack.”
“Girl, that guy’s a whole five-course meal.”
His ears burned as they snickered, and then a famili
ar voice joined the conversation.
“Yes, yes, congratulations on having working sets of eyes. When you’re done drooling over my hot baker’s incredible arms, could one of you help me shift this table?”
Erik felt nailed to the spot, Josie’s words zinging through his brain like an electric current. Did that mean…?
Surely not. The first time they’d met, she’d recoiled from him, and the second time they’d met, she’d done nothing but yell. Sure, she’d looked at his body once or twice, but she’d also just told him that her type of guy was his night-and-day opposite.
Without warning, she materialized by his side, having burst through the doors with an empty tray under her arm. She took one look at his face and grimaced. “Oh no. Did you overhear that?” With her free hand, she patted his chest. “Don’t worry, big guy. You’re more than a piece of meat to me.”
She flitted away, leaving him to study his forearms: thick, wrapped in muscle and veins, too broad to be elegant, too thick to be stuffed into a suit jacket. But if Josie liked looking at them, he’d throw away every long-sleeved shirt he owned and risk death by freezing in the Chicago winters.
“Erik! You with me?” She dropped the tray with a clatter and startled him out of his reverie. “I swear to God, I’m going to start setting fire to things if we don’t get away from all these comfort support insoles soon.”
Brisk tone. Comical grimace. Not a single glance at any part of his body.
Yeah. He’d misunderstood what had clearly been a joke. Pretty little show ponies didn’t fall for Clydesdales. He pushed through the door with a sigh, leaving his foolish fantasies behind him in the stockroom.
Twelve
“Put your pants on.”
Erik’s answering grunt was exactly what Josie had been fishing for when she’d called, and she uncorked a delighted giggle before returning to business.
