Wayne backed away creating more room for her to bend over the small sink once more, watching her hands move under the pouring water from the faucet, cupping it to bring it up to sooth the abrasiveness her eyelids created when they moved. A few seconds passed with him standing there, watching the way her hands moved, until her face surfaced and she patted herself dry.
A woman without make-up, and a good looking one, too. His inner conversation seemed endless tonight.
“So, as I said,” she stated. “I am closed for tonight. I’ve already cleared out the register, so if you came attempting to buy something I’m sad to say you have to come back tomorrow. Come back in the morning though, because the freshly baked cinnamon rolls are to die for. Fortunately, you now have the inner scoop.”
“Actually, I work up the street and you might not remember but you came into our station the other day asking if we’d like to sign up for your lunch distribution service. You know, like sandwiches and stuff.”
Her hands were slowly wiping of the excess white flour still lingering on her arms, in between her fingers, behind her ears, while she silently took in the information he was polluting her with.
“So, you want to sign up for the lunch service?” And then she smiled, and his legs felt like melting through the floor like hot wax too close to a burning candle. How could he say no to that? The guys back at the station would probably kill him for it, but if he rejected her offer he was afraid she’d never even look his way again. Definitely not give him another chance to witness that smile again. Which was stupid since she didn’t even seem to remember the two of them ever meeting.
“Um, yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, that’s what I came to say. How much is it and what can you offer? Sorry, that sounded weird, I meant, what foods can you offer our hardworking rescue crew for lunch?”
He’d never felt this foreign heating sensation of his face before, and by watching her widening smile, he knew he was blushing - and she’d noticed.
As soon as the towel left her hands she rubbed them down the front of her dark jeans, and he noticed two things: fantastic legs and no ring. Bare finger, freedom of love, here we come sweetie. His mind was practically yelling at him, pushing him ahead.
“I’m Wayne, by the way,” he extended his hand. “Not sure if you remembered me from the station’s garage or not?”
“I’m Christine,” she said, turning her face away from him, now fiddling through the stack of invoices and menus at the desk by the wall, giving him no other choice than to retract his hand back into the pocket of his jeans.
“It’s Friday, going out tonight? Even though we’re a small town there are lots of good places to blow off some steam and have a good time. I can show you if you’d like?” Charm her big boy, put on that charm.
“Oh no, I’m good. But thanks.” With a stretched out hand she gave him the lunch menu he’d asked for then pushed her hands down into her pockets. Pockets he’d like to put his hands into, badly. Feel the warmth of her skin sip through the fabric and into his large palms, and he’d caress her slowly. Her body seemed a sweet sugar scented paradise. Enticing.
“See anything you like?”
Her comment brought him out of his fog and he noticed he was staring at her midsection. “Um… something I like?”
“On the menu…” Then she rolled her eyes at him, smiled, and looked down at her whitely dusted shoes, just the same way he remembered her doing at the station the first time he’d met her. God, he wished she wouldn’t do that. It heated up something inside him seeing those wondrous eyes roll, diminishing him.
“Just shoot for it, Wayne. What is it that you want?” Her eyes looked up into his.
Here goes. All or nothing. “Seeing someone?”
“No.”
“So, why can’t I take you out and show you around? You’re new here from what I know and by the look of your hand, not taken.”
Her smile disintegrated, and reluctantly she moved her left hand up from the inside of her pocket and held it steady, looking at it. Then put it back inside.
“So, single?”
“Not really,” she mumbled and pinched her lips shut. “I’m just not interested, Wayne.”
“Really? Single, young, good-looking. Care to explain? Are you gay?” He wasn’t holding back now, she was open territory, and he’d done this many times before until women caved with a smile and let him lead them to a nice outing or straight home to bed.
“I’m a widow.”
Well, that was new. That answer had never even been on his radar until she finally opened her mouth.
“Widow? You? Really?”
Her lungs took in a deep breath, and her face became softer, a slight smile curving her lips, but stayed quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never would have guessed. You seem so young for that.”
Her eyes sought for something to focus on and ended up eyeing the white dust covering the tiled floor under her shoes.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to probe, you just caught me off-guard. I didn’t expect that answer from you. In fact, I thought you were going to tell me I was too pushy, or I’m simply not someone you’d be attracted to.”
She laughed at that, and his heart cramped. Hard.
“Oh no,” she smiled. “In fact, I prefer your pushiness; it gives me a chance to bite back. Who wouldn’t enjoy some battering? But, yeah, I might be young. Actually I was only twenty-nine at the time the cancer took my husband. It’s been almost five years now, but I’m still not ready to meet someone new. That’s all.”
“Wow that sure is young. Sorry about that. I really am. I’ve met many people in the same position as you, just not this close up and personal. Mostly I walk by them in the hospital, or transport their loved once after they’ve passed. Oops, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
She’d already turned away from him and taken a few steps into the backroom where the soft whiteness of the spilled flour coated not only a stepladder leaning against a tall shelf stocked with even more large bags of sweet ingredients, but also most of the lightly beige tiled floor.
Her hands folded up the purple sleeves on the buttoned down shirt she wore, that fit her ample rounded chest perfectly he noticed, before she grabbed a soft bristled broom from a cleaning cabinet next to the side door leading out to the parking lot and slowly started to swipe the white dust into one big pile in the middle of the floor.
“Can I help?”
He wasn’t waiting for her answer. Instead he shook down the jacket over his shoulders and let it hang at the top of the open door to the cleaning cabinet while he took out a wet steam mop, plugged it into outlet on the wall behind him, and waiting for the huffing and puffing from the handy machine to turn the water into hot vapor.
“You really don’t need to stay, Wayne. This isn’t the first time I’ve had flour all over the floor in this bakery you know. It’s Friday, and from what you’ve already mentioned, you seem like the guy to keep the weekend very… eventful.” Her eyes never left the floor as her slow arm movements made it look like she painted the tiles in large strokes, collecting the whiteness from underneath the shelves using the whole length of the broom. Giving him a wonderful view of her backside every time she bent down low to reach.
It took him a while to come up with an answer, because her assumption had been nothing but spot-on. His weekends were eventful indeed; with the guys drinking beer and watching sports, but then mostly ending with a girl. In bed.
“I’m fine. I’m here helping you, aren’t I? This visit turned out to be more eventful than I’d anticipated.”
With the help of her hand, she straightened out her back standing up, and pushed a hand hard at the bottom of her lower back, giving a slight grunt.
“You alright over there? Back go out or something?”
“Oh, no. Just getting old you know.” She winked at him, assuming he was older than her. And he didn’t like it at all.
“For your information,” he said
heatedly, finally pushing the heated mop in front of him on the floor, “I work out at the station gym at least four times a week. They wouldn’t let us keep our jobs if we weren’t able to carry the weight of a regular human being while running. In case such emergency ever occurred.”
He didn’t quite know why her words had upset him, but as the sweeping movement of the steamer carried him across the floor of the stockroom his body seemed to both freeze and ignite at once as her hand grabbed him by the outside of his upper arm, stopped him in his tracks and jerking his head slightly, his face a mere few inches from hers. She smelled like he had imagined: sweet cinnamon rolls and dusted sugar.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. Pardon me if I did. I was only teasing.” Her eyes reflected those magical dimensions of colors again, and this close he could almost taste her scent of sugar cookies and spice on his lips.
“Evidently you workout,” her eyes grazing the length of his body, “and of course your job requires you to do so. It only makes sense. Please forgive me, Wayne.”
Her sentence closed before he had a chance to respond and so did the space between them. Before he could blink her lips were on his. Not soft: like it was the first time they kissed. Not asking for permission, unsure of his response. She kissed him hard. Tightly, she sealed her warm, soft, sweet-tasting lips to his before leaning back slightly, placing another peck at the very corner of his lips. Not that he had ever worn lip gloss, or ever wanted to, but he could imagine this is what it felt like: sweet moisture covering his lips with a slight feeling of making them plump.
“Thank you for your help, Wayne, I appreciate it,” she said sweetly, her long fingers caressing down his arm. “You need to be off now, it’s Friday after all; girls to chase and beers to drink. Don’t want to be held up by a thirty-four year old woman tired from closing up a bakery after a week’s hard work.”
Her feet trampled over the pile of flour still in a heap on the floor. She unplugged the steamer from the wall, and turned off the lights in the backroom.
“Please come and have coffee with me. Only coffee, that’s all I’m asking.” The steamer was still in his hands in the middle of the room.
“Coffee,” she repeated, tucking escaping toffee strands behind her ears. “Nothing more.”
His inner self smiled; she’d caved as planned, although not yet to his bedroom. “Oh, Wayne, if you only knew what’s brewing, and not only in this café,” her whisper carrying back into the empty bakery as she turned to lock the front door behind her and head out into the night.
Chapter Five
“Well, this has certainly been an evening unlike any others. In fact, quite far from my ordinary end of a work week.” The white porcelain cup landed quietly at the center of the dainty plate placed on the table by her fluttery fingers.
“What would a regular Friday, end of the hard work-week look like for you normally?” He asked, his elbows leaning at the edge of the table. “You’ve intrigued me tremendously with those few words, please expand. Let me in on your secret life. Because ever since I saw your lights turned on inside the bakery I’ve been asking myself that same question, but I’ve come up empty-handed.”
“You’ve been thinking of me?”
He could almost feel her eyes follow the movement of his Adam’s apple as one of the last swigs of beer ran down his tongue and landed in his stomach, but not before the cold liquid attempted to cool down the burning sensation tingling the very center of his chest on the way down.
“I… maybe a little,” he mumbled. “You kind of caught my eye that day you stampeded into the station, forcefully shoving your lunch serving idea into my hands. That’s all. I’d never met anyone quite so… assertive. You caught my attention, and it hasn’t been easy to block that image out of my mind.”
“Let me guess,” she smiled slightly and leaned back against the wooden chair at her back. “You did not come to my bakery tonight to place those lunch orders for you and the rest of the people on your crew, am I right?”
“No! I did. I really did, and I think your idea is in fact great. And since I didn’t have any other plans for tonight, coming by your little place just kind of happened.”
“Sure, sure. It all sounds good. First of all, ‘assertive’ is just another word for overbearing and annoying – which I’m neither, and secondly, I don’t care about your reason for stopping by. Thanks to you the bakery got cleaned up faster, I got a big, fat, first order for meal service, and now I’m sitting here in a quiet corner of a nice bar I’ve never visited instead of a quiet evening spent at home reading or crashing on the couch with Samo the Great, my cat,” she noticed she was babbling and tried to scramble her thoughts to finish it off before he understood that his presence made every single fiber in her body vibrate and tingle pleasurably, “and I got to taste the warmth of your lips. I’d say this end of the week turned out… quite nicely.”
Her eyes lingered on the street lamps outside the window, hiding their large glowing glass bowls among the tall branches of the ample oak trees on the sidewalk. But she smiled, she noticed. She looked happy. She felt happy, which hadn’t been a usual state of emotion in the last few years. And amazingly that seemed to affect something inside the man across the table.
The amber liquid ran down into the back of his throat in yet another attempt to kill the fire endlessly trying to re-ignite between his ribs. A sensation he wasn’t used to.
“Yeah, that was a surprise. A nice one,” he smiled and looked deep down into his glass of beer before he closed his hand around it and brought it back up to his mouth.
“I see you’re studying my hand,” her voice softened some, like it always did when the memory of the past resurfaced. “And no, I’m not wearing a ring. Haven’t thrown it away either - if that’s the next thing coming down from your brain and falling out your mouth. I can see something’s stirring in there,” she pointed a slender finger leisurely at his face, smiling teasingly, “behind those scrunched up eyebrows of yours. Be careful though, or you’ll end up looking like that, as my mother used to say to us kids when we created ridiculous faces just to get her attention.”
That earned her a smile, even a flash of nicely lined up white teeth showed up for a nanosecond. He was even more remarkable when he smiled, when his lips climbed up the sides of his cheeks, one slightly higher than the other. Similar to those of his father’s, unfortunately.
“Nah, I’m not one to probe,” he said humbly. “Your life is yours, and with that comes your secrets. Just seeing the little indent in the skin on your finger makes it obvious that ring must have sat there for some time.”
Maybe you should, she thought, it might be to your benefit, but she knew his judgment was accurate, as the finger felt a bit more narrow and bony when she ran the top of her thumb across it.
“I’m thirty-four now,” she said low. “This part of my finger has been bare for three years already, but I guess six solid years of ring bearing give proof that can’t be easily hidden. On the other hand, I don’t want to hide it, nor should I.”
“Not at all,” he swallowed the very last drop of beer running slowly down the inside of his glass, ending on his warm tongue. A wish for the beer to cool down and kill that determined flame inside his chest failed miserably. Instead, it escalated, throwing more gasoline straight into a fire when he witnessed his own hand move across the table, like something detached from his body, until his fingers touched the same spot of her hand as she had recently. Her skin felt smooth to his touch. “I’m really sorry it happened, Christine.”
Her hand didn’t move under his soft examination. In fact, it seemed to relax and flatten even more under his very sizeable stroke.
“I think the hardest part was to take the ring off, as if it was the final thing I had left of him. That band was supposed to stay on until the end of our days. Sadly, his days ended before mine did, and for so long I didn’t want to give in to that thought. Holding on to something imaginary, I guess, not wanting to acknowledge wha
t life would be if I let go of him completely. Definitely. I was afraid of my own mind, afraid I’d lose my memory of him,” she whispered, staring at their hands on the table.
“I wanted that wedding band to brand me deeply for the rest of my life, because that’s what we promised each other, and how we wanted it to be. To sum it up, Wayne, I’ve had a hard time letting go. You can’t possibly imagine and understand how much I loved him.”
His hand lingered on hers and he watched with great interest, and in all honesty shock, how his thumb started rubbing her hand ever so slowly. Ever so softly. He let his fingertips gently slide across the smooth skin of her hand.
“But please, don’t pity me. It’s been three, no almost four, years since his passing and I’m on much better terms with it now. Moving here, then starting my own business have both taken a lot of time and I’m happy to say, kept me and my mind very busy. Anyway, let’s stop talking about –”
“Hi, Wayne, can’t believe you’re here and not at Hardy’s tonight with the rest of the pack. Even heard Rick put in a new flat screen TV just for the big game next week.” A gum-chewing young blonde, with way too many inserts in her push-up bra underneath an indecently low-cut shirt had suddenly come up to wait their table, twiddling a long lock of hair between her sparkly fingernails.
“Chelsea, this is Christine,” he nodded across the table, then noticed he was still holding her hand in his and lifted it hesitantly, then placed it back down on his thigh, rubbing it nervously.
“Hi.” That was probably as much of a conversation as she’d get out of that waitress tonight, she thought, and downed the last of her now cold coffee and smiled out the window before she stood and pushed her arms through the sleeves of her brown biker jacket.
“You leaving?” Wayne stood up simultaneously, bringing up the wallet from his back pocket and placed a few bills on the table.
Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) Page 3
