by Sara Whitney
Time to push aside his dream and make the rounds of the area bakeries again. The faster he locked down his next job, the better he’d sleep at night and the sooner he’d know what he’d be doing the next day. At least he had one lead.
He reached into his back pocket to retrieve the crumpled paper with one crucial notation on it: Saturday, 8 a.m., followed by a phone number but no name. Shit.
He heaved a breath, dialed, and braced himself. He hated phone calls in general, but this one was infinitely worse because the train redhead was the kind of confident, fashionable woman who left him even more tongue-tied than usual. He listened to the phone ring and willed himself not to think about the light, citrusy smell of her hair, which had lingered like a phantom the whole train ride home last night.
“This is Josie.” The voice on the other end of the phone was crisp and professional and nothing like the confrontational tone he was expecting.
“Is, uh, is this the redhead?” His mouth suddenly felt too full of saliva, and oh, he hated this. Talking on the phone amplified every bit of awkwardness he brought with him in all his interactions with strangers.
At first he only heard background clatter, and then a hiss came over the line. “Listen, asshole, I don’t know who you are or how you got this number, but I’m not—”
An unexpected laugh rolled through him, taking him by surprise and loosening the tightness in his chest. He’d boarded the train last night to find a fierce little tyrant staring down a harasser with violence shining in his eyes. Of course the same woman who didn’t back down in the face of obvious danger and then yelled at her rescuer would try to start shit over the phone.
“My God, is your default setting Fight?” With effort, he wrestled his amused surprise into submission and flattened his voice. “This is Erik Andersson from the bakery. And the L.”
That shut her up.
“I… okay. What do you want? And how’d you get my number?”
He blew out a breath. “Bakery paperwork. Are you still with your friend?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“Can we talk? I have a proposition.”
Now she was the one huffing a short laugh. “Wow. Sure. Um, we’re at Blake’s Coffee, a few blocks away. You know it?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to join us there?”
No. But he needed to make this work. “See you soon.”
Four
“Well. You’ll never guess who that was.” Josie raised her mug to her lips and studied Richard over the rim. The grim brackets around his mouth showed that he was still shaken by their experience with Dora the Destroyer, but he forced a smile.
“Hot cross bun from the bakery. He wants to fall at our feet and apologize.”
She set the mug down in astonishment. “How do you always know?”
He grinned and slicked a hand over his tight black curls. “Context clues and a top-notch brain.”
Josie scraped her chair closer to the table to let a man squeeze past in the cramped seating area. “I don’t actually know that he’s coming to apologize,” she warned as the guy’s overcoat sleeve dipped perilously close to her coffee. “Maybe he’s going to demand payment for the free cake we scammed. Byron better earn a bonus this month to cover our dessert bills.”
Richard’s mouth tugged down, and Josie nudged his ankle with her Tieks-clad toe.
“Missing him?”
He nodded. “Wishing he could be more involved. I know he doesn’t control his travel schedule, but…”
“Yeah.”
Richard, Byron, Josie, and Josie’s roommate, Finn, were all in the PR/marketing biz in various capacities, but Byron was the only one whose work regularly took him out of town to meet the vendors whose accounts he managed.
“Where is it this week?” she asked.
“La Crosse.” Richard’s voice was so gloomy Wisconsin might as well be Siberia, so she returned to the subject that had pulled a reluctant smile from him earlier.
“About Mr. Man Bun. Did you see those arms? I bet he could bench-press me. Maybe you and me at the same time even.” She fanned herself with a lazy hand.
Richard’s teeth flashed, then vanished just as quickly. “Girl, he could hang one of us from each bicep and do curls. If that guy doesn’t have a thirst-trap Insta account with a billion workout ab shots, then I quit life.”
Her fingers involuntarily twitched toward her phone to search “hot Chicago baker,” but she forced them to behave. “Too bad he’s not my type.”
He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Excuse me? I thought Nordic god-men were everyone’s type.”
She reached for another sugar packet. “Big and brooding’s nice to look at, but I’m more into confidence and a three-piece suit.” She dumped the crystals into her already-sweet coffee and stirred, looking up when Richard snorted.
“Oh yeah? And how did your last five dates with the suit-wearing ‘so-confident-it-borders-on-narcissism’ guys go?” Richard just laughed when she stirred her coffee harder. “I’m not saying date the hot baker, and anyway, you probably already scared him off. But I am saying maybe what you think is your type is really more your mom’s type, and you’re only dating them to win her approval.”
“Hey!” Her mug hit the table with a thunk, and Richard raised his hands in surrender.
“Ooooh, sorry. I retract. It’s your fault and your fault alone that you’re the most single girl in Chicago.”
“Damn righ— Hey!” she said again, but he just laughed evilly and went to fetch another refill for himself.
She twisted in her chair to call after him, “Everybody loves a man in a suit!” but her words were lost in the scream of the cappuccino machine. She exhaled a similar gust of hot, agitated air and turned back around in time to see the door swing open to admit the big blond baker. Erik, he’d said. And her eyes hadn’t deceived her during their previous two meetings. He was, to dust off a word she hadn’t had much use for previously, positively strapping. All he needed was an ax and a blue ox.
Nope. Definitely not her type.
Bright blue eyes swept the crowded shop and landed on her. As before, not even the tiniest flicker in his somber expression showed that he recognized her as he weaved through the packed tables with surprising grace for such a big man. When he reached the table, he stood close enough that the scent of vanilla on his skin edged out the acrid burn of coffee beans.
“Hi.” She tipped her head up, up, up. “Do me a solid and sit down before I permanently damage my neck.”
He complied and laced his fingers together on the table in front of him. “Hello,” he said, studying her with a frown hovering at the edge of those unreadable blue eyes. Yet again, she was reminded of her uncharacteristically frazzled appearance. She couldn’t have paused to apply a little lip gloss at some point?
She was about to fall into a vanity-induced downward spiral when Richard returned to take control of the situation.
“If you’re not here to apologize, don’t bother getting comfortable.” Her friend took his seat like royalty reclaiming the throne, and the big man across from him grimaced.
“I am here to apologize. And to make you an offer.”
Richard sipped his coffee and said nothing. Mr. Strong but Silent cast her a glance she couldn’t interpret before turning back to Richard, his massive shoulders heaving upward before slumping back down. “I let myself spend too much time in the back. I had no idea she was…” The muscles in his jaw bunched and released. “I’m sorry.”
Richard’s mouth hardened. “That’s great, but I’m sorry doesn’t cut it when—”
“And I quit.”
His words stopped Richard short.
“I should’ve quit a long time ago.” Erik unlocked his fingers and flattened them on the table. “And if you’re still looking for a baker, I could use the work. I’m…” Pink invaded the blades of his cheeks above his golden scruff. “I made and decorated the cakes at the Cake Shoppe. I’m t
he reason it’s been successful.”
“How long did you work there?” Josie asked.
“Close to half a year.”
Richard glanced at her. “Right around the time the bakery started getting buzz for those gorgeous designs.”
“And the flavors,” Erik added, ducking his head.
He ducked his head. Josie blinked. Had she just witnessed a genuine apology followed by genuine bashful modesty? She clearly spent too much time with marketing bros who never apologized and never missed the chance to brag. This denim-clad creature in front of her was some entirely new style of masculinity.
“We weren’t properly introduced before.” Richard set his drink on the table. “I’m Richard Washington. This is Josie Ryan. And you are?”
“Erik Andersson.”
Richard leaned forward with a hard gleam in his eye. “Was she pissed when you left?”
Erik’s lips twitched. “Not as pissed as she’ll be when she realizes I didn’t leave any of my recipes behind.”
“Hey! Good for you!” Josie held her hand up for a high five, and after a moment’s hesitation, he delivered the world’s most gentle smack to her palm. His dinner-plate hand dwarfed hers. Mmmm. Big hands, big—
“So the hazelnut,” Richard said. Damn his timing. “That was you? And the pistachio?”
Erik nodded.
“Hired. You’re hired.” Just then, Richard’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Byron. You two keep chatting. This Georgia boy needs to talk to his peach.” He shot Josie a quick wink as he pushed away from the table, weaving through the maze of coffee drinkers and leaving her alone with a big, broody, not-at-all-her-type man who had a distinctly pained look on his face.
Well, damn. Maybe she wasn’t his type either, and didn’t that thought chafe a bit?
“So what do you plan to do n—” she started to ask, but Richard’s return interrupted her.
His whole body was rigid, and he held the phone tight to his ear. “What? When?” He listened to a staccato voice on the other end. “Okay. Okay, thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” When he ended the call, the phone slipped from his fingers to clatter on the table. “Byron was in a car accident in La Crosse.”
Josie gasped. “Oh no. Is he…?”
“He’s in surgery. They took him to the Mayo Clinic by helicopter. I guess it’s the closest level-one trauma center.” Richard’s voice wavered, and he swallowed a few times before continuing. “They’re worried about a head injury, and he’s also got broken ribs and God knows what else.”
Josie placed her hand over his and squeezed. “What do you need?”
His eyes snapped to hers, suddenly focused. “I have to go. I have to get there. I have to be there when he wakes up.”
Her planning brain spun into gear. “Of course you do. Okay, you leave right now and go home to pack. Take enough for a long stay just in case. Do you want me to rent you a car?”
“It’s a six-hour drive. Might be faster for him to fly.”
Erik’s voice startled her; she’d actually forgotten he was still at the table with them.
Richard shook his head helplessly. “I can’t. I-I need to—”
“Just go,” Josie ordered. “I’ll do the research and book you whatever’s the quickest. I’ll send you details.”
Richard stood, and she stood too to pull him into a quick, hard hug.
“He’ll be okay,” she whispered.
“He’d better be.” He pulled away, wiped his eyes, and jogged from the coffee shop.
Okay. Time to figure out the best way to get Richard out of town. She woke up her phone and started pecking at the screen.
“What city’s the Mayo Clinic even in?” she muttered.
“Rochester, Minnesota.” Erik’s answer was immediate even though she hadn’t really been asking him.
“Thanks, human Google,” she said distractedly as she waited for the results to load. Too slow. Was it worth dashing back to her apartment to do this on an actual computer?
“Here.” Erik reached into his bag and produced something wonderful: a MacBook.
“Oh, bless you,” she breathed. She opened a flight search in one tab, pulled up information on the nearest car rental place in another, and zoomed in on a map showing hotels in Rochester in a third.
“Got it. Good. This can work.” Once she’d decided on the best plan, she fished her credit card out of her wallet and started entering information into the required fields.
On public Wi-Fi. On a stranger’s computer. Her fingers hesitated over the keys.
She shook her head and kept typing. Take care of Richard first, deal with any identity fraud fallout later. A few keystrokes and it was done. She switched to her phone and, in a flurry of swipes, forwarded the confirmation emails to Richard, then dialed his number.
Voicemail picked up as Erik said, “Tell him to pack layers. The rooms in Mayo can be cold.”
She nodded, then spoke into the phone. “Nonstop to Rochester leaves from O’Hare in two hours. The flight’s an hour and ten minutes. I’ll text you the info. I also emailed you information for the three hotels closest to the Mayo Clinic, but maybe you’ll want to stay with Byron tonight if they’ll let you. Let me know. Oh, and your new baker says to pack layers for the hospital. I love you.”
She hung up the phone and slowly became aware of a warmth between her shoulder blades where Erik’s massive hand rested with the lightest possible pressure. As soon as she noticed, he pulled it away.
“Mayo also has twenty-four-hour family waiting rooms.”
The gentleness of his tone surprised her, and that’s when she realized her cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh wow,” she said shakily, dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her fleece, the coffeehouse chatter rushing back to flood her senses now that she was out of hyperfocus mode. “I didn’t mean to…” She blew out a breath and met his bright blue gaze. “Thanks for staying.”
“Where else do I have to be?” For the first time in their strange acquaintance, he smiled at her for real, with teeth and everything. Despite her concern for Byron, she almost fell out of her chair at how damn attractive he looked when he wasn’t frowning at her.
“You know a lot about the Mayo Clinic. Did you—”
The buzzing of her phone cut her off, and she scooped it up. A fraction of the tension drained from her neck and shoulders as she read the text.
“Richard’s in an Uber on the way to the airport. He’ll send an update once he’s there.” When she took a final swig of now-cold coffee and stood, Erik stood too.
“Thanks again for…” Blood rushed to her cheeks at the memory of this quiet stranger’s hand warming her with his simple, calming touch. Her flustered reaction made no sense whatsoever, so she rushed to finish her sentence in the most neutral way she could think of. “Thanks for the laptop. I’ll give Richard your number so he can call to talk cake when he’s ready.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay then. See you maybe.” She got three steps from the table when something occurred to her and she whipped around. Even seated, he was a head taller than anyone else in this crowded coffee shop. “Thanks for quitting today.”
That earned her another smile, smaller than before, although it still crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I handled it.”
“That you did.” She smiled back, then left to continue worrying in the privacy of her apartment.
Five
This was dumb.
This was dumb, and he shouldn’t do it.
Yet there went his thumbs, acting independently of his brain, tapping out the text message he’d been mulling over sending for days, mostly because he was a decent human being, partly because he needed the business, and a tiny sliver because he had a perverse need to see what Josie Redhead would be like over text.
How’s your friend’s fiancé?
The deed done, he dropped his phone like it was as hot as that red hair of hers had looked under the sun streaming through
the coffeehouse windows on Saturday. Would she somehow try to pick a fight with him via emoji? The thought made him chuckle quietly even as the rational part of his brain reminded him that no good had ever come from him interacting with a woman like her in anything other than a professional capacity.
Yeah, he shouldn’t have sent that fucking text.
The thought had him pacing the length of his apartment, which took him all of five steps. “Paltry” overstated the percent of his financial resources he’d been willing to allocate for housing in Chicago, and the coffin-sized living space reflected that. Still, it meant when his phone rang from across the room, he was able to reach it in two seconds.
“You answer texts with a call?” he grumbled.
Josie’s laughter tickled his ear. “And you answer the phone without saying hello.”
He grunted, and after a beat she got the hint and picked up the conversational ball.
“Thank you for asking. Byron’s going to be okay.”
“Good.” And he meant it, even though he didn’t know Richard or his fiancé at all. Just seeing the man’s distress on Saturday morning had been enough to keep them on his mind.
Josie wasn’t done with her report. “He’s got a concussion, broken ribs, a broken pelvis. Richard’s going to telecommute from Rochester for at least a few weeks while Byron’s recuperating at Mayo. And do you know what’s wild?”
Wild was Erik having a conversation with Josie Redhead on the phone. Everything about her, from her fashionable clothes to her friendly chatter to her fight-me attitude, should’ve made him run in the opposite direction. But instead of ending the call, he waited for her to tell him.
After a long couple of seconds, she sighed. “C’mon, Man Bun. You’re supposed to answer with a ‘What?’ or an ‘I don’t know.’”
