Reese is at the display case artfully arranging the cupcakes beneath the glass. She grins excitedly. “Looks good, huh?”
My chest swells with pride as I nod. I love this business. We started it together with an investment from our parents three years ago. Reese is a talented baker who has a way of bringing out the rich aromas and flavors of even the most basic ingredients. Her creations are mouth-watering and downright irresistible. It’s a miracle that I still have a waistline after working with her for the past few years.
Anyway, talent alone isn't enough to make a business successful. That’s where I come in. I'm a good baker too, but that's not where my true strength lies. I'm the queen of planning and execution. Reese and our brother, Charlie, make fun of my love of making lists, devising strategies and analyzing data. They say I’m anal-retentive. But all great business endeavors are the result of meticulous planning. And I want the Broken Cupcake to be a great endeavor.
Besides, nothing pushes my hot buttons like project planning. Progress reports, time management and financial projections. Ooh, baby. Talk dirty to me.
Sadie comes out of the kitchen, shaking her butt and humming enthusiastically as pop music bleeds out of her earbuds. She’s got an empty coffee urn tucked under her arm and she’s pounding the top like a drum. Reese giggles. Apparently, this kind of behavior is funny.
“Oh I love that song,” my sister squeals. Of course, now she’s dancing, too. The two of them are flapping their arms, slamming their bums into each other and singing the lyrics to some song I've never heard before. I don't listen to the garbage on Top 40 radio so I'm not familiar. But I'm definitely annoyed.
“Are we all ready to open?” I bark in irritation. This is not the time to be fooling around.
Sadie flashes me an oopsie! look. “Just making the coffee now.” She scrambles to get some coffee beans into the machine.
I check the watch on my wrist. The coffee should have been started at least five minutes ago. “People are gonna be coming through the door in matter of minutes.”
Reese’s eyes roll in their sockets like a chameleon as she comes around the counter. “Can you please stop being so Vivian about this?” She hiccups a laugh. “I get it. You’ve got opening day jitters. I do, too. But it’ll be fine.” She snatches up the chalkboard sign leaned against the wall and bumps her hip into mine. “We’ve got this!”
Reese is happy. She's always happy. Especially these days. All is well in her world. She just got engaged to a warm, kind, ridiculously handsome man…She has an adorable stepson…She doesn’t have a gray bush, I’m sure…
Grunting under my breath, I follow after her as she gleefully hops out onto the sidewalk. The aroma of brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon travels behind us. Reese haphazardly plops down the sign into the middle of the sidewalk. It reads; Cupcake of the week: Pumpkin-Maple. Grab your free sample during opening week.
When I bend forward to angle the board properly for optimal exposure, she growls peevishly. "Leave it alone, Vivian. It’s fine the way it is." She grabs me by the wrist, about to pull me back inside. That’s when Cleo’s flashy Mercedes rolls into the parking lot of the strip mall.
The car screeches to a stop then our realtor and her ex-husband/new boyfriend/baby daddy (don’t ask!) step out. Cleo stretches a giant bouquet of colorful balloons out to me. I take the balloons from her and fasten them to the hinges of the sidewalk sign as she whips off her big sunglasses, fluffs up her hair and gushes about how good the baked treats smell, even from outside. Beaming, Reese ushers the couple into the bakery to give them a mini tour of our new facilities.
We invited some special guests for a first look at the new place. I convinced Reese that having a little gathering to mark our reopening was a good idea. That way, when the first paying customers of the day show up, the cupcake shop will already be packed, giving off the impression that our bakery is the place to be.
Within a matter of minutes, our distinguished invitees have arrived. Some of our good friends from the fire department and police force. Mr. Farlow and his interns from the local newspaper. Pastor Becker and his wife, Blythe, who run the women’s shelter where I volunteer once a week. My sister’s fiancé, Leo, and his son, Brenton. My brother, Charlie, and his girlfriend, Nova.
Slipping seamlessly into the role of the gracious hostess, I mingle with the crowd, dropping in on each conversation in turn. Cleo’s telling the story of the grumpy, new tenant who’ll be opening a barbershop next door to the bakery. Yippie! Can you feel my excitement?! Officer Riggs is talking about some crazy woman who tried to sweet talk him into opening a closed-off road for her during last winter's biggest snow storm. Meanwhile, Blythe Becker proudly touts the political platform of her husband who will be making a bid for mayor in the upcoming local elections.
Charlie pulls me behind the cash register, making sure we’re out of earshot. He leans close to me and drops his voice. “I’m about to make it official…” A massive grin eats up half his face.
“Make what official?”
He furrows his brows at me like I’m dense. “Me and Nova. I’m gonna make it official…” He angles his head suggestively.
“What?” He’s not saying what I think he’s saying, is he?
His eyes leap to where Nova is chatting with the other guests and then he dips his hand into his pocket.
My breath catches. “Charlie…”
He’s still grinning as he pulls out a little velvet box. He flips it open and I just about swoon at the sight of the heart-shaped solitaire diamond on a thin gold band.
The first thought in my mind bursts out of my mouth. “Is she pregnant?”
Charlie’s shoulders drop and he glares. “No, she’s not pregnant, Vivian. I resent that. Can’t a guy just be in love with his girl?” He blows out an angry breath. “Sheesh! That’s why I waited till the last minute to tell you. You always think somebody’s pregnant.”
He’s not even joking. My kid brother’s about to pop the question!
My eyes dart back to Nova just as her gaze scans longingly over my brother from across the room. She looks like she’s in agony without him within a two-yard radius. And did I mention that the two of them bumped in here earlier, hand in hand, wearing matching head-to-toe black velour tracksuits and running shoes? Yes, they’re that in love.
A smile spreads from one side of my face to the next. Wow—Charlie really has changed. If my slutty little brother can totally flip his attitude and become a one-woman man, maybe hope is not all lost for me, maybe one day I’ll be living a different life, too.
“Ooooh! I’m so proud of you!” I squeal and pull him into a hug. “She’s going to say yes.”
“I hope so.” He sounds nervous. That’s cute.
I pull away and make a grab for the ring. “Okay, let me try it on.”
He slaps my hand away and laughs. “Hell no!”
As I make another attempt to snatch the diamond, the thundering roar of a motorcycle fills the air and pulls my attention to the window. A beast of a motorcycle pulls up to the curb, all big and black and shiny. And loud. Very loud. The man hunched low on the bike swings one leg over the side and climbs off of the mammoth vehicle in a smooth, fluid movement that's almost animalistic.
He’s tall and lean with a beat-up leather jacket hugging his shoulders. And when he tucks his helmet under his arm and runs his long fingers through his dark, dishevelled hair, the hem of his T-shirt lifts ever-so-slightly. I hear a subtle gasp burst from my mouth at the sight of his tight, inked midriff.
His eyes are on the bike, inspecting it carefully. He crouches down beside it and runs a hand along its shiny chrome finish. I get a glimpse of his profile and—wow!
This is not the type of man you see roaming the streets of Copper Heights. He's roguishly good-looking. His beauty is almost aggressive. Dark, stormy eyes. Hard, angular jaw. Firm set lips. An obvious knot on the blade of his thin nose. He's breathtakingly gruff. Every inch of him oozes sex and danger. Just one look at h
im, and I know. He's bad news. Every fiber of my being screams it. I wrap my arms around my torso, shivering even from behind the safety of the thick windowpane.
As he rounds the motorcycle, his heel knocks against my signboard and the A-frame topples over on the concrete, causing several of the balloons to pop. The man pauses. Glaring down at the thing, a frown line creases the space between his brows. Oh, why is that so hot?
But instead of bending down and setting it upright like any decent member of the human species, Mr. Dark and Mysterious just turns on his boot-covered heel and stomps off down the sidewalk.
A bolt of indignation snaps in my chest. Oh, hell no!
I throw a quick glance at my brother. “Hold that thought.” And before I can process what I’m doing, I’m pushing through the crowd, storming out the door and charging down the sidewalk after him.
Chapter Two
Clinton
My motorcycle’s guttural rumble pierces the early morning silence as I merge onto Walnut Road. It’s cold. The nippy autumn breeze seeps through my leather jacket and cotton T-shirt, bleeding into my bones. I don’t mind the chill, though. It’s sort of nice to feel something besides the choking rage and violent resentment that I’m used to. It’s confirmation that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’m not completely dead to the human experience. At least a tiny part of me is still alive.
I roll past Main Street and make a left. Swinging into the narrow parking lot of the little strip mall, I press down on my brake, letting the bike come to a stop on the curb out front. My gaze fixes on the newspaper covering the windows, concealing the layers of grime and chaos within. There’s a lot of work to do today especially if I want this barbershop up and running by the end of the week.
I probably shouldn’t rush this. I should take my time. It’s not like I’m desperate for the money; I’ve got plenty of that. It’s just that I’m eager to take on the next phase of my life. I’m ready for a fresh start. I don't want to wait.
Movement in the unit next door to my barbershop catches my attention. A sweet and fragrant aroma tickles my nose. It makes my stomach grumble. A small group of happy-faced people mill about inside, holding little coffee mugs and shoving food into their jaws as they talk and laugh like they’re the best of friends.
Friends…
I don’t have any of those. I don’t expect to make any in a place like this, either. An all-American town, with its gingerbread houses and its chirpy people who look like they were plucked out of a fucking snow globe. I can’t stand it but I have no choice at this point. I have to be here. I promised myself that I’d build a different kind of life now. I’ve put the motorcycle club behind me. And I’ve got to get this damn barbershop open.
Pulling off my helmet, I descend onto the curb and take a step back to admire the beautiful beast in front of me. Her smooth curves, her glimmering chrome, her glossy black paint, all pretty and tarted up. I crouch in front of her and run my fingers along her dusty finish. This motorcycle is more than a means of transportation, it’s a relic of the life I left behind, it’s a reminder of my freedom. This is my shot at a do-over. My chance to finally do the right thing.
Rising to my feet, I point my keys in her direction and press the button. She winks at me. Such a good girl. I give her a tap on the ass, assuring her that I'll have an eye on her all day.
Tucking my helmet under my arm, I twirl my key ring around my pointer. As I head off down the sidewalk, my foot catches on something. The chalkboard sign makes a cracking noise that echoes down the quiet street as it hits the pavement. Several colorful balloons pop in the process.
What the fuck?!
It really pisses me off that people do inconsiderate shit like that. You want to advertise your business? Take out an ad in the newspaper. Don’t drop your dumbass message board into the middle of a sidewalk, cluttering the passageway where other people are supposed to walk.
I glare down at the message. Cupcake of the week: Pumpkin-Maple. Grab your free sample during opening week.
Who the fuck cares?
My instincts are screaming at me to stomp my boot into the thing, just to hear the satisfying crunch of the board cracking down the middle. I resist that urge and instead, I look away and continue my trek to the barbershop’s front door.
This is me being the bigger person.
"Excuse me! Excuse me!" I hear a woman’s panicked voice and heels clicking hurriedly on the pavement behind me. I don't turn around because there's no reason for whoever it is to be talking to me. But the voice rings out again. "Hello?"
I growl on the inside. I’d like to keep my contact with the people of this town to a minimum. Not sure how that’s gonna work since I’m opening a business. Without slowing my pace, I throw a glance over my shoulder. A pair of huge, black eyes are staring right at me.
My steps falter. Whoa! I’d be lying if I said that the sight of her didn’t catch me off guard. Eyes like that…
I turn and give her my full attention. My gaze sweeps over her from head to toe. Her eyes are definitely not the only pretty part of the package. She’s got ridiculously smooth skin. Annoyingly smooth skin. And perky breasts with nipples pebbled from the cold under her white button-up top. She has on a boring flowy skirt covered in sunflowers. She stands in a straight posture, with her shoulders back. She looks a lot like a spoiled brat. Some classy chick who’s never had a rough day in her life. She'd probably consider a broken nail to be a hardship. All prissy and put together. Just looking at her makes me mad.
Her cheeks flush from my blatant scrutiny and her words seem to get tangled up in her throat for a split second before she rebounds peevishly. "I'm sorry but you knocked over my signboard." Despite the polite smile pulling her lips upward, her voice is tight with irritation.
My frown deepens at her accusatory tone. "What?"
Her heels clack on the pavement when she takes a step closer, still wearing that pre-packaged smile. "You knocked over my sidewalk board." She points to the chalkboard sign overturned on the concrete. “Would you kindly pick it up, please?” She lifts her chin boldly, staring at me without flinching.
My eyes move over her again, snagging on her nametag. Vivian. Yeah, I guess she looks like a Vivian. The way the skirt cinches tight at her tiny waist and her slight breasts tent the fabric of her top. The way her pale skin looks smooth and creamy in contrast to her dark hair. And that feisty little mouth, all polished in muted shade of red. Her strange get-up is oddly sexy. And those eyes...Something about the way it all comes together is making my mouth water.
Focus, asshole. “Your sidewalk board was in the middle of the damn sidewalk.”
“It’s a sidewalk board...That’s why it’s on the sidewalk.“ She uses the tone of a teacher annoyed with a student who's having a hard time grasping a very basic concept. What a little bitch!
I throw a glance at her ring finger. She’s annoying as fuck but there’s no way some chump hasn’t already gotten the bright idea to claim this woman—a stockbroker or a lawyer who wears expensive suits and commutes to his pretentious city job and drives an over-sized luxury car to compensate for his boring personality and his compact dick. But I don't see a big, shiny diamond on her hand and that shocks the hell out of me.
Before I can think it over too much, my phone bleats in my jacket and a gallon of cortisol spills into my blood. I pull it out of my pocket and check the text message on the screen.
Lisa: pick up some cough syrup for the baby on the way home
A few seconds pass as I stare at the screen.
Lisa: please?
I press my eyelids shut for just a second and rake my fingers through my hair. I silently remind myself that Sonny and Rachel are the two innocents in this situation. Those two precious kids never asked for any of this. I can’t get mad at them for having basic human needs. A little cough syrup isn’t too much to ask. I text Lisa back, promising to pick up the cold medicine.
The little woman in front of me stomps a foot and folds
her arms over her delicate chest. “I’m sorry. Am I boring you with this conversation?”
Dammit. I don’t have the time to deal with this right now.
“Look lady—I give zero fucks about your damn signboard. Okay?” I turn on my heel to walk away.
But the venom in her tight voice stops me dead in my tracks.
“So you’re just gonna leave it there?!” She marches up to me, puts her fists on her nipped in waist and glares. Her chin juts in the direction of the fallen chalkboard sign. The expectation in her eyes is unmistakable.
This is almost amusing.
My gaze moves over her again. God! This woman is something else. I want to take her seriously but she's wearing a skirt covered in sunflowers. Sunflowers for crying out loud.
I can’t figure out why my cock is aching, though.
I glower down at her. I’m nearly a foot taller than her, I’m covered in tattoos and I’m some guy she’s never even seen before. You’d think that she’d be intimidated. But she isn’t. I’ve gotta respect that and I’ll admit that I’m intrigued. I could just ignore her and be on my way, but I think I’m going to humor her.
Marching over to where the damn message board is lying on the pavement, I snatch it up. But instead of setting it down in the middle of the sidewalk where I found it, I yank open the door of her precious cupcake shop. I ignore the tense silence that falls over the room when the multiple ongoing conversations grind to a sudden halt, and the dozen or so pairs of eyes that follow my movements across the floor. I shove some flowerpots aside and prop up the signboard against the window. The message is perfectly visible to passersby from the sidewalk.
The Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set: The Complete Blue Collar Bachelors Series Page 44
