by R. C. Martin
“Yeah. I guess she hadn’t planned on staying so long and she forgot she was supposed to be somewhere. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
Daphne grins before she asks, “Did you offer her the job?” I nod and she brushes her hands against each other. “Well then, my work here is done. Bookclub is going to start in a minute. Rome, just bring Care over when you’re ready,” she instructs, kissing the babe in passing.
“Sarah’s going to be working here? She moved back?” asks Roman.
“Yup,” I answer simply, annoyed that he and Logan can be added to the fold of people who remember Sarah far better than I can. “So, Logan, Daph said you wanted to talk to me. What’s up?”
As I change the direction of the conversation, they both follow, for which I am grateful. Logan and I talk business for a few minutes before I leave them to bond with Caroline. For the rest of the day, I help out behind the counter and make a list of all the things I want to train Sarah to do throughout the remainder of the week. With any luck, she’ll feel comfortable in her new position before the end of the month.
After I get everything closed up and ready for the next day, I ride home. It takes me no more than fifteen minutes to make the journey, the warm breeze at my back, the moon already up in the sky. Like most days, I’m wiped out by the time I carry my bike inside, mounting it up on the wall where I usually store it. The studio apartment I call home is just as tidy as I left it. These days, I’m not here enough to mess it up.
I hop in the shower before I fall into bed. Just as I close my eyes, Sarah finds her way into my thoughts. Suddenly, I’m impatient for tomorrow, for the chance to see her again. It makes it damn near impossible for me to fall asleep. When my alarm clock sounds at the ass-crack of dawn, I can’t be certain if I got any sleep at all. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing her has me out of bed and out the door in no time.
I don’t know why I’m so anxious, knowing I can’t have her. The most I can hope for is that we’ll be friends—no matter how sexy I think she is. She works for me, now. Yet, regardless of how many times I repeat that truth, I still find myself looking at the clock every half an hour, wishing seven o’clock would hurry up and get here faster.
As soon as a knock sounds at the front door, I immediately drop what I’m doing to go answer it. When I see her through the glass, I slow my pace, unable to stop myself from taking her all in. Her long locks from yesterday are now contained in a loose side braid that drapes over her shoulder. She’s in a pair of shorts and a printed top that sculpts her form in such a way that makes my heart race. Her oversized purse is strapped on her shoulder and she’s got what looks like a yellow covered tablet in her hands. I have to remind myself, as I unlock the door, that she’s off limits.
Look all you want, but you can’t touch.
“Morning,” I say in greeting.
“Hi,” she replies with a smile. “So, I wasn’t really sure what to wear. I don’t know what your rules are here, so I brought a change of clothes if what I’m wearing isn’t appropriate.”
A grin spreads across my face as I catch a glimpse of her from behind before she turns to face me. I lock us in as I assure her, “What you’ve got on is perfect. My biggest rule is no open toed shoes. Also, if you’ve got long hair, it’s gotta be pulled back. But you’ve got that covered already.”
“Great. One more thing—I brought my own apron. Is that okay? It’s not that I’m trying to be, like, special or anything—I’m just attached to it. I used to take it to school with me and put it on whenever I had lunch duty. Kids and messes kind of go hand-in-hand.”
My grin stays firmly intact as I listen to her, her uncertainty causing her words to come out hurried. Honestly, she could ask me just about anything right now and I wouldn’t be able to deny her. I’m entirely too happy that she's here. Just the same, I decide to mess with her a little. “Well, I don’t know. Let’s see it,” I insist, folding my arms across my chest.
“Okay.” She sets her things on a nearby table and turns her back to me as she digs through her bag. I see a flash of pink as she finds the object in question and loops the top strap over her head before securing the ties around her waist in a bow.
When she turns around, revealing a pink apron covered in white polka-dots, my smile slips and my cock twitches. It’s certainly not the reaction I was expecting, but the cut of the apron accentuates the swell of her breasts and I can’t help but notice. Somehow, she’s managed to look alluring and adorable all at once.
Look all you want, but you can’t touch.
“Um,” I finally manage. “It’s good. Yeah. You can wear it. Not a problem.”
“Thank you.” She grins at me and I know I won’t survive this day. “So, where should I put my things?”
“Come on back,” I tell her, happy for the distraction. “I’ll give you a quick tour before we get started.”
After he shows me the lay of the land and I stow away my things, he brings me back to the kitchen. It smells amazing and I don’t hesitate to tell him as much.
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, pulling out a stool and signaling for me to sit. “Your first order of business will be to try everything that’s on the menu today.” My jaw drops open as he sets a plate full of pastries in front of me.
Best. First day. Ever.
“You don’t have to eat it all—”
“Oh, but can I?” I mutter, reaching for the first scone that I see.
He chuckles. “Eat as much as you’d like, just be sure to try everything. It’s important that my staff knows what everything tastes like so you can describe it to customers who have questions. I make the pastries on a weekly rotation, unless I get a special order.”
As soon as the buttery scone begins to melt on my tongue, a moan I can’t contain forces itself from my throat. “You made this? This morning?” I ask with a mouthful.
He nods at me with a smirk.
“Am I eating a butter pecan scone?”
He nods once more, his smirk turning into a smile.
Shit. I’m in so much trouble. How in the hell is my battered heart supposed to compete with that smile and this scone made by that sexy man who I keep imagining in nothing but his damn apron?
Too much smut. I’ve been reading too much smut!
Or maybe not enough…
“Remember, you have to try everything. I’ll be right back,” he tells me, leaving me with the plate of deliciousness.
By the time he returns, I’ve tried his lemon poppyseed scone, his apple-carrot-raisin loaf, his cinnamon swirl coffee cake, and I’m devouring his blueberry crumble muffin. I can’t even bring myself to be ashamed of my gluttony—with four more things left to try.
“That one’s a best seller,” he says with a wink as I polish it off.
If baked goods are my weakness, Brandon’s baked goods just may be the death of me. Especially if they come with a wink.
I look away from him, afraid I’ll start staring if I don’t. I reach for another pastry as I pull my phone out of my pocket, needing a better distraction just as much as I need to share the discovery of my new favorite muffin.
Me: OMG. If you think my baking is good, you haven’t LIVED until you’ve tried Brandon’s blueberry crumble muffin.
To my delight, and relief, she shoots back a text almost immediately.
Aria: Yum! Guess I know where I’m coming for lunch…
Me: Dear Lord—I just bit into a chocolate zucchini muffin. This job is going to make me SO fat.
Aria: Lol. Are you eating the whole pastry case or what?!?
Aria: Josh teaches a kickboxing class three nights a week! (MWF) Come with me!
Me: YES! Also—I really am eating the whole pastry case. Boss’s orders.
Aria: Clearly I’m in the wrong profession.
Aria: Anyway, gotta jet. Can’t be late for work. See you at lunch! Happy First Day!!!!
“If you finish that entire plate, I swear, I’m giving you a raise.”
I look up
to find Brandon not two feet away, leaning against the work island where I sit, watching me. It isn’t until I look down at the plate that I realize I’ve now eaten two whole muffins and at least half of everything else.
If I were a blushing woman, my cheeks would be on fire. Lucky for me, I only blush when I’m intoxicated. Right now, I’m just drunk on sugar, which is so much better and much less embarrassing. Yet, when I think about it, I recognize that I’ve never been embarrassed about my ability to consume an obnoxious amount of baked deliciousness. When my eyes move from the plate to meet Brandon’s hazel irises, I remember that it’s him that’s making me anxious.
I clear my throat and try and think of something clever to say to dispel the awkward moment that’s filled with my silence. “Hi. My name is Sarah. I’m a sugarholic…I’m about ten seconds sober.”
He laughs and I temporarily forget why I’m not supposed to want him. “Hi, Sarah.”
“Too bad about that raise,” I quip, pushing the plate away from me. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” he tells me before he reaches for the remnants of the lemon poppyseed scone and pops it into his mouth.
Dammit. Don’t watch him eat. Is eating supposed to be sexy? Or is that the sugar talking?
“So, I’m trying to work out the schedule. Before I add you in, I wanted to make sure I didn’t put you down for when you’re not available.”
“Oh—I’m yours whenever. I mean—” I sit up straighter, shaking my head to clear my mind of the various—and more preferable—ways that statement could be interpreted. “My schedule is open. I can work whenever.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to my slip-up.
“Yeah. Well—no,” I correct myself, remembering my recent text exchange. “Could I have Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings off? And Sunday, maybe? Wait—when do you usually take off?”
“I don’t work Sundays. But if you need that day off, we can make that work. Joey is my Sunday guy. He’s got a key.”
“Sunday is your only day off?” He nods his reply, his focus directed to the notepad in his hand. I realize how excessive my requests sound, knowing he’s here six days a week, and I’m quick to change my mind.“I’m sorry. Forget everything I just said. I’m new—I’ll work when you tell me to. If you need me to work Sundays—”
“First of all, don’t apologize. I don’t want anyone to feel like they can’t have a life because they work here. I’ll figure it out; it’s okay,” he assures me, pulling his eyes away from the paper to look at me. “Tabitha, Joey, Rachael, and Eryn are all students—when school’s in session, they pull a lot of evening shifts. Now, do you do something on Sundays you can’t do any other day?”
“Um, yeah. I go to church. Well, sort of.”
He lifts an eyebrow as he folds his arms across his chest. “Sort of?”
“I’m sort of in between churches at the moment. Anyway—if you need me on Sundays, I’ll work.”
“No. You’ll have Sundays off. You can come to church with me,” he says, returning his attention to his notepad. “I’ll make sure to have the schedule completed by the end of the day so you can have an idea of how to plan the rest of your week.”
His invitation is so nonchalant, matter-of-fact, and quickly discarded, I almost miss it. “Wait, what?”
“The schedule—”
“No, before that,” I say, waving my hand as if I’m pushing time itself back a few seconds.
“You and me. Church. Sunday,” he says, smiling as he continues to scribble on the page in front of him.
“Really?”
He tucks his notepad under his arm and shoves his pen into his knotted ponytail as he reaches for another unfinished pastry. “In my experience, when my life is a mess, God has a way of cleaning it up a bit. The world sucks and people are complicated and shit happens. I don’t know what the world threw at you, but you’re more than welcome to come to church with me on Sunday.” He tosses the pastry into his mouth and then nods as he makes his way around me. “Come on, let me show you how to open the register.”
For a moment, his statement has me frozen in thought. What I said to him yesterday, my admission that my life’s a mess these days, he heard me. I find it incredibly sweet that he seems to care. At the same time, I feel undeserving of his compassion. He’s got it figured out wrong. The world didn’t throw anything at me. I’m the one to blame.
“Sarah?” he calls from the front.
I reach for the last bite of the cinnamon swirl coffee cake, hoping it’ll help ease the ache in my chest. I don’t have time to indulge my emotions just now. I’ve got a job to do.
WHEN ARIA WALKS INTO LB at one o’clock, I’m incredibly relieved. My sugar high wore off a while ago and Brandon has been pumping me full of information for hours. It’s not so much the information that is wearing me down—it’s the constant battle between my lustful heart and my stubborn brain that does it. As I try and remember everything Brandon is teaching me, I can’t help but commit a few extra details to memory.
For instance, the way he smells—his hours spent in the kitchen have coated him in a mouthwatering aroma of baked deliciousness; but when he gets close enough, I get a hint of what lies beneath. It reminds me of laundry hung out to dry on a spring day—fresh, clean, but with this dangerously tempting undertone of earthiness. And his hair—it’s silky and thick. I know this not because I’ve touched it, but because as the day wears on and his ponytail loosens, a few strands fall from the confines of his hair tie and into his face. I couldn’t help but notice every time he swept a piece behind his ear until he gave up and re-knotted his luscious mane.
When I looked away, annoyed with myself for not being able to ignore my attraction to him, I noticed that Eryn and Tabitha had watched him right along with me. Eryn winked at me when she caught my eye and then turned back to the register. Tabitha giggled before she told me they love watching him do that; she then proceeded to tell me that they’ve only ever looked but never touched. Apparently, he doesn’t date much. Furthermore, he’s more buddy-buddy than flirty.
Her observation makes me wonder about the moment he and I had just yesterday—when he told me to keep my chin up.
Don’t ever hide those eyes.
“Mmmmmm,” Aria hums, pulling me from my thoughts. I smile at her, watching as she pinches another bite of muffin between her fingers. “You’re right. This is life,” she mumbles.
“I know! I’m really going to need those kickboxing classes.”
“Josh’ll kick your ass, but it’s totally—” She stops mid-sentence, her eyes focusing in on something behind me. “Tell me that’s him. Tell me he’s the man behind this foodgasm I’m currently having. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
I turn to see who she’s looking at, knowing already who I’ll find. Brandon’s restocking the pastry case, Eryn and Tabitha engaging him in conversation as he works. Whatever they’re talking about must be amusing, because his lips are pulled into a smile, revealing his perfect teeth.
Teeth…I wonder what it would feel like to have his teeth sinking into my skin. Would I like that? Something tells me I’d like anything he’d wish to do to my body.
“Shit,” I grumble, shaking my head and directing my focus back across the table.
“Shit?” she questions, her face broadcasting how crazy she thinks I am in this moment. “More like fuck. As in, fuck you. As in, I hope he fucks you because he’s hawt!”
“Aria!” I chastise.
My brain is already starting to fill up with inappropriate thoughts about that man. I do not need her help.
“What?” she asks with a shrug. “I’m totally serious. Plus, you know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else—and he is the perfect someone else.”
I pull my lip between my teeth, suddenly feeling embarrassed. The truth is, I’ve never been under anyone. The horrifying reality is, that truth is what has my heart flipping me off
yet again!
“Why are you looking at me like that? Why are you giving me virgin eyes right now?”
My mouth falls open and I try to fill it with words, but I can’t figure out what to say. I mean—virgin eyes? Really?
“Oh, my god. You’re a virgin?” she whispers, leaning toward me across the table. I nod. “Are you saving yourself? For, like, wedding bells and all that jazz?”
I cover my face with my hands as I take a deep breath. I think of Luke. I think of the months we spent together—the months I spent falling in love with him. I think of all the times I told him no and the one time I told him yes. I think of that red coat—that fucking red coat.
For the first twenty-three-and-a-half years of my life, I was saving myself for marriage. It’s how I was raised. More than that, I knew that I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved—someone I loved enough to spend forever with. So, while I’ve kissed my fair share of guys, it’s never been more than that. Then I met Luke. I met Luke and I wanted him like I’ve never wanted anyone. I was so scared! Not of him, never of him, but you can’t get your virginity back—I just wanted to be sure he was the right one to give it to.
I had decided. I loved him and he told me he loved me. He told me he wanted me. He told me how he wanted me. No one had ever longed for me the way he did and so I changed my mind about waiting…
“Sarah?” Aria murmurs, gently rubbing my arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, no. It’s not you,” I insist, pulling my hands away from my face. “I just—I don’t know what I’m waiting for anymore.”
“There’s no shame in holding out,” she tells me, the smile on her face easing my embarrassment. “I gave up my V-card when I was sixteen. I wish I had waited. I never would have lasted until I got married, but I’ve got some guys on my list that I wish I didn’t. I have Josh now, though. I love that man so much it hurts sometimes. He’s—everything. The way he treats my body, the way he worships it, the way he takes great care in ensuring that I experience the most pleasure possible—that’s worth waiting for. So, there’s no shame in being a virgin. No judgment here. I understand if you haven’t found the right person yet.”
