by Ariel Ellens
Colt is a man of direction.
Not that I want to judge people based on looks, but he certainly doesn’t seem to be the type to own so many businesses.
It sort of turns me on. Most guys I know are coming out college with big dreams and small brains, focused on getting into women’s pants, thinking college is a reflection of life. Maybe I know the wrong group of people but my friends all complain that their boyfriends are lazy, don’t do their own laundry, and all that typical crap. But Colt is just so...
Something.
I’ll leave it at that.
Just so something.
Then I find something that bothers me, a headline that just can’t help but be clicked.
TWO MEN SHOT, ONE DEAD, OUTSIDE LOCAL CLUB
Why would that be showing up on a search for Colt?
I click the link and the first thing I see is a small picture of Colt, standing in a white t-shirt, pointing, with a microphone near his mouth.
Then I read.
I regret reading two paragraphs in.
I regret talking to Colt four paragraphs in.
I’m thoroughly confused by the end of the article.
To make a long story short, here’s what I see. Colt owned a nightclub called The Black. There had been a mild history problems - drunken fights, arguments, a few people busted on drugs. Nothing to do with Colt, until...
Two years ago a man was at the nightclub with his boyfriend. A scuffle started on the inside with a few other guys basically picking on the man and his boyfriend. They didn’t want a gay person in the nightclub. Pushes were offered, a couple quick punches, and then one of the alleged tough guys showed a gun. The man and his boyfriend went to Colt, looking for help to get out of the place but Colt threw them out. He didn’t help the man and his boyfriend and ten minutes after being thrown out, the man with the gun followed them and shot both of them. One of them died and the other survived after surgery.
If that isn’t scary enough to digest, I see some remarks that Colt made during an interview about the shooting.
“They were in the parking lot, what can I do?”
“I feel terrible, but if there’s conflict in my business, I’m getting rid of the conflict... period.”
When asked about the murder victim being gay, Colt was quoted, “It’s obvious that The Black isn’t a gay nightclub, so... yeah.”
I’m shocked.
Literally shocked.
So shocked that I read the article two more times and then look at the small picture, trying to convince myself that there’s two Colt Danders in the world and that this one, this insensitive ass, isn’t the same hot guy that came into the bakery.
But then again, wasn’t Colt an insensitive ass to me?
I liked it then, but maybe not right now. If this is how he feels...
I close the computer, unsure how to feel about my discoveries of Colt. As sad as it is though, it actually makes my night. The more I get to think about Colt the less I get to think about the other stuff in my life.
But one question eats at me, one that goes beyond the article I read about his now shut down, one that I know will keep me tossing and turning.
Why was he in town?
-Chapter 4-
When Colt doesn’t show the next day, I’m disappointed. It tears me up a little and then I realize I feel like this because of a stranger. In fact, nobody cute comes into the bakery, bringing back reality. The day is busier than normal which should make me feel great. There once existed a time when Grammie and Grandpa would have a line outside the place down the street. People went to them for everything, even foods beyond the bakery. There were recipes that Grammie could have the town flood the bakery.
But that was a different time long before my time.
I bake to keep my mind cluttered, worrying about ingredients, measurements, and matching Grammie’s perfect style of recipe and love. There’s no complaints so I must be doing something right.
By noon, I’m tired and start to feel alone. The outside world seems to turn as I stand in place, a reminder of time. Sometimes I hate reminders of time. I once had an English teacher in high school who climbed to the top of his desk on the first day of school and stood there, waiting for the class to shut up. When we all finally did, he looked at all of us, one at a time, and then bellowed out, “With each second that passes, you are closer to dying. We’re all going to die. We are born simply to die...” He then climbed down from his desk and began handing out our first book to read. I don’t remember what it was, something about death, obviously. But he had a hidden message in that - and throughout the semester - trying to get us to engage ourselves in what we wanted out of life. But I was seventeen then and all I wanted was to know if I should allow my boyfriend at the time, Brent, to take things to third base and beyond.
Side note - I let him to third base but beyond wouldn’t happen until college. Then he dumped me and decided there were too many pretty girls in college to go beyond with to stick with me.
I finally break down and send a text to Becca-Ann. I’m not sure what time it is in Paris and I don’t care. She’ll answer me, she always does.
Her reply is standard Becca-Ann...
Hey bitch. I’m under a Paris boy right now, what’s up?
Knowing Becca-Ann, she probably was under a Paris boy. I imagine her reaching for a ringing cell phone while fooling around with someone and it makes me smile, for the moment at least.
I really miss her.
She's wild and free and hearing some of her stories makes me feel like there's hope for myself, to get out the bakery and have a little fun once and while.
I text back to her...
I miss you, bitch. Push the Paris boy off and come home.
While I wait for her text I stare out the window. The street is eerily quiet but it looks beautiful. And why wouldn't it look beautiful? Everyday is beautiful. The trick is finding the beauty and holding it.
It makes me think of Colt.
But it makes me wonder if the beauty is just in the outside of Colt. The article plays in mind again... a family in trouble, led by Colt. The shooting outside that club and the remarks he made. How could someone just openly murder a man for being gay? How can hate exist so powerful and so freely? And Colt did nothing to stop it, or help. The things he said...
Becca-Ann texts back.
I wish you could come here. These boys are beautiful and the ones who don't speak English are the best!
I laugh and text her... lol what are you baking today?
Becca-Ann must have pushed Paris boy off her because she replies faster, allowing a conversation to exist. I would rather hear her voice but the cost of the call would put us both in debt.
Whatever I make it'll be better than your baking. ;)
I reply... try me, bitch. Lol. I ran out of banana bread already and have orders stacked in the back.
Becca-Ann... it's not your recipe, doesn't count!
Ouch, that hurts, but it’s Beeca-Ann, she's brutal and I love her for it.
I get back at her though... yeah? Well, you had to pay to learn to bake. :) :)
I wait for something back but it takes longer than I expect. That means she's typing me a book. Yikes. These are always heart to heart things that make me want to cry. Ugh. I hate having my best friend across the ocean.
She texts back long enough that I have to scroll on my phone’s small screen.
Isabella - listen to me. You deserve more, starting right now. I'm over here seeing the world so differently. Seeing how people act, think, and survive. What happened in your family is terrible but you shouldn't be carrying it all. You're too smart, too beautiful, and too damn good to bake and have your mother steal it all. If I was there I would shake you, bitch. I have something to offer you... I won a little contest last week and my program is willing to fly someone here for a week, anyone I want. It's all expenses paid to get here and back home. Come here, Isabella, please. The second everyone meets you they'll fall in
love with you. The Paris boys are going to fight each other to get to lick your cupcakes!
I laugh when I read the last line, which keeps me from choking up and breaking down.
Everything Beeca-Ann says is true but it takes strength to move a boulder, or crack it open. Talking about moving or cracking it is easier than doing it.
I think about leaving all the time but I can't imagine leaving the bakery collapse. I feel like I'll be letting everyone down and it'll be the last strand, sending my mother over the edge. She's been standing on the edge with one foot over it for years and all it would take is a stiff breeze to send her off for good.
Then I'd have nobody.
I can't speak to Becca-Ann's text right now so I leave it thankful and simple.
I love you, Beeca-Ann. Even though you're so far away, and a bitch.
She texts back with - bitch - and that's where the conversation ends.
I think of the next person to text or call but I slowly lose interest. I feel terrible sometimes bothering people with my problems, my worries, especially when so many have their lives somewhat together and moving forward. Take Sarah... she’s been with Tommy since high school. They made it through college together and everything. Then there’s Valerie. She got caught having two boyfriends at once and instead of letting it affect her, she shook it off, met a new guy, and they were engaged three months later. That reminds me, her wedding is in like eight months and I’m a bridesmaid. I do have single friends, ones that are sort of looking and ones that are just having lots of fun.
But I remain behind the counter, wishing all those friends would go to Paris and send back Becca-Ann.
Or Colt.
Yeah, send him in.
My face burns red as I think it.
How can I still think about him after what I read?
I need a customer, and fast. I’m normally thankful for these slow times during the day so I can get my orders started for pick up, but at this point, I’m ready to stand out front with free samples just to talk to a person.
I walk into the back room and go through the orders for the week.
Not bad, but not very good.
It’s no secret to anyone that I manage the finances of the bakery too. My mother is supposed to handle that but her version of handling the finances is to take all the money out of the register, take it to the liquor store, and load up for a long night of self hate.
The bakery isn’t going to go out of business today but it’s slowly losing money. It’s like watching a well loved family member slowly die and as sad as this may sound, it pains me more to watch the bakery start to slide away than it is my mother.
The bakery still gives me something. What that something is, I really don’t know.
I just don’t have the resources to give the business a large push, but what can I do?
I run my finger along the orders for the third time when I hear the bell ring out front.
I practically dive from the back, eager to greet the customer.
It’s not a customer and, no, it’s not Colt.
It’s Stevie Press, the guy that has a mega crush on Becca-Ann.
-Chapter 5-
“Has it been a week already?” I joke as Stevie stands with his hands in his pockets. His blonde hair is getting a little too long for my taste, but for Becca-Ann, she has a thing about men with long hair. Skinny men with long hair. She tells me she wishes she was an adult in the eighties to rule the hair metal groupie scene.
“Hey Isabella,” Stevie says in his cute voice.
I don’t why but there’s something about him I can’t put my finger on. I can’t judge him. I can’t tell if he’s hot or not. Maybe because he has feelings for Becca-Ann and I would feel guilty about thinking of him either way.
But he’s a nice guy and always has been.
Stevie was a geek in high school but the summer after, he got contacts, a better hairstyle, and started wearing clothes that looked better on him. He tried hard, but still lived at home, which was hard because of his parents. His mother and father were nice people - I met them a few times - but they were overbearing. They wouldn’t approve of Becca-Ann and that probably only made her more appealing to Stevie.
“You know she’s still in Paris,” I say.
I reached for the oven behind me to check on a fresh set of bread loaves.
“I know,” he says. “I tried calling her but someone answered in French and they hung up on me. Cost me like five bucks.”
“Why don’t you text her?” I ask.
Stevie is at the counter now and instead of answering my question, he’s chewing on his lip, calling attention to it. It takes me a few seconds to realize what he’s doing but then I see that he has his lip pierced.
Okay, now Stevie is starting to look hot.
I don’t know why but the little silver circle around his lip... just works. It’s like it’s made for him.
Damn.
I turn my head and take a breath, collecting myself.
“When did you get that done?” I ask, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Last week, after I talked to you.”
“Was it because of me?”
Stevie shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Do you...”
He stops and looks down into the glass case. Stevie used to be chunky but not anymore. He stares into the case like he wants something so I turn and find a chocolate chip cookie and toss it at him.
“On me,” I say. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”
He takes the cookie and eats, playing with his lip ring the entire time.
Okay, dude, I get it... it’s a hot piercing.
But it’s not as hot as Colt’s tattoos.
I can’t believe I just thought that.
“You know why I’m here,” Stevie says. “She’s over there, with other guys.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
That much is true. He doesn’t know... but I do. I know what Becca-Ann is up to in Paris.
“When is she coming home?”
“I’ve answered that a hundred times, why don’t you just text her? Email her?”
“I want to hear her voice,” he says, almost with a poetic tone.
He’s hopeless. It’s almost cute, but Becca-Ann wouldn’t tolerate it.
“Then keep calling,” I offer.
“Or maybe I’ll just fly there,” Stevie says as he tries to laugh but it’s desperate.
“Stevie,” I say. I reach out and take his hand. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I feel bad. Maybe because of the lip ring. “Becca-Ann is in Paris, in school. You know that, I know that. And there’s nothing we can do to change it. You never told her how you felt, did you?”
Stevie shook his head.
“You had your chance too. Right before she left for the airport. You were there, right there, hugging her. And you choked up.”
“I fucked up,” Stevie says. “You know, she once told me piercings were hot.”
“So that’s where the lip ring came from.”
“It hurt like a bitch.”
“And you’re here because you want me to text her that you’re super hot now with your piercing?”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Who thinks who is hot?” a third voice chimes in.
I look past Stevie and see Colt standing in the doorway, wearing a blue t-shirt that hugs every possible muscle on his body.
I want to be angry at him for what I read the night before but I can’t. I need to know the truth of the article. If he really said those things and if he really felt that way...
“Who’s this guy?” Stevie asks and points to Colt.
“I should ask the same about you,” Colt throws back.
I can already feel the tension growing in the bakery. Like two lions ready to fight over a mate. I need to call a testosterone timeout here, but I look down and realize that I’m still holding Stevie’s hand. By then, Colt is right next to Stevie, unafraid of getting too close or
in his space.
“I’m Stevie, Isabella’s friend.”
“And I’m Colt, Bella’s good friend.”
Stevie looks at me. “Bella? Good friend?”
“You can let her hand go,” Colt said and pokes at Stevie’s hand.
“Actually, she’s holding my hand,” Stevie says. He opens his hand and wiggles his fingers.
Wow, it’s nice to see Stevie acting like this. All of a sudden he’s so tough and cunning and ready throw fists at Colt. I definitely need to tell Becca-Ann about this.
Colt breaks his stare from Stevie and looks to me. This is my chance to set things straight, explain that Stevie is a good friend who is in love with my best friend who is spending some time in Paris. Then it occurs to me, who in the hell is Colt? And why is he here, again?
So I smile and start moving my fingers along Stevie’s hand, teasing him and torturing Colt.
Colt nods.
“Well, I came by for some bread,” he says. “That’s all I wanted.”
That’s a complete lie but I can see Colt fighting the urge to explode.
As I stare at Colt, Stevie pulls his hand away, managing to get it away.
“Hey, Isabella, thanks for talking to me,” Stevie says. “Means a lot.”
“Anytime, Stevie.”
Holy crap, am I flirting with Stevie? Worse yet, am I flirting with Stevie to make Colt jealous?
“Hey man,” Stevie says, addressing Colt, “have a good one.”
“Yeah. You too, brother.”
Stevie winks at me, nibbles his lip ring, and then leaves the bakery. My eyes follow him and don’t come back until Colt snaps his fingers.
“Boyfriend?” he asks.
“Jealous?” I offer.
“Just looking for bread.”
“Maybe I’m all out.”
“Maybe I see some in the glass case.”
“Maybe I don’t feel like serving you.” I’m a bitch and I don’t care. I’m thinking about the article now and I can’t stop.
“Maybe I’ll come back there and get some for myself.”
