“We weren’t—”
“Shh,” William said. “You don’t need to make excuses. We’re all adults here. I’m just trying to figure out why my good friend here,” he moved to Ryan’s side and squeezed his shoulder. “Why my good friend is suddenly going googly eyes when he’s normally Mr. Friendzone?”
“If you want to keep thinking of me as your good friend, maybe you can choose a better time to talk about this with me,” Ryan said through tight lips.
“Oh. Oh. Ohhhhh,” William winked. “Shit. I’m cockblocking right now, aren’t I? I’ve always liked to think of myself as a… What’s the opposite of a cockblock. A cockgate? No, that sounds like a scandal. A cockpass? A cock enabler?” He tapped his chin and wandered toward the door, muttering more options to himself as he left without so much as a goodbye.
Ryan shook his head. “Have you known him long enough that I don’t need to apologize for that?”
“Yes, unfortunately. His grandma-in-law is one of my regular students.”
“Well, I never did explain what I was looking for. I need someone to make posters and do some prop design kind of stuff for this Halloween thing I’m throwing. It’s a big company party for everyone at my bakeries and at Galleon. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Nothing too formal, but I wanted it to have a personal touch instead of buying something pre-made.”
“How many people are we talking about here?”
“Well, I’ve got about thirty employees. And Galleon is a little bigger than my crew. So… Call it about two thousand and thirty people?”
I felt my eyes go wide, but tried to play it cool. “I see. And would I be working directly under you?”
“If that’s how you like it,” he said. There was a moment of silence as the corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.
I felt my cheeks burning hot, but nodded my head. “Under you is good. I mean, any way would be good.” I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered my head. “The job sounds good. Thank you.”
2
Ryan
When Hailey put me in charge of The Bubbly Baker, I didn’t quite know what to make of it. She’d found a new passion in her career cooking on TV, and she said I was the only one she could trust to run the bakery.
Of course, there was a slight catch.
The bakery she gave me was nothing but an idea at that point. The Bubbly Baker had been closed down and all she had left were a few regular customers and a recipe book. Basically, she crashed the car into the ditch, watched it burst into flames, and then handed me the keys.
It was a challenge. Lucky for her, I liked challenges. I also happened to like baking. So I’d rebuilt the company from the ground up with her husband, William, as my primary business partner, which was a scary concept. He loaned me the money I needed to get the business humming, and our business partnership thankfully started and stopped there. William Chamberson was also the dumbest genius I’d ever met, so tying my future to him was a little bit of a risky proposition.
The Bubbly Baker had three locations now. As it turned out, I was pretty damn good at finding ways to expand and grow the brand. William and Bruce had a tradition of throwing a company-wide Halloween party, and this year, I’d offered to organize it. I claimed to be so generous because I wanted to let my own employees get an invite, but the truth was I just loved anything that had to do with the holidays. The idea of a massive, high-budget Halloween party for a few thousand people sounded like it had the potential to be the most fantastic kick-off to the holidays I’d ever been a part of.
I lived for this time of year. For the heat of summer melting away, holiday music in grocery stores as soon as October rolled around, and every company putting out their Christmas themed commercials. I’d always been a nostalgia junkie, and there was no bigger hit than holidays. Crisp Fall nights brought me back to years of tacked-together costumes and sugar rushes with friends. It was the time of corny sweaters and crowded rooms filled with the smell of turkey and cranberry sauce. The icing on the cake was the thought of fresh powdered snow, a crackling fire, and some Christmas music humming over the radio in the morning.
Just thinking about it was my drug, and when the holidays came around, I had a tendency to go a little overboard. This would be the first year I’d have a massive budget for going overboard, and I was almost scared to see what kind of monstrosity of a party I would end up putting together with William’s money.
It was only two weeks until the big day, and I could hardly wait.
I got dressed for the morning as quietly as I could. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment in downtown New York City. By New York standards, it was above average. By normal standards, it was probably more like a few closets jammed together. If that wasn’t tight enough, I shared the space with my roommate, Steve.
Technically, I could afford to live somewhere much nicer by now, and without the roommate, but I knew the business was money-hungry. I had to keep feeding the beast if I wanted it to grow. If I wanted to pay William back for his investment and become financially independent, I needed to be smart with what I had, too. So for now, I lived on the cheap where I could.
I cracked the door open and found Steve tangled on the couch with the latest pseudo-model girlfriend in his never-ending line of short-lived relationships. He was competing for a roster spot in the NFL as a quarterback, a fact that seemed to earn him an endless stream of highly attractive New York women, most of whom were just looking to attach themselves to paychecks he might bring in if he ever made it in the league. If that bothered him, he never mentioned it.
Steve groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair, making the dirty blond mess of hair look a little crazier. He squinted and sat up against the armrest, then looked down at the girl sprawled across his lap with a confused expression.
“Jenna,” I said. “You met her at trivia night. You like her because she has ‘the best fake tits you’ve ever seen.’”
He raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “Jenna,” he said, almost experimentally.
“Jenna,” I confirmed.
“Huh?” she said, rolling her head to the side, which made her lose balance and flop to the floor.
Steve reached to catch her with comically slow reflexes, then winced. “Sorry, babe.”
She was already snoring lightly.
“You really know how to pick them.”
“Shit, man. At least I pick them. What are you working on now, your fourth year of celibacy? Should I buy you some fucking priest’s robes? Wait,” he said, a slow, very stoner-like grin spreading over his face. “I’d have to buy you not-fucking priest robes. Get it? Because—”
“Let your brain wake up before you try to make any more jokes. Please. And worry about your own dick. It’s going to fall off if you keep sticking it in anything that moves.”
“Correction. Anything that moves the way I like. I’ve got standards, man. And it’s called a condom. You know, those things you never have to buy because you’re too busy being best buddies with girls instead of doing the Lord’s work and putting your dick in them.”
“Maybe you should be the priest. That was inspiring.”
“Damn right it was. But I’m being serious. I worry about you, dude. It’s not healthy to waste the prime of your life like this—playing with dough balls all day and shit. You need a woman, and no—not another one who likes to vent about her boyfriend to you while she’s not wearing makeup.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have girlfriends and choose not to bring them around you for obvious reasons?” I didn’t, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.
He frowned. “You hiding women from me? Not cool. I let you meet all my girls.”
“And what an honor that is.” I gestured toward Jenna. “Nice to meet you, Jenna. This has been great. Steve is probably going to forget he’s supposed to be with you tonight and pick up somebody new, but I’m sure you’ve been really special to him.”
Jenna’s quietly snoring form gave no sign of hearing me.<
br />
“Uh, no. Tonight is Taco Tuesday, and everybody knows you do not pick up a woman from Cinco De Mayo. Anyway, man. I’m just saying. Life is like a buffet, and it’s all you can eat hot girls, all day, every day. Meanwhile, you’re at the fucking salad bar poking tomatoes with your finger like a dweeb. Variety is the seasoning of life. You should try sprinkling some in. That’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s the spice of life.”
“Uh. Yeah. That’s what I just said.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got to get to work.”
Steve sank back down on the couch and yawned. “You have fun with that.”
He liked to act like he didn’t work, but I knew he busted his ass studying videos of his practices and of the team, working out, and practicing. If you believed the analysts, he could’ve had a chance as a starter already, but in typical Steve fashion, he’d shot himself in the foot off-the-field, and not entirely in the figurative sense. He’d actually shot himself in the leg. An unlicensed firearm in his car had gone off while he was spinning it on his finger to show off for some girl. He was lucky it hit himself, and far luckier that no permanent damage was done.
His obvious lack of decision-making skills had slowed down the interest in him as a starter, despite his talent.
The plus side was his paycheck was pretty nice, and he always paid his rent on time. The downside was… well, there were a lot of them, but it was smarter to focus on the positives when it came to Steve.
I didn’t work in the bakery as much lately. I spent most days out having meetings with people who needed to be convinced a Bubbly Baker franchise was exactly what they wanted and with the owners of my existing stores to keep them on track. I often wondered why I tried so hard to make the franchise huge. I’d never been the type to care much about money or success. I was happiest when my hands were dirty and I was making something I could be proud of. Yet here I was.
I’d told Emily from the nursing home to come here so I could explain what I’d need from her for the Halloween party. I had a startlingly clear image of her in my mind still: strawberry blonde hair, soft lips, and eyes that were just slightly wide-set and large in a way that made me think of a Disney princess. Then again, I’m not sure a Disney princess would ever wear paint-stained clothes and wear her hair as messy as Emily did.
I liked how she didn’t seem to be the type to preen over herself and spend hours getting ready. I didn’t feel like I was seeing a carefully crafted illusion when I looked at her. She was herself, and she was unapologetic about it. I started breathing a little faster just remembering how good it’d felt to have those playful, teasing blue eyes of hers on me. Worse, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I remembered her from somewhere.
I’d worked for so long in the city that she could have just been a customer who left an impression on me, but I felt the strangest connection to her that seemed to go deeper than some chance encounter could’ve managed.
I needed to calm that line of thought down, though. Way down. Even thinking of commitments and girlfriends brought up all sorts of ghosts from my past that I wasn’t eager to confront.
Stephanie unlocked the door for me when she saw me reaching for my keys at the shop. She let me in with a smile. She was definitely pretty, and I think when I first met her I’d probably thought of her as hot, even. Leave it to my screwed up brain to rewire itself until I could only think of her as a sister or a friend. It was like a defense mechanism, as if there was some cockblocking monkey that lived inside my skull and immediately set to work reprogramming my thoughts if they steered toward romantic. Can’t have that kind of pain and disappointment again, can we?
Everybody, especially Steve, liked to joke that I was gay—or a closeted ‘sword crosser’ in his words—but it wasn’t that at all. Sometimes I got over-eager about setting women up with guys, but it was more because I worried if they stayed single long enough, I’d get it in my head that I might want to date them. I’d set Hailey up with William, and I’d tried and failed to set Stephanie up twice already. For some reason though, I couldn’t picture myself trying to pass Emily off on some other guy. Even thinking of it stirred up a strong wave of jealousy and possessiveness, which was ridiculous. I’d flirted with the woman for a few minutes and she’d smiled back at me. It wasn’t like I’d gotten on one knee and said vows.
In a few days, I knew it’d feel different, anyway. The cockblocking monkey was probably already working on making her romantically dead to me, even if I couldn’t feel the flame of interest dulling yet.
Stephanie gave me a searching look as we headed to the back of the bakery, where she had a tray of dough out and was portioning it out for bread. She had brown, curly hair, blue eyes, a smear of freckles across her nose with an easy smile to match the girl-your-parents-would-love-for-you-to-date look.
“Hmmm,” she said.
“What?”
“I’ve seen that look before. I’m just trying to remember when the last time was.”
“You’re imagining things, then. I don’t have a look.”
She planted a fist on her hip and gave me a very good impression of a sassy child movie star—the kind where the hip goes out, the eyebrows go up, and the lips purse into a tight knot. It was the kind of look that usually prompted the laugh track to kick in.
I grinned. “Stop doing that. You look ridiculous.”
“So do you. And I know what it is, now. Those are lovesick eyes. You met somebody, but fate is trying to tear you apart.” Her voice had become deadly serious, and her eyes were a little wide. Stephanie was very much in the hopeless romantic category, and I think she woke up every day dreaming that her life would magically turn into a romance novel where men with long, flowing hair always wait around the corner to rescue her from trouble.
“Definitely not.” I picked up a handful of dough, weighed it, and started working it into a ball.
She got closer and sniffed. “Since when do you wear cologne to work?”
“I always do,” I lied. “I must’ve just put too much on this morning.”
“It’s love.” She stated it like she was passing down a terminal diagnosis. “I never thought I’d see the day. Ryan Pearson, the unflatterable, undateable, stone cold—”
“I get it.” I wanted to snap at her, if only because the more she talked, the more she was convincing me that I really did feel some kind of budding romantic idea about Emily, who I hardly knew. I couldn’t get upset though. Stephanie’s goofy excitement had me smiling, even if I was terrified she was right on some level.
“When do I get to meet her?”
I grabbed another ball of dough and tried to ignore the question, but something wet and sticky collided with the side of my head a moment later. I peeled the dough from my face and looked incredulously at Stephanie, whose face was contorted in anger.
“You threw a dough ball at my head? Are you crazy?”
“When!” she demanded.
“Jesus Christ,” I laughed. “You’re serious?”
“Ryan. I’ve known you for like… four months. You’re a great guy, but I’ve never even heard you talk about having a girlfriend. You pushed me away like you were the most loyal, married man on the planet—not that I was trying to get with you, or anything.”
I smirked. “Of course not.”
“What I’m saying is this is the first time I’ve seen you like this. We live in New York City, and you must see hundreds of girls every day. This one must be something super special to get you so excited.”
“Okay. Pump the breaks. Nobody said I was ‘super’ excited. In fact, I haven’t even confirmed a single thing you’ve said.”
“You don’t have to. If we were in a cartoon, your pupils would be little pink hearts right now.”
"Well, we're not in a cartoon," I said it a little more shortly and forcefully than I intended, but all the wrong memories were bubbling to the surface. It only took so many horribly failed relationships before you had to look in the mirror and s
tart to ask if you were the problem. Two girls in high school had cheated on me. One in college had broken up with me and decided she wasn't into men anymore. After college, I'd dated a girl who ended up throwing all my clothes outside and literally setting them on fire because she thought she'd caught me checking a girl out during lunch. Forget the fact that I hadn't been. The novel of my love life would be titled Fifty Shades of Failed Relationships. And it definitely wouldn’t be a bestseller.
After the clothing bonfire, I’d finally had enough. No more women. Even if I’d wanted to, my brain had become exceptional at finding game-breaking flaws, usually where there were none. Everything turned into a red flag, and it became easier to pair off eligible women with other guys or think of them like sisters. Relationships that never happened couldn’t fail, after all.
Emily came into the shop a little after lunch with a backpack slung over her shoulder. It was a typical artist’s backpack. Multi-colored paint was splattered on the army green fabric. She even had a little misting of white paint on her temple and cheek when she walked up to the counter and gave me a crooked little smile. Her dress was white and black, and it fit her in that perfect zone between revealing and modest that left my eyes hungry for more.
Just like the last time I saw her, I had that nagging sense of familiarity. I wanted to ask her about it, but worried she’d think I was being a creep for remembering her from some chance encounter. I made sure not to smile too wide back at her. I wasn’t trying to win the girl over, anyway. I needed to remember the universal truth. Relationships and I don’t get along, and no matter how nice Emily might seem at first sight, she’d inevitably self-destruct, just like they all had. I’d lost sight of that yesterday, but a little time apart had reminded me to keep perspective.
“Grab a table,” I said. “I’ll be over in just a second so we can talk specifics about the job.”
His Treat Page 3
