Beefcake

by Jenna Jacob

  “You picked a winner. There isn’t a single nut in that miniature strawberry cheesecake.”

  “Good enough. I’ll take it then, and a large cup of black coffee. And don’t go putting any of that flavored crap in it. That stuff tastes like perfume.”

  “Got it. Cheesecake and large coffee…hold the perfume,” she teased.

  “Right as rain, missy.” Emmett grinned.

  Ivy hoped the cantankerous old man would become a regular. Like the town itself, Emmett was strangely unique and oddly calming.

  “Quit flirting with that pretty girl, Emmett. You’re holding up the line,” a tall, handsome man several customers back called out. His arm was slung around the waist of a beautiful and very pregnant woman.

  “You could have been in front of me if you hadn’t lazed around in bed all morning, molesting your new bride, Colton,” Emmett volleyed without even glancing over his shoulder.

  “What can I say?” Colton answered with a shrug. “With a wife as pretty as mine, it’s a miracle I ever get out of bed.”

  “By the looks of that big ol’ bump on her belly, you’ve already been spending entirely too much time with her between the sheets.”

  Colton, along with everyone else in line, laughed loud and hard. His wife, whose cheeks were glowing in a bright red blush, simply shook her head.

  “Can you blame me?” Colton countered.

  “Not one damn bit, son. If I had a filly as pretty as Jade in my bed, I sure as heck wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “No, you’d be trying to remember what the hell to do to her, you old fart,” a man wearing grease stained overalls taunted.

  “Stick a sock in it, Cletus. Your bed’s as empty as mine,” Emmett jabbed, again without even turning around. “Stop busting my nuggets and go fix a transmission, boy.”

  Bagging up Emmett’s cheesecake, Ivy couldn’t stop grinning as more verbal taunts sailed back and forth through the air. “You come back and see me, ya hear?”

  “If this cheesecake thing is as sweet as you are beautiful, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be back in the morning, missy.” He sent her another wink before ambling to a vacant table near the front door.

  As he nibbled on his cheesecake, Emmett continued bantering with the people of Haven and filling the shop with raucous laughter.

  A smiling woman, with strawberry-blonde hair and pale green eyes stepped up to the counter. “Hi. I’m Gina Scott. I own the bar across the street. I need to warn you now, my boyfriend has a wicked sweet tooth, so you’re probably going to get real sick of seeing me.”

  “No I won’t, and that’s a promise.” Ivy chuckled. “What do you think your boyfriend might like?”

  “Uh, two of everything you’ve got in that damn case.” Gina grinned. “But let’s start off with a couple of those big, gooey cinnamon rolls and I’ll take that butter crumb coffee cake. I don’t want him going into a sugar coma until I’ve had my wicked way with his fine ass.”

  “Well, they always say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “What I’m after is below his stomach, sweetheart,” Gina quipped with a sassy smile, then lowered her voice. “He’s…immensely gifted.”

  Gina’s lack of filter instantly charmed Ivy. “Oh, my. Then you’ll definitely want to keep him…happy.”

  “Amen, sister.” Gina grinned. “Hey, when you close up shop, come over to the Hangover and I’ll buy you a happy grand opening drink.”

  “Thank you! God knows I need one. I’ve been a nervous wreck about this grand opening.”

  The fact that she was openly sharing her insecurities with the feisty bar owner surprised Ivy. But there was a palpable, genuine congeniality humming off Gina that instantly put Ivy at ease.

  It would be nice to have a friend and confidante in Haven.

  “You really turned this old piece of coal into a shimmering diamond, girl,” Gina complimented. “You’re going to make a killing with this place.”

  “Thank you. I certainly hope so. And I’ll come by for that drink as soon as I can.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Gina clutched her package of sweets and sidled to the cash register as Alma leaned over the display case.

  “Honey, you think you’ll be okay here?” Concern was stamped over her landlord’s face.

  “Oh, yes, Alma. I’m fine. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure. One of the ladies from my Bible study group isn’t feeling well. I want to run by and check on her. Bessie’s a hardheaded old mule and refuses to go see Doc Knight.”

  “By all means, please, go check on your friend and don’t give me a second thought. I appreciate you helping break the ice and introducing me to the people of Haven.”

  “The pleasure was all mine. If you need anything, just give me a call,” Alma instructed before hurrying out the door.

  After Celina finished ringing up Gina’s order, she turned to leave but was quickly wrapped in the arms of an older woman wearing a bright yellow flowing sweater.

  “Oh! Good morning, Mrs. G. I didn’t see you in line, or I’d have given you cuts,” the bar owner exclaimed.

  Ivy quickly turned her attention on the young teenaged girl with big hazel eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion stepping up to the counter.

  “Hi. Wow, you sure are busy.”

  “Yes.” Ivy nodded. “It warms my heart that you all came out today to help celebrate the grand opening.”

  “Are you kidding? Who doesn’t like cake?” The young girl grinned. “I’m Megan Butler, by the way.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Megan. What can I get for you this morning?”

  “I’m still trying to decide. Everything looks so…yummy.” Her eyes skimmed the goodies behind the glass. “My thighs are going to hate me, but I’ll take two of those cheese Danishes.”

  Ivy eyed the thin wisp and shook her head. “I’d kill to have a body like yours.”

  A shadow of sadness fluttered over Megan’s eyes. “I used to have more curves, but I’ve lost weight because…well, you’ll hear all the juicy details, I’m sure. Gossip grows faster around here than crops in the fields.”

  “Good thing I don’t put stock in gossip.” Ivy sent the girl a reassuring smile.

  By eleven forty-five, the crowd had dwindled to a steady trickle. The display cases had taken a major hit, while the cash register was overflowing. Ivy’s legs felt like rubber and her cheeks burned from smiling so much, but she didn’t care. Opening day had exceeded her wildest expectations and she was floating on cloud nine.

  If tomorrow proved equally busy, she’d have to forgo the drink Gina had offered, along with sleep, and start baking her buns off again.

  It was a little past four when the last customer left with a happy smile and an armload of baked goods.

  Inwardly counting to ten, Ivy grinned and let out a triumphant yell.

  Her dad rushed from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

  “Now that the work is done, well, everything but the cleanup, it’s time to celebrate,” he declared, easing the cork from the bottle with a loud pop.

  She savored the happiness of her ubër-successful first day as they clinked their glasses together after each joyous toast offered up by her mom, dad, and Celina and quickly drained the bottle of bubbly.

  Ivy was feeling no pain as they all worked, cleaning and mopping. As she stood tallying the day’s sales from the cash register, Celina—who was next to her and munching on a lemon bar—jolted as her cell phone chimed.

  Pulling the device from her pocket, she looked at the screen before alarm bloomed over her face. Tears quickly filled her eyes.

  Ivy didn’t even have to ask. When she was home for Thanksgiving, Celina had confided that Harvey was hounding her for another chance. When she’d returned for Christmas, she’d discovered the prick was still pestering her sister.

  Dammit, Harvey, grow a modicum of pride and leave Celina the fuck alone.


  Setting the money aside, Ivy turned and frowned. “What guilt trip is he trying to send you on this time?”

  Anxiety lined Celina’s face. “He says life isn’t worth living without me.”

  “You’re kidding, right? He’s actually threatening suicide?” Ivy scoffed angrily, wishing she could reach through the phone and knock the prick out all over again. “Tell him to call a damn hotline. You’re not his therapist, baby.”

  “I know, but…” Celina sniffed.

  “Girl…” Ivy warned, “do not buy into his bullshit manipulation. Even if he was serious—which he’s not…the man’s ego would never allow him to off himself—you are not responsible for him or his actions.”

  “I know, but what if he really does something? I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “If you think he’s serious, then call 911. Or better yet, call his parents. Tell his groping father that Harvey is suicidal and to admit him to a mental hospital. But don’t you dare even think of taking that sack of shit back. You hear me?”

  “I hear you. I just feel…”

  “Exactly the way he intended to make you feel…guilty!” Ivy exhaled heavily. “Has he ever taken responsibility or hinted at an apologized for the way he treated you in Las Vegas?”

  By simply saying the name of the town, Ivy had inadvertently summoned Noble up from the depths from her memory bank. She mentally tried to shove him back down, but it was too late. The damage was done. Like a damn movie premiere, images of the man and all the sinfully wicked sensations he’d immersed her in swirled to life. Goose bumps peppered her flesh. Her nipples drew up tight and hard—throbbing in time with the ache between her legs—as the imagined feel of his hands and mouth blindsided her.

  “No,” Celina replied, sounding as if she were millions of miles away.

  Suddenly, the front door opened with a bang, jerking Ivy from her salacious daydream. She zipped her head toward the noise to see a striking blonde, with colossal boobs, teetering on impossibly tall platform shoes, enter. She’d poured herself into a formfitting, eye-searing, lime-green knit dress that barely covered her cooch.

  “Hey, y’all. Welcome to the neighborhood,” she called out in a singsong voice, so high-pitched Ivy thought the display glass might crack. “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to drop by earlier, but my Calvin was keeping me busy…real busy this morning. I do declare, when he was finally finished, I could barely walk to the shower to get myself together.”

  Wow! TMI much, honey?

  “Well…I suppose that’s, um…understandable,” Ivy stammered.

  “Y’all don’t know it, but this little bakery, which is just cute as a bug’s ear by the way, is going to provide infinite job security for my Calvin.”

  “Oh?” Celina asked. “How’s that?”

  “Well, he’s the town dentist, don’t cha know? I do believe there’s enough sugar in this place to rot out half the teeth in Haven. Well, those that haven’t already perished from these hayseeds’ mouths, that is.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “I’m sorry…I’m Ivy. And you are?”

  “Oh, bless my heart. Where did my manners go?”

  As if you had any to begin with? Ivy thought with the plastic smile still poised on her lips.

  “I’m Trudy Clarkson…Mrs. Calvin Clarkson.”

  Holy shit. Some man was actually desperate enough to marry this…thing?

  “There’s hope for me yet,” Celina murmured under her breath.

  Ivy swallowed down the laughter bubbling up inside her and slapped a professional veneer in place. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clarkson. But I’m sorry to say, we’re closed for the day. All I have left is some lemon bars back in the kitchen. I’ll be glad to—”

  “Oh, lord no!” Trudy wrinkled her nose. “I can’t eat anything from here. Why, all those sugar- and fat-packed things you sell will make me blimp out like a sow ready to give birth. I’d never do that to this body! And sweet baby Jesus, I can’t even think about what havoc those chemicals would wreak on my flawless complexion. No, honey, I just came by to say hey.”

  “Hey,” Janice forced from beneath a brittle smile.

  The door of the kitchen swung open and Jeff stepped into the room. “Anymore dirty trays for me to wash?”

  The sound of his masculine voice had Trudy snapping her head his direction so fast it was a wonder she didn’t give herself whiplash.

  “Well. Hello to you, handsome,” the vixen purred as a calculated, catty smile stretched over her glossy red collagen-injected lips. “Good heavens. Don’t tell me this hunk of man-beef is your dishwasher.”

  “No,” Ivy replied flatly. “He’s my father.”

  “What? No way this young stud could possibly be your father, sugar. Why, he’s not a day over thirty-five.”

  With an exaggerated roll of her hips, Trudy strutted toward Ivy’s shell-shocked-looking dad.

  Janice hurried in beside the man and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist.

  “Believe it or not, sugar…” her mom began in a saccharine-sweet southern belle drawl, “he’ll soon be fifty. I should know. We’ve been happily married for twenty-seven years.”

  Though her mom hid it quite well, Ivy could clearly see the she-tiger rippling beneath the surface. Janice had her fangs exposed, claws extended, and was pacing internally, ready for the slightest provocation to tear the surgically enhanced, husband-stealing slut to shreds.

  Ivy discreetly covered a hand over her mouth to keep from howling, while Celina, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, stood mutely watching their mom take on the viper.

  “Mercy. Surely you two haven’t been faithful to each other all those years, have you?” Trudy asked, eyeing the couple suspiciously.

  “Every. Single. Day,” Jeff assured, leveling the offensive woman with a glare of warning.

  “Why, that’s just utterly boring.”

  As if suddenly aware she’d vocalized her adulterous thoughts, Trudy manufactured an overly bright smile. “Well, bless your hearts. That’s…just wonderful. Now, I’d really love to stay and chat, but I’m sure Calvin’s last patient has left. It’s time for me to drop by his office and inspect his big ol’…um…drill. Toot-a-loo, y’all.”

  And just as she’d swooped in, Trudy Clarkson, the sexually desperate queen of plastic surgery, sashayed out the door.

  “Would someone please tell me what the hell that was?” Contempt dripped from each syllable of Celina’s words.

  “That, my darling daughters, is a lonely, desperate harlot,” Janice tsked.

  “No, sweetheart,” Jeff corrected. “That’s every man’s worst nightmare.”

  “Married man, you mean?” Ivy asked with a crooked smile.

  “Married, single, and bisexual ones, to be sure,” he corrected.

  “What on earth is she doing in a town like this?” Celina mused. “I mean, aside from the one married dude, Colton, whose wife has a baby on the way, there wasn’t a hot guy to be seen.”

  “The only reason his wife was with him today was to probably keep Trudy from sinking her claws into him,” her dad said with a chuckle.

  “Well, I’m certainly not letting you out of my sight while we’re here,” Janice vowed.

  “You going to be my bodyguard?”

  “Darn straight I am.”

  Ivy watched as her mom lifted to her toes and planted a long, loving kiss on her dad’s lips.

  Envy sliced deep.

  Growing up, Ivy had held the same fantasy most every girl dreamed of—to fall in love with a prince and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as she’d grown older, it had only taken Ivy a few disappointing dips in the dating pool before discovering that her mother had scooped up the last honest and emotionally available man on the damn planet. Ivy had resigned herself to the fact that she’d never find the kind of unconditional love, respect, or compassion that her parents shared. There’d never be some mystery man to grow old with. She’d have to welcome wrinkles, false teeth, sag
gy boobs, and Social Security all by herself.

  Nope, I will not flop my happy ass down on the pity pot. If Mr. Right waltzed through the door, I’d have to send him away. I don’t have time for a relationship, or the luxury of cultivating one. I have to dedicate every spare moment to making this bakery an actual attainable dream.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After loading hay in the barn all day, Noble stood in the shower, washing the sweat and filth off his body and rolling the ache from his shoulders under the hot spray. He dried off and dressed, ignoring the pangs of hunger gnawing his gut. He strolled into the kitchen, where mouthwatering scents assaulted him as he watched his mom pull a pan of golden-yellow cornbread from the oven. She turned and placed the pan on the opposite counter to cool and Noble crept to the stove like a cat burglar. He lifted the spoon and dipped it inside the stockpot of bubbling chili. As he was lifting the steaming, spicy mixture to his mouth, his mom smacked his arm, sending the spoon back into the pot.

  “It isn’t time to eat yet.”

  “But I’m starving.” He pressed a hand to his growling stomach, flashed her the most pathetic expression he could muster, and quickly retrieved the spoon and shoved it in his mouth.

  “That’s what you get for skipping lunch,” she chided, jerking the empty spoon from his hand. “I fixed a perfectly good platter of roast beef sandwiches at noon. But someone was too busy to stop working and fuel his body. So, now that same someone—you—will just have to wait until dinner’s on the table.”

  Yeah, he’d skipped lunch, all right, but not to keep working. The whole time he’d been stacking the heavy bales of hay, the flirty conversation about doing this job in a thong that he and Ivy had shared hammered him. Like a fucking twister, images of the lacy, saturated scrap of silk he’d torn from between her legs had swirled through his brain. He hadn’t come in for lunch because his dick had been hard enough to drive railroad spikes through cement.