by Gina Kincade
“Lightning strike. I think we lost a tall pine or two. Sit here. Don’t move,” he ordered.
The wind continued gusting, and the thunder and lightning showed no signs of diminishing. Her trembling didn’t lessen. Pulling her knees to her chest, she hugged them to her. The lights flickered and they lost power. She could still make out shapes and shadows and stayed put where her dad left her. She had endured many storms throughout her life in Alabama.
Rejoining her, her dad sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I see one large one down in the front parking lot and another across the back deck. From what I can see it missed your car,” he reported.
They sat there together until the worst of the cell passed. He told her to continue sitting there while he went and took a better look. She thought her body ached earlier that morning. That was nothing compared to how sore her muscles felt from the shivering and tension.
“Luckee! Where are you,” Preston yelled from the front door. The bells on the door chimed after she heard his frantic voice. He must have yelled before he opened the door.
“I’m over here.” She got to her feet and stepped in his direction.
He rounded the second set of shelves between her and him. He rushed her, put his hands on her shoulders, and peered at her. “Are you hurt?”
His hands were cold. Soaked from head to toe, rain dripped from him forming a puddle, she replied, “No.” She watched his lips quiver. “How did you get here,” she asked.
“I ran here. I got worried and trees were falling. There’s debris everywhere.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him as tight as she could. How many times would Preston Ingram be her hero—her own personal, knight in shining armor?
***
Every class at the local school ordered two dozen of her cupcakes. It may have only been one class for each grade at the small facility, including a kindergarten glass, but that meant three hundred and twelve cupcakes. She had to give up her entire shift the day before Valentine’s Day at the regular shop to bake, decorate, and prepare all the other orders. Perhaps her sights were a tad ambitious. It helped that her dad had Preston there to continue the repairs on the back deck while he handled customers. She fell deeper and deeper each day into supreme like, progressing quickly into love, and inarguably lust with Preston every day.
He hadn’t grown bored in the slightest. At least he appeared not to. Listening to him and her dad respectfully disagree with each other at times while working together, and in a flip second badger and clown with one another the next kept her smiling. She had been doing a lot of that recently.
It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. When things seemed too good to be true, they usually were. The night of the storm he returned to his apartment and let her get a good night’s sleep, but since he stayed at her place. He never appeared uncomfortable, unhappy, or anxious to leave. She loved it. He went to the shop with her each day. They returned back to her place together. They ate together. They relaxed together. Hell, they showered together. Not that she was complaining, but she did need to do some personal grooming and would rather wait until she bathed alone. They slept together after long, passionate lovemaking. But, the other shoe would drop. She just didn’t know when.
Even with her mom joining forces with her after getting home from work and helping frost the cupcakes, she had hours of work ahead of her. Her wrist ached, her patience waned, and the threat of an intense crying spell loomed on her horizon.
Being the intuitive one he proved himself to be time and time again, coming in the door with her dad after five that evening, Preston took one look at her and excused himself. She always heard some guys couldn’t stand to see a female cry, perhaps he fit that mold.
Fifteen minutes later, he snuck up behind her. Taking her wrists, he lowered them to the counter. “Drop everything, and come with me,” he insisted.
Guiding her out of the kitchen, through the dining room, she surveyed the conglomeration of finished goodies requiring packaging on the large table. Her mom, steadily boxing, shrugged at her.
“Preston, I can’t leave. I have too much to do,” she complained.
He corrected the veered route she attempted, and led her away and out of the house. “We will get to it. Now, you need to regenerate,” he stated.
Taking her to her apartment, he directed her to the bathroom. Candles lined the counter and surrounded the tub. Steam rose from the thick layers of bubbles covering the top. “Get in. Lay back. Close your eyes. And, don’t think about getting out until I come and get you,” he demanded.
And, it didn’t end there. Thirty minutes later, he came back. Holding out a towel he warmed in the dryer, he recommended, “I don’t know about you, but I think sex is a damn good stress reliever.”
“Do you now?” she teased.
Stepping out of the tub, she lifted her arms over her head and he wrapped her in the heavenly towel. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “Maybe I’m just selfish. But seeing you naked in the tub makes me want to do bad, bad things with you.”
She couldn’t deny him what he wanted, now could she? With a shit-load of cupcakes to finish icing, she figured she should oblige him, for the sake of destressing. Otherwise, chances were she would make a mess of what she had left to complete. “I suppose I can delay a little longer. It is quite an inconvenience though, and—”
He had the most effective techniques for shutting her up. Spinning her in front of the counter, he emphasized, “Hands on the counter, legs apart.”
Mm, she loved it when he took control. But she loved that he let her lead things when she wanted to. She had the best of both worlds. In her position, facing the mirror, she could see him. He whipped off his shirt and started for his jeans. Catching her watching him, he stilled. “So, does my li’l gal want it slow and gentle…or rough and fast?”
Good lord, she just wanted it. Admiring his grin, his icy blue gaze, and every inch of him she viewed, she forgot he asked a question. Not that it mattered. Either way he gave it, satisfied her.
Slapping her right butt cheek, hard, she lunged forward, her stomach slamming into the edge of the counter, he announced, “I’ll take you how I want it then.” He flung the towel off her back and onto the floor. Warm palms and fingers roamed and rubbed all of her from her upper thighs to her shoulders. He pinched both of her nipples, he kneaded and spanked both sides of her ass, and his caresses deepened.
Running his tongue from her lower back up to the nape of her neck, he nipped it until she whined. “I think you’re ready.” Stretched out and over her back, his hot skin on hers, his eyes met hers.
Yes, she was ready. She rocked back into him, craving more. Lifting himself from her back, he shoved his pants down, clutched her hips, and thrust into her. Bracing her hands on the countertop, he pounded into her at a steady, quick pace. Watching his glorious form, and experiencing the frenzied tempo, she felt the initial twinges of an oncoming, awesome orgasm.
He felt it too. “Come on, Luckee. Come for me,” he urged. She did, moaning and whimpering. He drove into her quicker and deeper bringing her to another one as he reached his.
Chapter Seven
Valentine’s Day morning they woke to the alarm, she dreaded hearing. His successful method of de-stressing her the night before made the remaining tasks seem not so overwhelming.
The five of them—her dad, mom, Russell, Preston, and herself joined forces and accomplished decorating and boxing all the desserts by ten that evening. They had some pizza delivered and made a fun night of it.
Dividing herself between the shop, and handling the dessert pick-ups, Luckee imagined she did look like a chicken running with its head cut off. Sprinting from the ice cream counter to the cash register and back again countless times, she paid little attention to the incoming customers. Glimpsing something or someone out of the ordinary, she concentrated her focus. Yes, severely out of character for not only their establishment but most likely the entire region. Or,
the majority of it.
Blonde, perfectly coiffed hair. High-heeled, glamorous shoes. A white, fur coat reaching just above her knees. And she returned Luckee’s astounded gaze with a haughty, appalled, crystal blue-eyed one.
Balancing the three dozen cupcakes on one forearm without losing control of them and dumping them on the floor once she reacted in a full body tremor must have looked as crazed as it felt. She swore a bolt of lightning struck her, stopped her beating heart, and surged it with such force it would thump right out of her chest.
Completing the transaction with Mr. Barnes, the leader of a local church youth group, she moved on to the next. Her hands trembled, and she existed in a robotic state. She heard nothing anyone said to her, and had no recollection of her responses. She needed to greet Mrs. Ingram. If indeed, the pompous, majestic beauty was her. Preston never mentioned anything about expecting her. Did Preston know?
And of all times for Preston and her dad to make a trip to Lowe’s leaving her there to deal with the situation alone. Why couldn’t men buy everything they needed for a project at one time instead of never getting enough and requiring multiple return trips for supplies?
“Miss, is there a restroom in this establishment. It took us much longer to get way out here than I expected,” the possible Mrs. Ingram asked.
She said ‘us.’ Did that mean Mr. Ingram came too? “Yes. Go toward the ice cream shop. There’s a door to the left right before you get there.” They had one bathroom for all to use. Nothing there would meet Grace Ingram’s standards she surmised. Especially, her. Oh no. She realized how she must look. Dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans, her hair in a thick braid down her back, no make-up, she needed a fairy godmother, stat.
Hearing the clicking of heels across the aged, outdated, tile floor, Luckee finished with her last customer in the last influx of patrons, and greeted the stunning woman. Preston said his mom had an addiction to plastic surgery and he didn’t exaggerate. She and Jessica could be sisters. Except their mother’s skin appeared too flawless, unnatural, and taut. Jessica dyed her natural blonde hair dark in her efforts to disconnect from her family and the image imposed on her as a child. Grace’s hair presented a lustrous, blend of flaxen shades grazing the top of her shoulders.
“How can I help you today,” addressed Luckee, managing somehow to form coherent words.
“Quite the little establishment you have here. And, you like this? Working here?” questioned the woman. She squirted another overzealous amount of hand sanitizer into her palm and scrubbed her hands together scrutinizing her surroundings.
Luckee took a deep breath. She had nothing to apologize for. She had nothing to be ashamed of. “Thank you. We like our ‘little establishment.’ I love working here.”
Pinching her lips and scrunching her face to such an extreme it appeared painful for a face so tight even in its natural state, the woman conceded, “I suppose there is something to be said for enjoying your chosen occupation.”
Not that Luckee ever doubted Preston’s description of his mother, but meeting her in the flesh surpassed it. This woman had yet to introduce herself. And perhaps Luckee should have taken the initiative and done so herself, but a tiny part of her prayed the snob in front of her wasn’t Grace Ingram.
“I assume you’re this ‘Luckee’ I’ve heard so much about?” sneered the presumed Mrs. Ingram.
“Yes, I am. Or, Lucille Aikens. My dad referred to me as a lucky baby girl during my mom’s pregnancy and it kind of stuck. He and my deceased grandmother, Lucille, my mom’s mom, didn’t always see eye to eye, so he always had a problem calling me by her name.” Judging by the bored expression on Mrs. Ingram’s face, she didn’t need to go into such detail about her name. So far, Luckee regarded their interaction as successful. Not. “And, are you Preston’s mom? Mrs. Ingram?”
“Dear Lord, don’t ever call me Mrs. Ingram. We have one of those already. My malicious mother-in-law, Lillian,” she exclaimed. Aghast, her eyes widened, and her deep red lips parted forming a comical, seamless ‘O.’
Luckee couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “I apologize. How would you prefer I address you?”
Stepping up to the counter, she smiled. “You may call me, Grace. And, yes, I gave birth to Preston, but I am by no means ‘mom’ material. You can ask Jessica, unless she’s already shared all her dastardly tales with you.”
That admission came unexpectedly. Luckee didn’t quite know how she should respond. The truth? “You haven’t come up often in mine and Jessica’s conversations. We haven’t been friends for too long. We met a couple of months ago in the art class at the community center. I met Preston soon after and have been spending the majority of my time with him.”
“So I’ve been hearing. And I’m excited to see your paintings. Preston raves about them and your talents. Speaking of, where is my dear son?” Grace scanned the store and looked toward the pair of glass double doors leading to the dock and pier. “He said something about helping out here building a new dock. I heard about the terrible storms that came through here. Always hated those things. Another thing I don’t miss about living here.”
“He is helping out. He’s a huge help to my dad. They made another supply run, but should be back shortly.”
Removing her exquisite, pristine coat and draping it over her forearm, Grace stated, “That boy. He always enjoyed getting dirty and working with his hands. I suppose I should be grateful for Sissy and Norman indulging that side of him. He chattered away as a youngster about all the projects Norman had him assist with and gleamed with pride recounting what he learned.”
Luckee believed she owed them gratitude as well. He enjoyed her kind of lifestyle because they exposed him to it and created beautiful memories. “Grace, I can offer you a cup of coffee. I can even offer you some macarons, or a cupcake.”
Eying the two booths at the entry to the shop, Grace pondered, “I don’t suppose I can get a latte? Yet. I’m sure you expect to have those available in the dessert shop.” Pinning her eyes back on Luckee, she appeared shaken. She gazed at Luckee expecting and gauging a response or reaction.
She knew about Luckee’s dream of owning a dessert shop? “Possibly in the future. For now, I’m testing it out, determining if it has viable potential. I think in the summer months when activity and renters are here on the lake it could be both marketable and profitable.”
“So does Preston. Not sure I’m in agreement,” Grace mumbled under her breath, perhaps in a weak attempt to go unheard, but Luckee heard.
Determined not to let Grace rattle her, or belittle her, she repeated, “Would you like a coffee? I’ll bring over a couple of my coffee macarons. Preston’s favorites.”
Jolting her narrowed, offended, cold eyes to Luckee, Grace boasted, “Now, dear girl, do you think I maintain this figure by eating anything containing sugar.”
Restraining her laughter, Luckee remarked, “So, it’s safe to bring you a black coffee without sugar or creamer?”
Grace’s red lips formed a hint of a smile, “That would be much appreciated. And, since I do recall Preston mentioning those particular desserts you offered, I’ll take one, please. With a knife to cut it in half.”
Without delay, Luckee poured out the coffee in the pot and put on some fresh. They didn’t have any glassware or silverware on the premises. She served Grace’s coffee in a Styrofoam cup, her macaron in an ice cream cup, along with a plastic knife.
The chimes on the door rang the second she placed the items on the table in front of Grace. So, she avoided any dissatisfied facial expressions and disparaging remarks.
Busying herself with the customers, Luckee took a moment and reflected on her recent accomplishments. Whether Mrs. Ingram deemed her worthy or not, Luckee didn’t have any engulfing fear of it having a detrimental effect on her relationship with Preston. And it felt great. He knew his mother. Luckee could only be herself. That’s who he would want her to be. And considering the success she found with her art and the desserts, she had n
o reason to doubt her abilities and the likelihood of utilizing them to create profit.
Retrieving the boxes of macarons for the two customers at the register from the ice cream station, she glimpsed a frantic Preston jogging inside the store. His concerned eyes found hers. She smiled at him, hoping to ease his worries. Hurrying to her, he took the boxes from her hands and asked, “Is my mother here?”
“Yep. You ran right past her. She’s in the first booth having coffee and dessert.” She watched him look that way before returning his attention to her. “Everything is fine. Take the coffee pot and see if she needs a warmer.”
She chuckled, observing his nervousness. Something she never saw before in relation to him. He set the boxes down at the main counter and hurried to the coffee maker and on to Grace.
Cashing out her customers, Luckee joined Preston and Grace. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her to him. “As expected, Grace loves the coffee macaron,” he bragged.
“I love it a little too much. I meant to leave half for his father, but I couldn’t stop. They are amazing, Luckee,” gushed Grace.
“Where is dad, by the way,” Preston inquired.
“He said he wanted to stretch his legs before he came inside. You didn’t see him out front?” replied Grace.
The back slider door opened and Luckee’s dad and an older version of Preston came inside. “Where’s the coffee pot, Luckee?”
Taking it from Preston, she walked it over. Mr. Ingram introduced himself to her, but he, and her dad each poured a cup and continued a conversation they obviously had started about the lake and surrounding properties and went back outside.
“Luckee, come here. I need you to walk out front with me for a minute,” called Preston.
Meeting her before she got back to him, he clutched her hand and tugged her behind him. “I have to watch the store. I still have a lot of orders waiting for pick up. And your parents are here,” she reminded.
