by Laura Brown
My phone chirped and I grasped it, searching for balance.
Wrong Number: How soon is too soon to jump into bed with someone?
I blinked at the message and nearly searched for a hidden camera.
Me: Depends on the situation.
Wrong Number: You’re no help. Pretend you have a sister or a daughter, what would you tell them?
Me: Sister, I have. I’d tell her to be smart and think first. Daughter, I don’t have, but I’d tell her to wait until I was dead.
Wrong Number: At some point, too early sends the wrong message, right?
I thought of my texts with Wrong Number. I thought of Avery potentially naked just a few feet away and how I yearned to join her.
Me: I’m the wrong person to ask.
Wrong Number: Yeah. I know. But I blame you for putting sex on my brain.
I burst out laughing, then glanced toward Avery’s door, hoping she didn’t hear.
Me: I fully accept that blame. Maybe you should see if your real-life guy can get you off.
The door opened and I shoved my phone into my back pocket. Avery had changed into jeans and a three-quarter-length sweater. She’d run a brush through her hair, and it took everything I had not to kiss her again.
“Ready?” I asked, a croak in my throat I couldn’t smooth out.
“Ready.” Avery’s hands went to her stomach and her cheeks pinked. “I guess I am hungry.”
I hadn’t heard the growl, but if Avery felt it that meant she needed to be fed. No delays. I thought of what would be the quickest and most filling as I headed to her door. “Pizza okay?”
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “What?”
Dammit. I mentally kicked myself in the nads. I turned to face her. “Pizza?”
She closed and locked the door behind us. “You think you can find a place that rivals New York?”
“Hell no. But I know a nice mom and pop shop not too far from here.”
Avery took a step into me, tilting her head up to mine, and the world around us faded to nothing. “Then let’s go.”
The haze she created threatened to pull me in and back her into the door. I shook it loose and pushed myself forward. This time, I blamed Wrong Number and the shade on Avery’s lips, the one I put there. Food. Must remember our mission. We made it to my car, the cool evening air helping to clear my head. Remembering Avery missed most of the tour Hannah and I provided, I pointed out a few places to check out as we drove, along with a few places to avoid. It was late enough that the roads were less congested, and I hoped the restaurant would be on the quiet side.
We walked along the half block after I parked. Avery’s hand swung next to mine and I entangled our fingers, needing some of the contact I craved. Her brisk pace slowed, and she shifted her hand to grasp mine better. We didn’t say a thing, but I swore the night became brighter with her this close.
When I said the place was tiny, I wasn’t kidding. The storefront consisted of three windows and the depth wasn’t much longer as we entered into the artificial lighting. Most people used it for takeout, but a few tables lined the area. We walked up to the tall menu boards.
“What’s your poison?” I asked.
“This is going to sound inane, considering the types of cupcakes I bake, but I prefer plain.” She glanced up at me through her eyelashes, as if that would be a bad thing.
“Nothing wrong with a classic. What’s your stance on garlic bread?”
“Love it.”
I placed an order for a cheese pizza and garlic bread while Avery snagged a table in the corner by the window. She was lost in the world beyond the glass when I sat across from her.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She tore her gaze from the window. “Just thinking about how similar yet different places can be.”
I studied her face and the slight downcast to her lips. “You’re homesick.”
Avery shrugged. “A bit. I’ll be going home soon for Rosh Hashanah. That should help.”
It hit me that I didn’t want her to go. Foolish thoughts. “What can I do to help you settle in here?”
Now her lips turned up. “Things like this help.”
“Ahh, so you’re no longer upset I insisted on driving you home?”
“I would have preferred not to need it, but…no, I’m not upset.”
I placed my elbows on the table and bent forward, needing a whiff of that special Avery scent.
“Good. Because I’m glad I did.” I didn’t say it, but I was sure it was implied—the kiss was worth it.
Her cheeks warmed and I took that as a good sign.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?”
I pointed around the corner and followed the sway of her hips as she left the area. When I was sure she was gone, I tugged my phone from my pocket and found a text waiting for me.
Wrong Number: You send mixed signals. Should I be smart and think first or jump this guy?
Me: I never said to behave like my sister.
Wrong Number: Well, now you really are no help.
Not my place to be helpful. Wrong Number needed someone to help her work through her issues. That was all.
Me: What do you want from this guy?
Wrong Number: No clue.
Me: A fun time? Something more?
Our order came up. I collected the food and brought it back to our table.
Wrong Number: I’m temporary. What more could there be?
Me: Then there’s your answer.
Wrong Number: Not sure that’s right, either.
This woman fought herself at every turn. She clearly wanted something, but if I mentioned that, she’d probably run. She needed to work her own way though this mess.
Me: You’re lucky I’m used to circular girl logic thanks to my sister, but I’m out of my depth. Only you can answer this.
Wrong Number: You suck.
Me: Gladly.
I put my phone away when I caught Avery round the corner, only feeling mildly awkward about my exchange with Wrong Number. It was fun teasing at this point, nothing to feel embarrassed about.
“Oh, that looks good.” Avery settled into her seat.
I served us each a slice and some bread. “It is.”
She took a bite and closed her eyes. “Either I’m really, really hungry, or this is really good.”
I took a bite. “Possibly a combination of both.”
She tried the garlic bread, eyes closing once again. I wanted to be the one to put that look on her face, and not because I picked the restaurant.
“Okay. I forgive you.”
I paused in my chewing. “For?”
She waved a hand. “Oh, anything. Clean slate. I’ll excuse your next few indiscretions.”
I placed my hand next to hers on the table, stroking her palm. Maybe I’d take the advice I gave to Wrong Number. “So I get a free pass?”
I expected Avery to pull her hand back. She didn’t.
“Perhaps.” She then moved it to take another bite. “Depends on how well you play the game.”
“Am I going to be graded?”
She laughed and had to cover her mouth. “Do you want to be? I thought stuff like that messed with the male ego?”
“Try me. I’m not your average guy.”
Amusement danced in her eyes. I wanted to taste her, feel her, tease her. I’d never met anyone quite like her.
“I should really thank my mother for hiring you,” I said.
Avery froze. “Why?”
“Because it allowed me to meet you.”
“You don’t need to butter me up. I deal with sweets all day.”
“Sure I do. When it’s warranted.”
“What am I going to do about you?” Avery spoke softly, and I wasn’t sure if she intended me to hear or not.
“Keep me around until you figure it out.”
Her eyes darted up to mine, a promise simmering beneath the brown depths. I was a fish out of water with her. I wouldn’t have it a
ny other way.
*
“Thanks for taking care of me tonight,” Avery said as we stood in between her car and mine at the bakery after finishing our meal. The secluded area had a motion-activated security light, allowing me to see the three freckles on her nose. “It turned into a really nice night.”
I angled into her, placing a hand on her roof. “Yes. It was.”
She didn’t back up, didn’t move to get away from me. I leaned in slowly, giving her a chance to decide against a second kiss. She met me halfway.
Fire burned in the simple first touch of her lips to mine, turning to a blue inferno when she opened for me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight, not letting our lips break contact.
Her hands went to my hair, which was fair because I had one hand wrapped around the end strands of hers. I pushed closer, knowing damn well she’d feel what she did to me. She needed to know what kind of danger she played with.
She moaned, which did nothing for my self-control. Darkness wrapped around us like a cocoon, our lack of movement turning off the security light. It should have spurred me on. Instead, it reminded me of where we were, and outside the bakery wasn’t the place for this, regardless of what happened from here. I put some air between us, lightened my kisses until they were whisper soft, then stepped back.
The closest streetlight still gave a hint of illumination, allowing me to make out Avery’s form and some details.
She tightened her grip on my hair. Her eyes fluttered open and a smile crossed her face. “Where you going?”
“That part’s up to you. But the parking lot is the wrong setting.”
She blinked and looked around.
“I had forgotten where we were.” She laughed, a nervous lilt working in. “I should go home. Attempt more sleep.”
“Attempt?” Sure, sleep was going to be a long time coming for me the way I strained against the confines of my jeans, but that didn’t mean she had the same problem.
“Yes, attempt. This afternoon was rare.”
I put more distance between us, because it was too tempting to do the opposite. “Good night, Avery. Sweet dreams.”
She placed a hand on my cheek and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. “Same to you.”
The security light clicked back on as she rounded her car to the driver’s side. The cool air engulfed me. I stood there as she got into her car and drove away, before finally doing the same. My thoughts filled with her, from the smoothness of her hair to the sweet vanilla smell of her skin, to the taste of her tongue. By the time I made it home, I was in desperate need of a distraction and sent a text to Wrong Number.
Me: Did you succeed?
Wrong Number: Common sense prevailed.
Me: Is that good or bad?
Wrong Number: For now, I’m going with good.
Me: Lucky guy.
I needed to ask for his number so we could commiserate.
Wrong Number: Haha. What about you? Anything happen with that new someone?
Me: Perhaps.
Wrong Number: Then you should go bug your special someone.
Me: I don’t have her number.
And that grated. I planned to fix that the next chance I got. Then Avery and I could be having conversations like this.
Wrong Number: You have my number, but you don’t have hers?
Me: Technically, I got your number by magic.
Wrong Number: Magic?
Me: Cosmic interference?
Wrong Number: Stubby fingers and a bad memory?
Me: Hey now.
She sent me a kiss emoji.
Wrong Number: I should go. Be good to your new relationship.
Me: Yes, ma’am.
Wrong Number: LOL. Good night.
Me: Night.
I plugged my phone into the charger and stripped down before climbing into bed. I placed my head on the pillow and closed my eyes, images of Avery floating around. Wrong Number was right. I didn’t want to mess things up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Avery
Music swirled around my kitchen as I bopped to the music and added ingredients to my mixer. I had changed into a T-shirt and planned to use my energy to try modifying Nell’s recipe.
My phone rang. I glanced at it, prepared to ignore the call since I’d taken off my hearing aid, until my mother’s face appeared on the screen. I moved to pick it up, only to spot the egg, flour, and butter dripping from my digits. My pinky appeared to only have a dusting of flour, so I used it to answer and click on speaker.
“Hang on, Mom. I’ve got music on and my aid off and I’m baking.” I used the same pinky to turn off the music.
Mom’s voice rang out, but I couldn’t identify the words. I quickly washed my hands and popped the earbud in my ear, the one I kept on hand for situations like this, since I couldn’t use it while wearing my aids.
“Avery, honey, can you hear me?”
“I can now. What’s up?” I continued working as I talked, careful not to mess up my demo.
“Your hearing aid’s been fixed.”
I paused in my mixing to do a happy dance. “Wow, that was fast.”
“It’s been longer than you think. You must be settling in.”
Hot kisses with the boss’s son could do that to a woman.
“Anyways, I scheduled the appointment for when you’ll be here for Rosh Hashanah.”
Perfect. No special trips back to home required. “Thanks, Mom. It’ll be good to have the aid back and hear better.”
“Causing problems?”
I added more flour and checked on my melting butter. “No, not really. But it’s hard to get to know most of my coworkers when I can’t hear as well as normal.”
“Most? So you are getting to know some?” Mom’s voice took on a curious and forceful quality.
Oops.
“Yeah, most. I’ve been hanging out with Hannah, my boss’s daughter who manages the bakers.” I debated my next line, but figured Mom would drill it out of me eventually. “And her brother, Jake.”
There hadn’t been anyone since Erik. I played the part of the mourning girlfriend well, even if it was more mourning friend and business partner. Everyone seemed to have different ideas on when I should move on, when it would be too soon, not realizing my main concern was: how could I fulfill his bakery dream on my own?
“Does he work there, too?”
“No. He’s a hairdresser. Or, really he does work there two nights a week, but I think that’s more to help out his mom.”
“Oh, a hairdresser.” Mom practically deflated over the line.
I burst out laughing as I turned off the stove. Mom had been one of the early ones to push me to move on, not realizing that push lead me to being here, in Massachusetts, baking in my temporary kitchen. “And what does that mean?”
“Nothing, darling. You know I don’t have a problem with that.”
“With hairdressers?”
“No, no that part.”
“So you’d have a problem if I was dating one?”
“You’re dating someone?” She jumped right past my teasing, way too eager. “Who?”
I added the butter to the wet ingredients. “Jake. The hairdresser.”
“I knew you’d meet someone. And now you’re going to settle down and never move back home.”
I nearly dropped my bowl. “I’ve been on two dates with the guy. My plans haven’t changed.”
Couldn’t change. I owed it to Erik to continue with the plan. It had been the reason we initially met, the reason we became friends. For four years we planned: his business model, my food. He put so much of himself into it, I couldn’t let it die with him, not like our romance had.
I waited for the guilt over seeing someone else. It didn’t come.
“No, but it will change. You’ll stay there, with this new guy, and never move back home,” Mom said.
I rolled my neck. She knew about the plan, the bakery Erik told everyone about with stars in his eyes and my d
esire to see it through, but she had no reason to be this worried.
“Mom. I need you to tone yourself down about a thousand degrees. I’m in a new area, all alone, and I happen to be making friends.”
“With your boss’s children. And I hear your voice. You’re quite taken with this boy.”
I stuck a spoon in the mixture with more force than necessary. Had she been the same way when I started dating Erik? No, of course not. We were in college.
“It’s been two dates. Can we at least wait a few months before having this conversation and see if I’m still dating Jake then?”
“You will be. A mother knows these things.”
“Does a mother also know when she’s hit her limit with her daughter?”
“I see how it is. I’m happy for you, sweetie. It’s been a long year. You deserve happiness. Be well. I’ll see you soon.”
I disconnected with Mom and turned on the mixer. For the first time, I truly felt myself moving on, healing from the past. Ironic since the whole reason I was in Massachusetts was for Erik’s dream. He’d been the one that wanted a good rugelach recipe and felt Nell’s would be the one to beat. He wanted to go back, get another taste, make it our own.
He’d been talking about it when he collapsed.
I pushed those dark memories aside. I’d take this bit of happiness, make it my recovery, then finish healing when I moved back home. Because even if Jake did feel different than the rest, I meant what I told Dick Guy. He was only temporary.
*
The cookies were a success. At least, my own palate couldn’t detect a difference. I even managed a few more hours of sleep before packaging them up and heading into work.
The usual smells and commotion hit me as soon as I entered the back. I waved to a few of the other bakers, even managed a ten-second conversation with one—“Cold out this morning, huh?” “Sure is”—before donning my apron and getting to work. A thought occurred to me as I prepped my counter—I was settling in. This was no longer some new place I hadn’t figured out yet. I knew the vibe and the feel. Didn’t matter that I still couldn’t communicate as well as I would have liked.
A sense of contentment worked over me and remained during the hectic morning hours.
