Glazed

by Ranae Rose

  The autograph requests had started that morning with a group of college girls – the same group who’d left his nude photograph behind, he thought. They’d mobbed the counter in a rapturously giggling queue and shoved several copies of the image across the surface, tossing in a pen and asking him to sign the pictures. He’d been mortified and had refused. The last thing his business needed was to become a hub for nude photo autographs.

  Still, two more women had already come in today, saying they’d heard he was signing pictures. They’d both been old enough to be his mother, but that hadn’t stopped them from giggling just like the college girls. He’d turned them away as politely as he could. Hopefully the message had gotten out by now – he wasn’t giving autographs.

  “Are you the owner of this establishment – Derek Kerr?” the woman across the counter asked, her eyes gleaming.

  Uh-oh. She definitely looked like she had an agenda. “That’s me.”

  “I’m Amy Richardson.” She didn’t extend her hand across the counter as she introduced herself, and what he’d at first taken for a friendly or even flirtatious smile now seemed more smug than anything. “I’m here on behalf of the First Baptist Church of Blue Mills, to let you know that our congregation is now boycotting your restaurant.”

  Derek stared, dumbfounded.

  “We don’t approve of your obscene antics, Mr. Kerr, nor the fact that you’re autographing pornographic images right here in a supposedly child-friendly public facility. We’ll be spreading the word about your activities, making sure everyone in Blue Mills knows just what kind of man you are before they make the decision to eat at your restaurant.”

  “I’m not giving autographs,” he protested, but it was too late. The silver bell was already jingling, announcing her hasty exit.

  The protesters showed up about an hour afterward, led by none other than Amy Richardson herself. They gathered on the sidewalk in front of the store, most wielding homemade signs emblazoned with phrases like ‘No Public Nudity in Blue Mills’ and ‘Boycott the Blue Mills Donut House’. Derek groaned when he saw them and retreated to the kitchen, leaving Barbara, one of his employees, in charge of the register. She was a no-nonsense woman of fifty or so who wasn’t easily bothered by anyone. All the same, he hoped the protesters wouldn’t try to expand their efforts indoors.

  By late afternoon, most of the protesters had disbursed. Derek had been kept busy in the kitchen – the protesters had drawn curious spectators, more than a few of whom had apparently been tempted enough by the wafting aroma of fresh donuts to come in and purchase a few. He wondered if the protesters realized that, and hoped the effect would last as long as their picketing did. The last thing he wanted was a crowd of up-tight sign-wavers scaring away his customers.

  Turning to deposit a half-empty carton of cream back into the refrigerator, he realized he’d been so busy he’d forgotten to call Kelly. They were supposed to see that new movie tonight, but hadn’t discussed which show time they’d go to. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number, which he knew by heart now.

  “Hey baby.” He smiled when he heard her pick up, envisioning her as he’d seen her last night, sprawled across the bedspread, totally bare except for a few strategically placed patches of icing. His mouth watered as he remembered the doubly-sweet taste of her strawberry glazed pussy. He’d make an extra bowl of glaze today and take it home, where it would be ready when they returned from the movie.

  “Hi Derek.” She sounded upset, her voice a far cry from the cheerful tone she usually used to answer his calls.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracked as she replied, and he realized she was crying. Before he could say anything else she continued. “I lost the building. Someone else bought it right out from under me. My realtor called to see if I wanted to make a counteroffer, but my phone went dead last night and by the time I got the message it was too late.” A sob resounded over the connection, and Derek’s heart wrenched. He knew how excited she’d been about that building.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I am too,” she replied, “because I can’t see you anymore.”

  He resisted the urge to double over, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. The phantom sweetness on his tongue vanished, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “What?”

  “I let a relationship get in the way of my dream, just like I was afraid it would. If I hadn’t spent the night at your place I would’ve gotten Joan’s message. It’s not your fault – it’s mine. I’m so sorry.”

  She hung up, and he was left with his phone pressed against his ear, listening to the buzz of a broken connection.

  Chapter 7

  After breaking up with Derek, Kelly spent the rest of the day trying not to think about what she’d just done while also attempting to regroup from the disappointment of losing the building. She browsed online real estate listings, but her heart wasn’t really into it. She tried to focus her thoughts on her business plans, but they kept turning rebelliously to Derek. She remembered him more vividly than ever – his body and the way it had felt pressed tight against hers, his voice, his taste. The memories had been delectable just a few hours ago, but now that she knew they were all she had left of him, they were excruciating. That was what she got for being stupid enough to get involved in a relationship, for breaking the promise she’d made to herself. If she could just forget about it, she might still be able to pull things together and salvage her dream. It was much easier said than done.

  She was sitting in front of her computer, wondering if she’d destined herself to a lifetime of waitressing, when a knock sounded at the door. She looked away from the Main Street building she could never afford to buy or rent that was displayed on the computer screen. She hadn’t really been seeing it anyway – instead, she’d been accidentally caught up in another memory of Derek. Her heart leapt at the sound. Could he be at the door? She silently berated herself for hoping for it. She’d have to turn him away if he was there, and her heart ached at the thought. Could she really bring herself to do it face to face? It had been hard enough – almost impossible – to make herself do over the phone.

  She peered cautiously out the half-opened door and gasped. “Peter! What are you doing here?”

  She hadn’t seen her ex for eight months, but there he was, standing on her doorstep with a grin plastered across his face. He was tall, but slender and blonde – the opposite of muscular, dark Derek. She’d made the comparison before she’d realized what she was doing, and her heart wrenched.

  “I’m back in town on business.”

  He’d moved to Baltimore nine months ago, after they’d finally broken up. His employer’s main office was located there. She hadn’t seen him since. “Oh,” she muttered softly, at a loss for what else to say. His clothing matched his explanation – he was dressed in a smart black suit, blue shirt and tie peeking from underneath, bringing out his bright cornflower-blue eyes.

  “Can I come in?” He flashed a bright smile at her. It had been his smile that had originally attracted her to him, before she’d discovered how cruel his mouth could be. Now, she stared at him dubiously.

  “I won’t impose for too long,” he said, flashing her another winning grin. “I just thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

  “I guess there’s no harm in that,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. At the moment, she was so desperate to distract herself from painful, guilty thoughts of Derek and fruitless real estate searches she’d have let the devil come in for a chat if she thought it’d help clear her mind.

  He stepped inside, raising a tall, slender gift bag aloft by the handle. “I brought you a little present.”

  She took it from him, noting the cork protruding from the top of the bag. “Wine. How thoughtful.” She eyed it doubtfully, mentally calculating the social obligations the gift entailed. “Do you want a glass?”

  He’d already hung up his jacket and plopped down on the couch like he wa
s right at home. “Sure.” He propped his feet up on the coffee table, displaying a pair of immaculately polished loafers.

  She retreated to the kitchen, where she poured two glasses of the shining ruby liquid.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a proffered glass from her hand when she returned. He took a deep sip and she situated herself on the far end of the couch, raising her own drink to her lips.

  The wine was surprisingly good – Peter must really want to impress her. But why? She shot him a suspicious glance over the rim of her glass. Was life going well for him in Baltimore? If so, he probably wanted to rub it in her face, to show her he was perfectly capable of being happy without her. She had to resist rolling her eyes at the thought. He’d never been able to resist gloating at any opportunity. Not that she begrudged him his success – she just wasn’t in the mood for any of his cockiness after such a difficult day.

  “So, how have you been lately?” he asked, lowering his now half-empty glass.

  “Alright,” she replied, shoving away thoughts of Derek and her disappointment over the building. No way was she going to share either of those losses with Peter. He’d only make her feel worse, if that was even possible. “I’m still working at the steakhouse and planning on opening my café.”

  “You’re still into that?” he asked, shooting her a wide-eyed glance.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a familiar spark of annoyance. “Yes.” She lifted her glass to her lips as she braced herself for the coming deluge of scorn and doubt. A part of her wanted to hear it, wanted to tell Peter that she didn’t give a crap what he thought. She’d spent the entire day doubting herself and didn’t need to hear him echo her own fears.

  He threw his free hand up in a defensive gesture. “Hey, no offense. I just figured you’d have lost enthusiasm by now.”

  She realized she was squeezing her wine glass and hastily loosened her grip, afraid the slender handle would snap. “Nope. Still focused on my lifelong dream.”

  He shrugged and took another sip of wine. “Well if you’re still going after all this time, I guess you’re bound to open the place after all.”

  She tilted her glass up, taking in a mouthful of pleasantly bitter-sweet liquid as she contemplated what amounted to a rare and unexpected compliment, coming from him. “Thanks.”

  “How about another glass?” he asked, raising his into the air, revealing it to be empty.

  She looked down at her own. Had she really drained most of the wine already? “All right.”

  Her head buzzed faintly as she drifted back to the kitchen, and she realized that the only thing she’d eaten all day had been a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which she’d made out of habit sometime around noon. It was nearly six o’clock now, and the wine had zoomed straight through her empty stomach and into her bloodstream. She couldn’t bring herself to regret her carelessness – the feeling of vaguely giddy light-headedness seemed preferable to the misery that’d been weighing her down all day.

  She emptied the rest of the wine bottle, dividing its remaining contents among the two glasses, and returned to the living room.

  “Do you like it?” Peter asked, watching her raise her glass to her lips.

  Light-headed as she was, it took her a moment to realize what he meant. “Oh. The wine. Yeah, it’s really good.”

  He nodded, apparently satisfied. “I thought you would. You always did like sweet red wines.”

  “Where did you get it?” she asked. She hadn’t recognized the label.

  “At a wine festival in – oh, shit!” He glared down at his right arm, where a large burgundy stain was spreading, courtesy of the wine that’d sloshed over the side of his glass and onto his sleeve.

  “Shit,” Kelly echoed, mostly because a large red spot had also appeared on her beige couch cushion.

  “Sorry,” he said, standing abruptly and glaring down at every near piece of clothing and furniture. “I’ll reimburse you for the couch before I leave, I promise.”

  She stared down at the cushion and started to say that she might be able to get the stain out, but thought better of it. The dark crimson liquid had already soaked into the fabric and she doubted that even the most diligent scrubbing would remove it. His clothing, on the other hand, might be salvageable. “Give me your shirt. The wine should come out if a stain-remover is applied right away.”

  He hurried to unbutton his shirt, stripping down to the white cotton tank he wore beneath, and handed it over to her when he was done. She took it back to the bathroom, where a folding door opened into a laundry nook. After applying her strongest stain remover and allowing it to set for several minutes, she tossed the garment into the washing machine. When she turned around she was surprised to find herself face-to-face with Peter, who was now bare-chested.

  “A little wine got on my undershirt too. Do you mind?” He extended a hand, the garment in question hanging from his fist.

  She took it, found a small red stain near the hem, and treated it before tossing it into the wash with the button-up. Peeking at the frothy, churning water made her head spin. When she turned back around, Peter was still there.

  She stared at the diamond-shaped patch of golden fuzz on his chest for a moment, feeling intensely awkward and all too aware of his eyes on her. “Shall we go finish our wine?” she asked as an alternative to telling him to get the hell out of her way.

  He nodded his agreement, and they returned to the living room. He picked up his wine glass and settled into one corner of the couch, sprawling luxuriously against the cushions.

  She took a seat at the other end. “So, how’s work going?” she asked, searching for a safe topic to break the silence he was filling with loaded looks in her direction.

  “Very well, actually. I’ve been promoted.”

  “Oh?” She drained the last of her wine. “That’s great.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to be manager of a whole new office the company is opening.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s going to be right here in Blue Mills.”

  Her eyes widened. Peter, back in town? She hadn’t expected that. Before, when he’d shared her apartment in Blue Mills, he’d commuted about thirty miles to his employer’s nearest office. But after they’d broken up he’d left for Baltimore – mostly, she suspected, to get away from her. Such a big promotion would probably be enough to draw anybody back, break up or no.

  “They’re planning on opening the new office this winter,” he continued. “So, I’ll be moving back into town soon. That’s actually why I stopped by here, to tell you.”

  What was she supposed to say to that? Should she thank him for the warning? Finding out in the privacy of her own home was probably preferable to the shock of running into him in public a month or two from now, though the way he was looking at her was beginning to make her regret letting him in. If he thought she’d be up for a one night stand, he had another thing coming.

  “I was wondering,” he continued, “whether you might want to get together once I move back. You know, start seeing each other again.”

  Her mouth went suddenly dry, despite the fact that she could still taste wine on her tongue. Her head swam dangerously. “Peter, I-”

  He leaned across the couch suddenly – or at least, it seemed sudden. Maybe her perception had been slowed by the wine, but before she knew it, Peter’s lips were locked with hers. She felt his tongue push its way into her mouth, and tasted the wine on him as his breath rushed out hot and bitter-sweet to mingle with hers.

  She pulled away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Reminding you how much you still want me.”

  A swift knock came at the door, saving Kelly from the necessity of immediately coming up with a reply. She hurried to stand, eager to escape the couch and Peter’s advances. No wonder he’d toned down his usual harshness – he was trying to get in her pants. How the hell could he possibly think he had a chance after their break-up? When she’d finally worked up the will to
cut him and his negativity out of her life, he’d responded as she’d known he would – with more negativity. Anger and disparagement. His harsh words of departure still rung in her ears. What had she been thinking, letting him into her apartment? As soon as she dealt with whoever was knocking, she’d tell Peter to get out, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Derek!” He stood on the doorstep with a bouquet in one hand. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, warm and intense. Then his gaze passed her, settling instead on the couch.

  Her stomach roiling with dread, she followed his stare to where Peter was reclining on the sofa, half-naked and staring intently at Derek, his blue eyes narrowed in apparent annoyance at having been interrupted.

  The flowers fell from Derek’s hand, landing on the cement step in a flurry of abruptly-shed petals. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Kelly dared to meet his eyes, and the look she saw there made her stomach twist and filled her with the urge to reach out and comfort him, to explain. He left before she had the chance. As she watched from the doorway, he climbed into his truck, slammed the door shut and tore out of the parking lot.