“I wish you would understand that it’s good for me even when I don’t always come.” Besides, I can always get myself off later.
“Lyn,” he whines, when he notices the scowl on my face, “I just want to send you off with a bang. I’m going to miss you so much.”
He’s so cute when he pouts. I smile up at him. “It’s only for a week. Plus, you’ll be at the hospital so much that you won’t even know I’m gone.”
“Sweetheart, one day without you is too long.” He kisses my cheek as he springs out of bed. Who springs out of bed at five o’clock in the morning? Oh, right, third-year residents who are used to living on four hours of sleep. “I’d better get going anyway. I’ve got rounds in thirty,” he says.
I smile as I watch his perfectly sculpted ass head towards the bathroom. I bring my knees up to my chest and cover myself with the bed sheet as I thoughtfully watch him through the open bathroom door.
Michael’s toned abs tighten and relax as he bends over to brush his teeth. His reddish-blonde hair is cut short to fit under his scrub cap. I wonder if someday he’ll grow it out a little so I could run my fingers through it. As he gets into the shower, I pad into the bathroom and grab his toothbrush—a habit of mine ever since I first stayed the night at his place. It feels so intimate, like I’m part of him somehow. I stand and stare at myself, toothbrush in mouth, and ponder what I see in the mirror. My skin—far too pale for my wavy dark-as-night hair—stands out even more now that I’ve lost that summer glow. The nose I got from my dad is too pointy, but I make up for it with Mom’s green eyes. I lean over to spit in the sink and jump when I rise back up. “Ahhh, Michael!” I scream half-heartedly as he reaches around to grab my breasts.
“Mmmm,” he murmurs. “They fit perfectly in my hands.” He smiles at me in the mirror, eyeing his toothbrush hanging from my mouth. “You know, now that we’re engaged, don’t you think you should at least have your own toothbrush at my place?” I shrug my shoulders, watching him run his hands down my hips as I reach for a towel.
“Lyn, you don’t need to cover up in front of me. You are so beautiful,” he says so sweetly that I know he thinks it’s true, even if it’s not. It’s not that I think I’m fat, just curvy. But I think women are conditioned to believe that if anything jiggles, except our boobs, it is a bad thing. So that is why I run. And with all of the running I do to keep the pounds off, my legs and butt have become my best features.
He slips a t-shirt over his head and quickly dresses in the requisite light-blue resident scrubs. “Everything covered at the shop?” he questions. “Is Kaitlyn good running the show all week alone? I could swing by and help her out,” he says, with not so much as a thought to his own killer schedule. I can’t help but love this man for all of his self-sacrificing qualities.
“Got it covered,” I assure him, as I gather my hair into a messy bun and throw on last night’s clothes. “But it is so sweet of you to ask.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek and head out to the kitchen to wait in a trance for the automatic coffee maker to finish brewing my sanity.
I sit at the bar, tracing my finger over the shiny, smooth scar on the back of my right hand as I think back to when I met Michael. Although it was almost two years ago, it seems like just yesterday. I was twenty-three and starting out with the bakery when I suffered a pretty bad burn to my hand that landed me in the hospital. He was a first-year resident doing his ER rotation.
“Miss Vaughn?” he said, entering the room while looking down at the paperwork so that I could only see the top of his head. “It says here that you burned your right hand. Can you tell me what happened?” He fumbled a bit with the paperwork and snuck a look behind him. Then he looked up at me all nervous-like, but obviously trying to look like he knew what he was doing.
Oh, this doctor is seriously good looking, I thought. I had all but forgotten about my hand that, merely a moment before, felt like it was searing over hot coals lit on fire from the depths of hell. Thank God that I didn’t have to remove any clothing or get into a compromising position in front of Doctor Adonis. I shook my head at the horrid thought.
“B-Brooklyn,” I said quietly. Dang it! I thought. Did I just stutter? What am I, twelve?
“Brooklyn? Is that where you sustained the burn?” he questioned, with a little furrow between his eyes like he was trying to figure something out. “Is that an area of Savannah? I’m pretty new here . . . uh, to Savannah, not the hospital. Well, I’m a first-year so I am new to the hospital, but what I meant to say was that I don’t know much about the area. I haven’t been exploring yet but I hope to very soon if I can find a local to show me around.” He looked at me long and deep like I hadn’t just burned the crap out of my hand and wasn’t in need of medical attention.
“Ahem,” I heard. I looked behind him to find the source of the interruption. There was another doctor standing in the doorway staring him down. That seemed to get him to regain his composure rather quickly.
Red crept up his face which brought out the auburn in his light hair, making him appear sexier, if at all possible. “So, you were saying about Brooklyn?” He was flustered just like I was.
Was he flirting with me? Why would he be? He was a doctor for heaven’s sake and I’m me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away and was probably beginning to look a little stupid staring up at him like that.
“Yes. Uh, no. I mean, yes I got burned at Brooklyn’s. It’s my bakery and I was so stupid wearing a bracelet while getting my trays from the oven. It got caught and I couldn’t pull it loose and my hand started burning and it smelled awful and there was screaming and maybe a little crying, and finally it came out but I broke my bracelet so Emma is going to freak because she gave it to me for my birthday . . .” Oh, God kill me now! Just stop talking, I thought. He probably assumed I was crazy, going on and on like that.
Then I added, “But, it’s also my name.” I looked up into those grey-as-steel eyes and tried to get myself together. Was my mascara running? Why didn’t I look in the mirror before arriving? Of course it’s running, you dimwit, I thought. You were crying which also means your eyes are puffy and you look like hell in general.
“Your name?” he said, still looking confused from my rambling.
“Brooklyn. It’s my name. You called me Miss Vaughn. Please call me Brooklyn, well . . . Lyn,” I squeaked out, thankful that I could complete a sentence.
He smirked. Did that mean he thought I liked him? Well, okay maybe I did but that didn’t mean he should smirk at me. “Okay, Brooklyn or Lyn, the girl and the bakery, call me Doctor Michael. Let’s have a look at this.” Back in full doc mode then because, well I was hurt and, well, I could only guess that was his boss still standing behind him with that stern look on his face. But don’t think I didn’t see him look up at me repeatedly with a gorgeous grin only to catch me staring right back at him. Damn that guy in the doorway, I thought. Leave hot Doctor Michael and me alone!
I smile to myself when I remember that Michael referred to his boss as a ‘cockblocker.’
Let’s just say I was completely bummed that Dr. Cockblocker never left that doorway and a follow up visit with Michael was not going to be required. On the way home that day, I had even started considering other ‘accidents’ I could have to send me back to the ER.
To think that this same man, my Doctor Michael, will be mine for the rest of my life. Well, as soon as we can get around to setting a wedding date that is. With his rigorous schedule, we may never get around to it. His specialty, pediatric cardiology, is especially strenuous since it is in fact, two specialties. After this year he will have to get a fellowship somewhere which presents a whole new set of problems. Although he works at Memorial Health here in Savannah now, he will need a children’s hospital for his fellowship and he will have to go where the offers are. Right now, the closest option is still more than three hours away at Egleston Children's Hospital in Atlanta. Three hours. Can we survive a long-distance marriage?
I don’t think I could brin
g myself to close Brooklyn’s. I put blood, sweat and tears into my bakery. It is the one thing I’ve accomplished in my twenty-five years that is all mine. Okay, so maybe I’m just barely breaking even after paying my expenses. I can’t even begin to think of relocating the shop, I could never get as good a deal on rent as I have now. My best friend and roommate, Emma, owns the space where my bakery is along with our two-bedroom apartment directly upstairs in a trendy little area of Savannah. I know the going rate for retail space and she more than cut it in half for me. Plus, I couldn’t leave her high and dry. What am I thinking? I can’t live without Emma. I can’t leave Savannah, can I? But I can’t live without Michael either.
“. . . coffee?”
What?
“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” Michael says, ripping me from my nightmare of having to choose between my best friend—my female soulmate, my surrogate sister—and my fiancé.
“Do you have time for a quick coffee?” he asks again, looking at me so sweetly.
“Of course I do.” I smile weakly, happy to be torn from my depressing thoughts of tough choices ahead. “I have a few minutes before swinging by the shop to make sure Kaitlyn is all set up and then I’ll meet Emma at my apartment.”
“Are you excited to go to Raleigh?” he asks, pouring my coffee.
“Mmm hmm,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to experience it with you for the first time.” He frowns. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise that when I make Attending, I’ll have more time for vacations and then you and I will have lots of firsts together.”
“We already have lots of firsts,” I assure him. “First fiancé, first ER injury, first Christmas as a couple—”
“But not the first,” he interrupts, looking sad. “I wish we would have had our first time together. I hate the idea that some horny little shmuck who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants had you before me.”
I sputter my coffee onto the counter. “Oh my God, Michael, I can’t believe you just said ‘dick’! You are always so clinical. And why would you make me think of that loser anyway?”
“Okay, penis,” he acquiesces. “You know, he may have been a horny little shmuck, but he most definitely was not a loser if he set his sights on you.” Could he get any sweeter? “What was his name, Nick, Norman, Neil?”
“Michael, he did not have his sights set on me. His name was Nate. I had a high school crush on him. He used me for one night and then I never saw him again.” See, loser.
Dang, now I’m in a bad mood when I’m about to leave and not see Michael for a whole week. Wanting to leave on a happy note, I look up at him through my lashes. “Um, so let’s get back to all the things you are going to do to make it up to me.”
“Oh, I plan to make it up to you all right, in all kinds of ways and in all kinds of positions.” He raises an eyebrow. “That all right with you, future Mrs. Brooklyn Bridges?”
“Hmmpf. I don’t know what kind of sick joke fate is trying to play on us.” I can’t help rolling my eyes. “But for the millionth time, I will not be taking your name,” I assert.
“I know, Ms. Vaughn, and I understand. But it is still fun as hell to tease you about it.”
I smile at my perfect guy as he gets up from the bar with our mugs, takes them over to the sink and rinses them before placing them in the dishwasher. “Now get your pretty little butt over here and give me a proper good-bye.”
His eyes darken and watch my every move as I deliberately and slowly lick my lips when I saunter around the counter towards him. He is focused on my mouth when I reach out and place my hand on his chest. “I’ll miss you so much,” I whisper. I kiss him slowly at first; then I want him to know what he’ll be missing so I work my tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his before I suck gently on his tongue until he makes little moaning noises. Then he grabs my head, deepens the kiss and presses the length of his body, hardness and all, against mine, grinding ever so slowly. Damn, he gives as good as he gets.
I can feel him smile against my lips. He knows what he is doing to me. Well, at least I’m not the one who has to adjust myself while heading out the door. He pulls away still gripping me tightly. “Time to go, sweetheart. Don’t forget to text me and don’t be upset if it takes me awhile to get back to you. You know how busy it gets at the hospital.”
He holds my hand as we walk downstairs to the parking lot. He opens the door to my less-than-impressive car and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Be safe and have fun. But not too much fun, I know how Emma can get.”
“I love you, Lyn,” he says, staring down at me with so much meaning in his eyes.
“You too, Michael.” I look up at the face that I will miss so terribly for the next few days. “And don’t worry about Emma, she’ll be all work and no play in Raleigh.”
He closes my door and watches as I back out and drive away.
~ ~ ~
It never gets old turning onto my street and seeing my name—my name—emblazoned in hot pink over the outline of a light-blue cupcake twenty feet up over the entrance of my shop. After earning my Certified Pastry Culinarian designation from Savannah Tech, and saving almost every cent I made babysitting, waitressing and temping, and okay, I’ll admit a lot of help from Emma, I was able to start a small bakery. It still feels like a dream to have my own shop. My mom and I used to bake together when I was little. I can remember being seven years old and realizing what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Mom smiled down at the confectionary creation I had attempted with the admiration only a mother can have for something that looked so hideous. “Brooklyn, you can be whatever you want when you grow up as long as it is something you are passionate about. There are no limits to what you can do. You could be a teacher, like Daddy, or a Mommy like me, or a doctor or scientist. You could even be a baker and make wonderful cakes like this one.”
My eyes widened and my smile about split my face in two when I realized one could actually bake. For a job. And make money. That was it for me. From that day on, if I wasn’t at school, I was making a mess in Mom’s kitchen. God love her, she never complained about cleaning up after me.
A flash of pink catches my eye and I look over to see Kaitlyn, my one and only employee, as she pops her pink-streaked head of hair out the door to put up the daily special board. I quickly drive around back, park by Emma’s Beemer and Kaitlyn’s Beetle, which is—surprise—pink, and make my way in through the back door.
I’m immediately struck once again by the powerful and intoxicating smell of fresh muffins and cinnamon rolls baking to perfection. I hope I never get tired of this. I don’t want running the shop to ever become just another day at the office. Bakery air is just too good to take for granted.
I know Emma is waiting for me upstairs and I am running a few minutes late but I need to hit the shop for a second. I pass by the doorway that has stairs leading up to our apartment and I head on through the kitchen to the front of the bakery that smells of fresh coffee.
I see Kaitlyn setting up the pastry cases for the fresh stock. I look around the shop which is really too large for its purpose. The morning light streaks through the front windows that a local artist has adorned with etchings of baked goods. The mixture of low and high-top tables, along with the few booths that I added, give it an eclectic, yet quaint feel.
I head over to the coffee station behind the counter to grab some to-go cups for myself and Emma. “Hey, boss. You ready for your road trip?” Kaitlyn looks up as she sips from one of the oversized Brooklyn’s Bakery mugs Michael had made for my last birthday.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, looking around at my shop thinking about how I will miss it this week. “Maybe I should stay. I mean, five whole days on your own here is an awful lot for me to ask of you,” I say, knowing full well that is not why I’m reluctant to leave.
“Lyn, are you crazy?” she practically shouts. “I live for this. You know I need this to see if one day I can maybe open my own place. Plus, you know yo
ur mom will probably stop by every day to help out.”
I know she is right. My mom and biggest cheerleader, second to Emma, stops by almost daily. She also insists on working one morning a week to give me time off. She conveniently schedules that morning to coincide with Michael’s day off. She refuses to let me pay her, saying that this is what you do for family and just wait until I have a daughter one day and I’ll understand. That is just one of the perks of living in the same city as my parents. Also another reason not to leave Savannah.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I start to go into the kitchen. “I’ll do a quick check in the back to make sure you have everything you need.”
She watches me walk past her and through the large swinging door; the kind of door that you see in restaurants with a giant round window at face level. I know exactly what she’s thinking because she knows that I checked everything just yesterday. Twice. “I know you are rolling your eyes at me Kay,” I say without turning around.
“Hmmpf,” I hear. “Don’t let that back door hit you in the ass on the way out,” she says. “You know I love you, Lyn. Don’t worry about a thing.”
In the large kitchen that has become my second home, I run my hand along the shiny stainless handle of the large baking oven that I will probably never pay off in my lifetime. I hold up my right hand and thoughtfully regard my scar. I don’t hold a grudge; it was my own fault for wearing that chunky charm bracelet. I learned my lesson. I will never wear a bracelet again. To the left of the oven are the cooling racks that already hold dozens of heavenly breakfast treats for the morning crowd. Taking in a long, slow breath through my nose, I again drown in the almost sickly-sweet smell that has become the favorite part of my morning. Other than waking up next to Michael. My mom had the brilliant idea to place the cooling racks by the only window in the kitchen so that when weather allows, we can open it which practically guarantees that anyone within a quarter-mile will follow the mouth-watering smell to find the source.
Be My Reason Page 3
