I was never going to find a single guy who wasn’t an asshole in this town. When I closed my eyes to rinse the soap from my hair, the blue eyes of one Brady Pearson filled my mind and reminded me not every guy in Lake Pendle was an asshole. I just couldn’t date the only one who wasn’t.
THE MODERN GOAT WAS reasonably busy, so I asked to be seated on the patio. Besides the obvious benefit of being able to enjoy the beautiful day, if Maxwell did smell of manure, the fresh air would allow me to eat without gagging. Also, if he turned out to be as bad as the other twenty-nine dates were, the patio allowed me an escape route back inside to ditch and run.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the hostess asked after she seated me.
“A Goat’s Beard Tea would be fantastic,” I answered, hooking my purse on the edge of my chair.
The hostess assured me it would be right out, and I leaned back in the chair to wait. I had no idea what Maxwell looked like, so I’d have to guess, which could be kind of fun. Chances were good he’d be wearing a ballcap from the feed supply store, work boots with mud still on them, or a John Deere t-shirt. Some might say I’m jaded, but I’d dated enough to know what was going to happen here today. That’s why I decided to go with a Goat’s Beard Tea. It was nothing more than a Long Island Iced Tea that they renamed to fit the venue. The tourists loved the kitschy names, even if the locals rolled their eyes.
The other benefit of The Modern Goat’s patio was the view of the lake. If nothing else, I could enjoy a few drinks and a nice meal while watching the boaters on the lake. Once I exhausted my incredibly shallow well of small talk with Maxwell, I’d escape back to my apartment and sleep until tomorrow morning.
“Haylee?” someone asked from behind me, and I turned, coming face-to-face with a guy in a western shirt and jeans.
I stood to shake his hand, and my eyes drifted to his feet.
Work boots with mud.
Then his head.
Ballcap from John Deere.
I fought the snicker that wanted to burst from my lips. Did I know Dawsbury or what?”
“You must be Maxwell,” I said, shaking the hand he had extended. “I’m Haylee.”
His grip was firm, and his smile was wan. “Otherwise known as The Fluffy Cupcake.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, so I didn’t overreact. “No, my business is known as The Fluffy Cupcake. I’m just Haylee.”
We sat, and the hostess brought my drink, stopping and asking Maxwell what he would like. After he ordered a Budweiser—shocker—he settled in while I sipped my drink. “Have you ordered yet?” he asked, checking out the trendy menu of farm to table choices The Modern Goat was known for in the region.
“I was waiting for you,” I said while he read over the menu. I didn’t even have to look at the menu, I knew it by heart. Every few seconds, I noticed his eyes check me out over the top of the paper before they’d dart back to the printing again. Seriously, I want to know where the heck Amber finds these guys.
The waitress set his draft beer down and pulled out her order pad. “Are you ready to order?”
Maxwell answered before I could. “I’ll have the blue goat burger with fries.” His eyes roamed over me and stopped at my hips. “You said you wanted the raspberry chicken salad, right?”
I sucked in air at his words. Where in the hell does he get off implying I need to eat a salad instead of a burger? Setting my jaw firmly, I glanced up at the waitress. “I’ll have the blue goat burger with fries as well, thank you.”
Our waitress, Sara, a girl I’d gone to school with, smiled a smile that said she knew exactly what was going on. “I’ll put your order in. Would you like a side of fresh cheese curds while you wait?”
“Oh, yes,” I said gleefully at the same time Maxwell said no.
Sara twirled on her heel and skipped off to put in the order while Maxwell frowned. “So, tell me a little bit about yourself,” he said, his fingers toying with his beer glass. “What do you like to do for fun?”
I finished my first drink and motioned to Sara to bring a second before I answered. I was going to need a lot of booze to get through this date. My head was already swimming from the first one, but since I was walking home, I didn’t care. “Amber and I are real movie buffs. We love sitting on the couch with a bottle of wine and a pizza to watch old eighties films. I don’t have a lot of free time with running the business, so I have to prioritize what I want to do when I’m not working or sleeping.”
“I see,” he answered, nodding while looking anywhere but at me. “How about exercise? Do you like to ride a bike or run?”
“My exercise involves running between the baker’s bench and the oven twelve hours every day,” I said, my tone as sharp as a pin.
Sara arrived with the cheese curds and drink, setting both down and winking without a word. I grabbed a curd and blew on it, popping it into my mouth before holding the basket out for him. He shook his head, his lips in a thin line.
“I’m not into fried cheese,” he said after a sip of beer.
“That’s a shame. Fried cheese is the best. Wisconsin knows what they’re doing over there,” I said, eating another one and washing it down with my drink. Amber was so going to pay for this. I was going to show up on her doorstep with every asshole guy I could find in a tri-county area. Okay, so I wasn’t, but I wanted to, and that’s what mattered.
“I don’t believe that your life consists of baking, sleeping, and movies. There must be something else you enjoy. Do you swim, or are your legs that size from all the running in the bakery? What about your family?” he asked, digging in to make the date something it would never be.
Successful.
Ignoring the comment about the size of my legs was extremely difficult, but I refused to stoop to his level. “I lived in foster homes my entire life. My parents abandoned me at birth, probably because of the size of my legs.”
Okay, maybe I wasn’t going to ignore it. Moving on.
“No one even knows who they are. My family consists of Amber and the other people I employ at the bakery. You?”
His throat-clearing told me I’d surprised him with my honesty. “Wow, that’s a lot to deal with at your age. I had no idea. I live on our farm with my parents. Always have, always will.”
I finished my second drink and grasped my purse. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to use the ladies’ room.”
He motioned for me to go ahead, without getting up, and I darted into the restaurant and up to Sara, who was plating our food. “Hey, Sara. Would you put mine in a box?”
Her grin was wide while she did what I asked, then handed it over. “Want me to deliver his burger like nothing is amiss?” she asked, the tray in her hand. “I’ll tell him yours isn’t quite done, and I didn’t want his food to get cold.”
I gave her the thumbs-up sign. “Perfect. If Max stiffs you on the bill, give me a ring, and I’ll run over and pay for it.”
“Girl, no one stiffs me on the bill—especially not jerks like him. Go, before he catches on. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
I chuckled and winked at her. “You’re the best! I’d say have a good day, but you’re not going to until he leaves.”
Sara motioned for me to go, and I dodged out the side door, having to walk the long way around to get back to the bakery. I didn’t care. Besides, walking this way allowed me to stop by Amber’s house. I was going to ask her what the hell she was thinking setting me up with that jerkoff. Then I was going to ask her if she would consider hanging up her matchmaking gloves forever.
Eight
When Amber opened the door to the pounding of my fist, she didn’t look happy. She rubbed at the sleep in her eyes and yawned. “The date seriously can’t be over already.”
I pushed my way inside and plopped down on the couch. “The date ended before it even started. Want a burger? I’m not hungry.”
Amber took the box and opened it, inhaling the delicious scent of beef and blue cheese. “Why do you ha
ve a burger in a to-go box, and where is Maxwell?”
She ate the burger while I filled her in on what happened. When I finished the story, Amber sighed and set the box down, offering me a hug. “I’m sorry, he’s a friend of a friend. I don’t know him more than in passing. Are men really that big of pigs these days?”
I nodded and pointed at her. “Most are bigger pigs than Max was.”
“Not all, though. Brady isn’t a pig. I happen to know for a fact that he wouldn’t mind if you poked his loaf.”
The sound I made was a half-drunken snort. “He’s been trying to get me into bed for years, Amber. It’s a game. We both know it. He doesn’t want me to poke his loaf,” I said, using air quotes. “Besides, I’m his boss, and that’s not happening. Why don’t we have booze and cupcakes?”
Amber snickered and pushed herself up off the couch. “I know just the place for the cupcakes, and I bet I know where we can pick up some booze. Let me change.”
While Amber was in her bedroom, I leaned back on the couch and pinched the bridge of my nose. The disastrous last six months of the year played out behind my eyes—all the dates that went wrong, and the few guys that lasted a week or two before they ditched my giant ass. I was hit with the knowledge that my idea to find someone to love me for who I am before I turned thirty had been a bad one. What made sense to me on December thirty-first had become an albatross around my neck the closer I got to July thirteenth. The revelation brought me to the only decision I could make. I had to let it all go. I couldn’t force something to happen if it wasn’t meant to happen. That was a lesson I should have learned before I went on thirty dates from hell.
When Amber returned, we left the apartment and stopped off at the local store for a bottle of vanilla cupcake flavored vodka, and a bottle of strawberry wine, then unlocked the back of the bakery to feast on some cupcakes while we drank.
I was chewing a wonderfully decadent chocolate cupcake when an idea hit me. I threw my hands up in excitement. “Oh! I just had the best idea ever!” I set my cupcake down and ran to the cooler, gathering supplies before I dumped it all on the bench.
Amber gazed at me in a drunken stupor. “What are you doing? Why can’t you be normal?”
“I am normal. A normal baker!” I dumped ingredients into the small mixer and set it to mix while I grabbed a measuring cup and poured half a cup of vodka into it. I held it up like a trophy. “Vanilla cupcake vodka cupcakes!” Unceremoniously, I dumped the liquor in and let it mix while I measured flour, salt, and soda.
Amber’s laughter rang out through the bakery while she lined a pan with papers. “That’s a lot of cupcake in one name. We need something catchier. Also, can we sell cupcakes laced with booze?”
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I was already busy scooping the mess into the pan and shoving it in the oven. “Sure, we will call them the cupcake for the twenty-one and over crowd! They’ll fly out of here like hotcakes. If they taste good, that is.” I dumped butter and powdered sugar in a bowl and started the mixer again, dumping in more vodka and letting it spin. “Maybe it is illegal to sell alcoholic cupcakes.” I waved my hand. “No matter. If we can’t sell them, I’ll make them for us to eat behind the scenes!”
“What are you making now?” she asked, motioning at the mixer.
“The frosting. Duh,” I said, but the words were starting to slur from all the booze I’d swallowed in the last few hours. I hadn’t eaten anything, either. Wait. Do cupcakes count as food?
While I made the frosting, Amber disappeared into the main bakery and came back with a loaf of pepperoni cheese bread. She sliced it into large wedges and buttered it, pushing a piece toward me.
“You need to eat that. Your words are starting to run together.”
“I don’t want to poke his loaf,” I said smartly, shutting the mixer off and leaning on the bench.
“I didn’t say poke it. I said, eat it. Geez, what is your problem lately?”
Rather than answer, I shoved in half the slice of bread and chewed, moaning a little bit when I swallowed. “Dammit, why does he have to be so good at his job?”
“Because he cares about your business, his craft, and you,” Amber answered, taking a bite of her piece of bread.
“That was a rhetorical question.” I spun around and pulled the cupcakes out of the oven. I decided to pop them into the cooler at the last second, enjoying the sound of the slight sizzle when I set them down on the rack.
“I didn’t think you were supposed to put hot cupcakes in the cooler like that.” Amber pointed at the door with a drunken finger.
“Normally, I wouldn’t, but these aren’t normal times. I need them to cool so I can frost them and put them in my belly.”
Amber’s laughter filled the bakery, and I took another bite of the bread. “Well, at least you’re excited about eating them. Usually, you eat a cupcake like it’s a death sentence.”
“Only to my hips, apparently,” I answered. “At least according to Maxwell.” Before she could say anything, I decided to go for gold. “I was thinking about something and wondering what you’d say about it.”
“If it’s about sleeping with Brady, then my answer is yes,” she said, leaning on the table and finishing her bread.
I shoved her playfully in the shoulder. “It’s not about sleeping with Brady!” I said with laughter in my voice. “It is about him, though.”
“Damn. Here I thought all the booze helped you see how perfect he is for you.”
“First of all, Brady Pearson is not perfect for me. He’s the exact opposite of me.”
Amber’s finger trailed through the flour on the bench for a few seconds before she spoke. “That’s not true, but you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. You and Brady aren’t that different. You just don’t want to admit it. You don’t like change, even when you say you want things to change.”
“I do not!” I exclaimed angrily, my foot stomping on the bakery floor. “Wait. I do too!” I said, tipping my head to the side. “What was the question again? Oh! I do like change. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, but never mind now.”
I turned my back to her and finished the bread, then checked the cooler to see if the cupcakes were ready for icing. They weren’t. Dammit. Patience, Haylee. You are usually more patient than you have been over the last six months. What is wrong with you? It probably had something to do with the fact that I was tired, sex-starved, and unhappy in my personal life, or rather my lack thereof.
“I’m sorry, Hay-Hay,” Amber said, coming over and putting her arms around my shoulders. “Sometimes, I don’t think before I speak.”
I sighed and shook my head slightly. “We both know I don’t like change, and we both know why.”
“I do, and I shouldn’t have said that. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Just bakery stuff,” I said on a shrug. “I was thinking I screwed up with Brady offering him the inventory position instead of the full-time baker.”
“He didn’t seem upset to me when I talked to him. He was excited that you were putting more trust in him with the business.”
“It was the wrong kind of trust, though. I realize that now. Brady’s so good at what he does, and I could really benefit from him being at the bench with me full-time.”
“You don’t have to ask me about the back of the house hiring, Hay-Hay. We agreed that we hire for our own ends without requiring approval from the other person.”
“We did, but this would require me hiring a new kitchen manager, at least part-time. I know Taylor is looking for more hours, but I can’t offer the position to her without you okaying it.”
“If that’s what you want to do, then I say go for it. Taylor would be great at it. Increasing her hours also means she’ll stick around, so that makes it a win-win-win.”
“No, that makes it a win-win,” I said, counting on my fingers in case I was too drunk to remember how many wins there were.
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head.
“A win for Brady, a win for Taylor, and a win for you for getting to work with Brady full-time. Win-win-win,” she said, threw me a wink, and clapped giddily like she just solved world hunger.
Nine
I was late for a very important date. Okay, not a date, but I was still late. The team was going to have my ass in a sling if I even thought about stopping to talk to anyone. I didn’t care.
“Haylee,” I called, jogging up to the woman meandering down the sidewalk. When I got closer, I realized she wasn’t meandering. She was listing.
“I’m not going to poke your loaf, Brady,” she answered without turning around.
Poke my loaf?
“For once, you’ve left me speechless, cupcake.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” she slurred, her tongue sounding too big for her mouth. Was she sick?
I grasped her shoulder and held her in place. “Are you okay, Haylee?”
Her eyes rolled around in her head when she tried to focus on me, and I bit back laughter. She wasn’t sick. She was drunk.
“Have you been tippling, cupcake?”
The punch to my gut took me by surprise. “I told you not to call me cupcake! And you claim that you know how to listen.” She started stomping up the street, but the booze in her system made it more of a stumble than a stomp.
I put my arm around her shoulder and propped her up against me. “Do you have plans for the night?” I asked while I directed her toward the lakeshore.
“Big plans,” she said, holding up a bag that I hadn’t noticed tucked against her side. It was brown paper and most definitely held alcohol. “I’m going to drink this whole bottle of strawberry wine by myself. You can’t have any.”
Cupcake (The Fluffy Cupcake Book 1) Page 6
