by Kyle Autumn
I’m glad she’s staying. Something about her being here calms me down. She’s a good kid, and she doesn’t need to already believe that life is that unfair. It’s too early for her. So I hope a summer here with me will help straighten that out.
For her and for me. God knows I need something good in my life too. This summer has to be about solid focus. Finding that job. Being an adult. Showing my family that they can be proud of me. Making a new life for myself. Even if it’s in my old stomping grounds.
God help anything that tries to get in my way.
∞∞∞
Amelia
There’s something to be said about using baking as therapy. When I can’t think straight, I bake. When I can’t make up my mind, I bake. When I can’t get over a bad night, I bake.
Basically, all I do is bake.
It’s cathartic for me. There’s a rhythm to it that soothes away any frustration or ache. I can follow a recipe or I can freehand it. I can bake for customers or I can bake for a broken heart. I can make muffins or cupcakes or cakes or cookies. I can go the chocolate route or fix up something fruity. The options are endless. Choices, decisions—the ones about baking come easily for me.
Others, not so much.
Choices for dinner? Give me an hour to decide. Major life decisions? Don’t even think about asking. Luckily, this bakery fell into my lap without my needing to choose too many things. Baking is in my blood. In my family. So the choice to take this place over from my grandma was a no-brainer. The business side is not really for me though, but I have a month left to learn from Gerald, the man who did the books for my grandma, before he retires too.
After that, I’m on my own. Which is why I’m at a table in the bakery after hours, squinting at my computer, thankful that my sister knows how to post a help-wanted ad on the internet.
“There,” she says, clicking the mouse. “All done. Hopefully someone qualified sees it!”
“Cass, I couldn’t do this without you.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”
“You mean that more than you know,” she mumbles, a small laugh behind the words.
The timer on one of the ovens in the back goes off, alerting me to the scones I put in there fifteen minutes ago. It’s the second batch I started when I realized I had no idea what I was doing on the computer. And that’s when I called my sister.
“Let me go grab those. I’ll be right back.” I spin toward the back and nearly bowl my five-year-old niece over. “Whoa! Sorry, sweetie. You’re so quiet and good. I forgot you were playing down here.”
Aria giggles at me, holding one of her toy trucks. “That’s okay, Auntie Melia. But it’ll cost ya.”
I was headed to the kitchen, but I stop in my tracks when my niece’s words hit me. Then I flick my gaze to my sister, raise an eyebrow, and point to Aria, holding a laugh back. “Uh, when did she learn that phrase?”
“Don’t ask me.” Cass shakes her head in defeat. “Derek must have left a TV show she shouldn’t have watched on. Wasn’t me.”
I smile to myself as I continue my path to the oven before my scones burn. Rather, my sister’s scones. That’s how I knew to call her. Sometimes I get lost in a daze while I bake, tossing ingredients in one after the other, but once the batter is ready, I know exactly why I made it. Cass calls it my gift. I don’t care what it is as long as it continues to guide my way.
Once the oven is off and the scones are on the cooling rack, I bring the whole rack and a box out to the front. I set everything on the counter and check on Aria, who is still on the floor, playing with her toys. My sister, however, has company at the table I left her at.
Gerald nods at the computer and gives Cass a thumbs-up. “Next, you’ll have to put another ad up for some part-time help around the shop,” he says loud enough that I can hear. Then he shoots me a side-eye glance.
“You’ve been saying that,” I tell him as I box a few scones up. Then I put a few on a plate and head toward Gerald and Cass.
“Because I’ve run the numbers every month, Amelia,” Gerald says. “You have enough income to pay someone at least part time.”
“But that’s not where the money should go and you both know that,” I tell them—not for the first time. “And I think I’m doing a good job managing it here without that.”
“You are,” Cass says, picking a scone off the plate before I even set it on the table. She juggles it so she doesn’t burn herself, but that doesn’t stop her from breaking a piece off and eating it. “Ooh, my favorite!” She moans around the mouthful of scone. “But I can’t continue to show up on weekends and save you,” she continues, still chewing, “and the ‘good job’ you’ve done has been at your expense.”
Gerald nods. “She’s right,” he confirms before I get a word in edgewise. “You’re here day and night. You barely sleep. You need take a break.”
“But I don’t want a break. Not sleeping is fine with me.” I pull my apron off and set it on the table next to us. “When I can’t sleep, I prefer to bake anyway.”
“Okay.” My sister blows on a piece of scone to cool it off. “But that’s not what’s happening. You’re baking so much that you can’t sleep. You don’t have time for it. Not the other way around.” Then she holds the piece of scone out toward Aria. “Want some, Ari?”
My niece runs over and pops the piece of scone into her mouth. “Yummy! Thanks, Auntie Melia.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” I smooth a hand down her hair. Then I aim my gaze back at my sister. “Just say what you want to say, Cass. Get it out there already.”
She hesitates, glancing at Gerald before picking at her scone. “I…think you need to move on.” She rushes more words out before I can tell her how ridiculous she’s being. “Just hear me out, okay? How long has it been?”
I gulp, not wanting to think about it. “I’ve dated since,” I say, smoothing the nonexistent creases in my pants out. “Don’t forget that part.”
“I haven’t.” Cass pushes her scone away and brushes crumbs into her hand. “But let’s be honest. Those were only half-assed tries. You’ve done that to make it look like you’re putting some effort into it. We’re not blind. Or dumb. And that’s not what I’m talking about anyway.”
“Cass—” I start, but she won’t hear it.
“No.” She puts her hand up in the air. “Seriously, Amelia. Derek and I are concerned about you.”
I slump back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t bring your husband into this.”
“He’s part of it because we’re all family. That’s how things like this work,” she insists, leaning forward and placing an arm on the table.
I want to remind her that family is precisely why I am the way I am. But I don’t. Gerald surreptitiously takes another scone from the plate and bites into it, keeping his gaze on the table.
“We’re family and we care about you.” Cass pokes the table with a finger to make her point. “We want to see you happy, and baking all the time may seem like it’s making you happy, but it’s really making you lonely. And maybe you aren’t doing this just because you love baking this much.”
“There it is.” I get up from my chair and march back over to the counter. Then I grab the box of scones for my sister and bring them back to the table. “Thanks for your help today, but this is where the conversation ends.”
“Amelia—”
“No.” I put a hand up in the air, mimicking the way she cut me off before. “I’m fine. I’ll move on in my own time. I’ve moved on. Just not the way you want me to, but this isn’t your life.” My next breath comes out shaky.
Cass deflates as she exhales and hangs her head. Then she scoops her daughter and the toys up, propping Aria on her hip. “I just want you to be happy, okay?”
I inhale deeply and nod. “Okay. I’m happy.”
“Happier,” she clarifies. She bends so Aria can grab the box of scones.
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes and then give my
niece a kiss. “Keep your mom in line for me, okay?”
She squeezes the box to her chest before saluting me with her free hand. “You got it, Captain.”
My brow creases as I stare at this crazy little girl in my sister’s arms. “What in the…”
“I have no idea. She’s a walking tape recorder now,” Cass says, shaking her head and walking toward the door.
“She’s a walking tape recorder now!” Aria parrots. Then she lets out a loud, harsh giggle that almost worries me for the future.
I hold the door for them in stunned silence as they exit my shop and head home. Man, I love my niece, but she’s getting kind of scary. Which makes me rethink any notion I had of ever having my own children. Not that I have time for that kind of thing anyway.
When I finally turn back toward Gerald, he’s smirking over his scone.
“You better not be next.” I wag a finger at him as I sit back down.
He holds both hands up in a surrender gesture. “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he insists, but the smile on his lips says otherwise.
“Not you too,” I groan, picking at what’s left of the scone I took before. Rarely do I get to enjoy my own creations, but I thought today might be an exception. Not so much. “I’m fine!”
Gerald takes a moment before responding. He sets his treat down and folds his hands on the table. “We know you’re fine, baby girl.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I am.”
“And that’s just it,” he tells me, tapping his knuckles on the table. “We don’t want to accept fine.”
I draw my eyebrows down. “What’s wrong with fine?”
“Nothing,” he says, sitting back in his chair.
I’m settling into a smug smirk when he adds more.
“But it’s not for you.”
My jaw sets as I raise one eyebrow at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I get up and head toward the counter.
He’s a little slower than I am, but he follows me. He pulls a stool out and perches on it as I wipe the counter down. “It means that you’re fine, but you’re not fine being fine and we all know it. We all know that you’re destined for more than working day and night in this bakery, even if you love it and do it for a good cause. There’s more to life than that, and we all want you to chase after that too. There’s room for both.”
I press the rag harder to the glass as I clean and think about his words. Of course he’s right, and of course my sister hit a nerve; I agree with them. But it’s easier said than done. A perfect relationship isn’t going to just fall into my lap. It’d require me to get out there. Meet someone. Date again. Get to know them. Fall in love.
Again.
Ugh. A shiver runs through me at the thought.
To get to that point, I’d have to be better at shaving my legs, my armpits, my—
“You know,” Gerald says, interrupting that ridiculous train of thought, “Danny wouldn’t want you to—”
“I know,” I tell him before he can finish that sentence. I don’t need Gerald to remind me what Danny would or wouldn’t want for me right now. Then I pause my cleaning. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on mine, and the warmth seeps in like a grandfather’s would. “I know. I know better than most would.”
I release the built-up tension in my shoulders and sink forward, realizing how right he is. If anyone in this town can relate to how I’m feeling right now, it’s Gerald. And, for that, I’m thankful and so sorry. But it helps to have someone who can truly understand. More than he knows.
“How come you never dated after Sylvia?” I ask, genuine curiosity in my tone.
“Oh,” he says, pulling back, a sullen and thoughtful look on his face, “I wanted to a while back. But the woman I wanted wasn’t available when I was ready, so I never really tried after that.”
“What about now?” I ask him, flipping the rag over my shoulder. “Maybe we could do this together.” My laugh is small, but I’m almost serious. Having a partner in crime would make this easier. And it’d shift some of the attention off me if there were two of us.
“Maybe,” he says around a small laugh of his own. “Though it’s probably too late for me.”
“Don’t be silly, Gerald!” I playfully swat him on the arm as I make my way around the counter to grab the scone dish. “There’s someone out there for you too. I guarantee it.” When I turn back to him, he looks as though he’s hoped for the same thing but it hasn’t come true.
“Ah, well. We’ll see.” He gives me the barest of smiles before hanging his head and rising from the stool. “I guess I better be off. Just do me a favor and—”
“If this is about Danny,” I start as I box the remaining scones, “don’t worry—”
“It’s not,” he assures me, a hand in the air. When he lowers it, he says, “Really think about hiring someone here so you can have some time off, okay? You deserve it with how much you’ve put into this place. Your grandma would agree.”
“Well, she’s off on some exotic seniors’ vacation, so she’s not here to tell me that,” I say around a smile. “That’s probably what I’ll do when I finally retire. Vacations for seniors. Sounds dreamy.”
“Or you could go on vacation now, you know.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
My smile grows larger as I hand Gerald the box of scones. “Don’t eat them all at once. And thanks for all your help.”
We both decide not to acknowledge that I didn’t reply to his suggestion. Probably because we both know that it’s a pipe dream at the moment. I wouldn’t go anywhere by myself, I wouldn’t be able to decide where to go, and I have no one to take with me. Unless Gerald’s up for a weekend getaway. And, well, that’s a sad, sad thought. I love the man, but he’s way more grandpa than fun vacation. Which is the way I prefer it anyway.
The bell above the door rings as Gerald makes his exit, the box of scones secure in his hand. He waves over his shoulder and then he’s gone. And then I’m alone with my thoughts yet again.
Hire someone for the bakery? To help with what? Bake? No. That’s my job. Maybe someone can work the front of the shop. Pour coffee. Take orders. That kind of thing. Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad. I could probably handle something like that.
But that’d mean less income. And I’d have to post another ad, interview people, and then decide on someone. Ew. No.
Ugh. Back to the kitchen I go. Flour. Applesauce. Chocolate chips. I gather ingredients, mix them up, and bake. An hour later, I have delicious muffins.
But not the first clue why I baked them.
If you enjoyed this sneak peek,
feel free to preorder book 2!
http://mybook.to/menofnatex2
About the Author
Kyle Autumn is the author of sexy contemporary romances that will melt your heart and your panties. She also writes erotic short stories series that will likely melt your panties more than your heart. She loves chocolate and pajamas. Can't be bothered to brush her hair most days. Can always be bothered to write her pants—er, pajama bottoms—off.
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