by H. J. Bellus
“I paid and they’re gone. I want ice cream. Willow needs another meal by the smell of it,” she says, as she wraps her arms around my back.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Then we all turn our heads when we hear a high pitched squeal. Rose is sitting right outside the stall in her car seat.
“I told you she knows the word ice cream, Tripp. I swear every time I say ice cream she squeals.”
Tripp rolls his eyes. “Yeah, probably because you ate it every damn day while you were carrying the poor girl.”
Lacey jumps up and grabs Rose’s car seat, bouncing her around and cooing to her. Tripp and I follow her lead.
Chapter 3
Tampons, Really?
My head. My body. My heart. As Lacey promised, we went for ice cream. She had Rose squealing and smiling the whole time. It was definitely what we needed. We came home, I said my goodnights, and drank the night away in my room.
The throbbing in my head reminds me I drank too much. I keep promising myself that I will one day be able to function without it.
I make my way downstairs to find Tripp sprawled out on the ground talking to Rose. He’s adamant about her belly time and making sure she hits every milestone on the dot. He’s the perfect father. Lacey is singing very off tune to P!NK in the kitchen while fixing breakfast.
“Smoothie or pancake, Wils?” she asks between songs.
“I’ll take pancakes. Do you need any help?”
“Nope. You know I like my time in the kitchen.”
She extends my cup of coffee to me over the bar and I gladly accept it. I don’t have the balls to tell Lacey that her coffee tastes like shit. Deep down, I’m pretty sure she knows it, but Lacey is very determined to make everything normal in her life, and making coffee is just one of those things normal people do. Tripp drinks it with no complaints.
I sit cross-legged on the floor on the edge of Rose’s plaid blanket.
“Morning, baby,” I coo.
She tries her hardest to lift herself up to see me. I continue to talk to her and encourage her. Tripp’s timer goes off on his cell phone, indicating that Rose’s tummy time is over. Without asking, I snatch her up from the blanket. Holding her up nose to nose, I praise her endlessly for making it through Boot Camp Daddy, then I place my rapid fire kisses on her cheeks.
“Breakfast is ready,” Lacey yells.
“Go ahead, Tripp. I want to hold her awhile.”
Tripp rolls up to his feet and ruffles my hair as he goes into the kitchen. I swivel around to face the kitchen and put Rose in my lap facing the kitchen, too. I watch as the couple dances around with each other to the music playing while preparing their plates. When a new song comes on, Tripp grabs Lacey and they start to slow dance in the kitchen. They’ve been through it all, and stand perfectly happy in their kitchen dancing together like their lives have always been perfect. When the song ends, Tripp slaps Lacey on the ass, grabs his pancakes, and heads for the dining room table.
I place Rose in her Bumbo in the center of the table while I fix my plate. Lacey is already firmly planted in Tripp’s lap, eating. This habit of theirs drives me absolutely nuts. With all my bitching and protesting, I still haven’t been able to break their nasty habit. I finish my breakfast while texting Annie and making goofy faces at Rose.
“Thank you for breakfast, Lacey. I’ll clean up and then head to work.”
I snag my plate and Rose in the Bumbo and walk the short fifteen steps to the kitchen. Tripp and Lacey’s kitchen, living, and dining room is a wide open space. There’s an L-shaped bar that divides the three rooms. I put Rose on the center of the bar and change the tunes. My mood calls for a little Pistol Annies this morning.
Tripp and Lacey are an entangled mess. I finally tell them to get a room and they listen. I clean up to the beat of the Annies and little Rose’s smiles. The kitchen is finally cleaned up and Rose is fussy, so I grab a bag of breast milk from the fridge and prepare it for her. We make our way to her nursery, change and feed her. I love dressing the little doll, so I not only change her diaper but her whole outfit. I rock her until she’s finished eating, has burped, and is fast asleep.
Ready for a new day at work with fresh clothes, light makeup and a major need for good coffee, I set out to see if the two lovebirds are finished mating. The two haven’t emerged from their room, so I text both of them.
Rose is fed and in her crib. Off to work. Love you
The bakery is just as I left it. Literally, just as I had left it. Thank the Lord that I have some frozen sheet cakes I can pull and slap some icing on them to complete the order I was working on yesterday. First thing on today’s to do list is coffee. As I make my way over to the coffee part of The Shop I notice a fortune cookie sitting on the edge of the counter. What the hell? There isn’t even a Chinese restaurant in twenty miles. Strange. Underneath it was an orange sticky note with my name on it. Clearly, someone wanted me to have this.
Fortune cookie, coffee, and a pancake breakfast—this day might just be all right. I snag my iPad, coffee, fortune cookie, and a bar stool. This truly is one of my favorite places in life—the center of my part of The Shop. It’s a simple stainless steel island. It is my work station. I love to work and relax in this very spot, but this morning I need to look over inventory and upcoming orders while I enjoy my coffee. Cracking open the fortune cookie, I close my eyes and scrunch up my nose. This is something I have done since I was old enough to remember.
Today my fortune reads, “Succeed in all you believe and dream in.” I toss the fortune into one of the drawers at workstation. Believing that I can succeed just for the day. Lots of cakes and lots of ordering, I will definitely be needing another cup of joe to tackle this day.
A little after five o’clock my phone starts singing that obnoxious song.
Milly: What are your plans tonight?
Me: Working late
Milly: Any chance you want to come over for a movie night?
Me: Sorry…too busy. Will be over Wed tho.
Milly: k…love you Wils
After I finish up my last order, I clean up the work area and head for the grocery store. Lacey texted me a list of things she needed earlier in the day. Getting a shopping list from Lacey is like working with a five-year-old. She hides hidden messages within the lists. The list I got today:
3-6 month diapers
Salsa
Paper Towels
Crack
Sliced Pepper Jack
Grapes
2 Whores
Bow Tie Pasta
Stuff for a salad
Cock N’ Balls
Watermelon
Dishwasher tablets
Ice Cream
Chicken broth
Just like every other time when I read crack, whores, or cock n’ balls, I blush as if the whole store can see my list. That damn Lacey. Little tasks like these make me feel helpful. It sounds silly, but I enjoy being able to give back. Another thing that would help is if Lacey put her lists into categories, but nope—they’re just as scatterbrained as she is.
I round the corner on a mission to find the last two items on my list and collide into another cart.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, as I look up and see Miles.
Of course I’d crash into Captain McDreamboat here, unprepared to battle and caught completely off guard.
“In a hurry there, Willow?”
Breathe in, breathe out. Try to be nice. Try to act friendly. Fake it til you make it kinda shit. Channel Milly and her easy going attitude. You got this.
“Oh, kinda. Just picking stuff up for Lacey. Bye now.”
I mentally pat myself on the back while I untangle our carts and go in search of the last couple items. On a scale of nicey nice good person, I think I just nailed a six out of ten. Not bad.
Home stretch, baby! In the checkout line and going over my list twice. The only thing now is that I’m in Hilda’s line. She’s known in town as “Hurry Your Slow Ass Up, Hilda” beca
use she loves to talk and inspect every item you buy. You know the kind of checker you want to prod with a metal pipe to quicken their pace. I was so excited to be done shopping that I didn’t realize whose line I picked until it was too late. Wouldn’t you know Miles came in hot on my tail.
Minding my own business, concentrating hard on how my ass looks in these jeans. I wonder if I pooch my ass just a bit, if it would look good or slutty.
“Hey, Sexy,” comes a sweet, sexy voice.
I turn to see the slutty waitress from last night snake her way up the line to talk to Miles, who, yes, is standing directly behind me. Miles catches me looking and I take a moment to mentally berate myself for caving in to him again. So, pooching my ass back out towards them, I listen.
“You big flirt, you never called last night. I just knew the way you were staring that I was gonna be hearing from ya.”
“Sorry, darling. I just moved here yesterday, and I was pretty tuckered out after dinner.”
“Whatcha doing tonight?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Well, sounds like the ball is totally in your court, babe. Give me a jingle if you’re bored.”
I can’t help but snort at her last line and the sound of her heels clicking as she struts away.
“Got a problem up there, Willow?” Miles asks.
I turn to address him. “No problem, baaabe.” I make sure to emphasize the last word, drawing it out in a whiny voice.
“Is that the sound of jealousy dripping from your voice?”
Laughing hard, I reply, “Absolutely not. I was just waiting for her to whip out her tit and ask you to nurse. Pathetic, really.”
“I actually enjoy her company. She’s quite friendly. Just what a new guy in town needs.”
“You’re a pig,” I hiss, as my eye catches what’s in his cart.
The man is buying three boxes of Cap’n Crunch, several bottles of orange juice, Skittles, and a bag of salad. He really is a pig of a man. Not able to hold my tongue anymore, I go in for the kill. “You’re really taking a hell of a chance buying that bag of salad.”
“For being such a hater, you’re sure wasting a lot of time studying me.”
Fuck you is right on the tip of my tongue when my obnoxious ass ring tone goes off. I know it’s an actual call because the song, “Call Me Maybe” is blaring. Thank you, Annie. I notice Lacey’s name and face plastered on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Hey, I forgot to put tampons on the list. Can you grab a box when you’re at the store?”
“You are kidding, right? What do you really need?”
“A box of tampons and I could really use some KY if you see it.”
“Lacey, I’m already in the checkout line.”
“Willow, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig out my coochie.”
“Enough. Enough. Enough. Bye.”
Assessing the situation, it looks like I have enough time to leave my cart and sprint for tampons. There are two customers in front of me, one with only a basket of items and the other with a cart. Without a word, I take off for the feminine hygiene isle. Shit! I can’t remember the brand Lacey uses, so I grab three options, and wouldn’t you know the KY jelly products are staring me in the face as I grab the last box of tampons. Grabbing the Ky jelly and balancing it on top of the third box of tampons, I jog back to my cart.
It isn’t until I’m ten feet from the back of Miles that I realize I’ll have to wedge myself between him and the rack of magazines to get back to my cart while balancing tampons and KY. Motherfucker! I’m going to strangle Lacey with my own hands. Where is the distracting slut-fest waitress when I need her distraction skills?
“Excuse me. Sorry,” I apologize to people in line as I weave my way back to my cart.
I notice that Miles isn’t standing at his cart. Instead, he’s at my cart unloading my groceries onto the conveyer belt. Does this asshole really have to be such a gentleman all the time? It would really help if he could amp up his level of dickhead. He turns around and smacks right into the bundle of tampons I’m carrying.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Willow. I didn’t know you were back,” he says, as he bends over and picks up the box of KY that went sailing to the floor.
Between gritted teeth, I say, “I can’t believe this is happening right now. One, this shit is not mine, and two, I’m trying really hard right now to be nice.”
Miles grabs the tampon boxes from my hands and places them with the other groceries.
“Why try to be something you’re not? You really want to waste your life being fake? Just be you. And for your information, one, I’ve had to buy this shit for my mom my whole life, and two, you make bitch hot.”
Silence. I can’t respond to him or his ways. Deep down, I’m waiting for him to tell me to fuck off or grab my ass or some prick move expected from hot macho guys like him. But nothing. He’s just him. Simple and clear cut.
I painfully tap my foot and rub my debit card across my lips as Hilda tries to make small talk about the brand of dishwasher tablets I’m buying. I focus my attention on the smooth plastic of my card as I drag it one way on my lips and then slowly drag it the other way, trying to drown out her voice and Miles’ advice is still bouncing around in my head. Finally, she rings up the last box of tampons and has no comment.
“Eighty-six dollars and ninety-two cents is your total,” Hilda chirps. I swipe my card.
As I enter my PIN number, slutty waitress returns with a vengeance. “Hey McSteamy, I’m like so totally late for work. Any chance you’ll let me cut?”
I turn my head to see the slut holding up a pair of cheap pantyhose and pack of bobby pins. So, those are the magic items needed to be a certified fucknut. And did she really just call him McSteamy?
“Here’s your receipt, Willow. Make sure you tell your good looking brother Cree hello for me.”
Managing a grin, I start to throw all my bags back into my cart while listening to Miles.
“Anything for you, darling. Hell, give them here, my treat this time.”
“Like O.M.G. You are totally hot and nice,” Skankzilla squeals, and jumps up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
And again he catches me staring. He lowers his one hand and grabs his crotch very discreetly and then waggles his eyebrows at me. His message is not lost. He made this same gesture yesterday when I was being a bitch to him. I do believe he’s trying to coax out my inner bitch.
Miles walks up next to me to take his turn to check out and the little hussy follows him like a lost puppy.
“Have a great day, Willow,” Miles says as he winks at me and wraps his arm around the jizz magnet next to him.
To hell with being nice, bitch does look good on me. “Fuck off, Miles. Just some friendly advice: you better wrap it before ya take a dip because I think she may have some magic that will fry your nuts. I’m sure Pit Stop here has PLENTY to share.”
Walking out of the store, I actually giggle out loud. The gasp and look on Skankzilla’s face made my typical shitty day perfect. My phone starts singing, alerting me of a text. I pull it out of my bag, anticipating a cute picture of Olive and Annie displayed on my phone. Instead, I find a strange number.
I was wrong. Bitch makes you completely irresistible. Major boner alert.
Me: How did you get my number?
Rental contract. You’re not worried about my boner?
Me: Fuck Off!
Chapter 4
Fortune Cookie Mystery
Over the last few days I have continued to receive fortune cookies from a mysterious person. It really isn’t rocket science. Miles moved in, fortune cookies started showing up. His strange addiction to the delicious little buggers has been nice. Every morning I enjoy one with my coffee while catching up on paperwork. Reading the fortune is always the best part and I keep each one tucked away in a drawer.
Thankfully, I haven’t had a run in with Miles since the grocery store. I’m sure he’s been completely entertained by Skankzilla and
her whorish ways. She was right about one thing, he was hot and super nice. There has to be something seriously wrong with him. At first, I would have bet the family farm that he was gay because he was just too good to be true. He’s manly in his antics and gestures, but possesses a kind and giving heart that is worn visibly on his sleeve.
Now I find myself imagining and dreaming things about Miles. Wanting to know everything there is about him, from his past to his present and definitely his body. Actually every part of his tall, muscular and very tan physique would be a delightful ride to get acquainted with. He is built, not built like he works out in the gym every day, but fit from manual labor. He is all blue collar. No bells and whistles or fluff with this man. No hair gel, cologne, or name brand clothes, just straight up man. Shaggy brown hair, the scruff of beard peppering his face, and those dimples are a very dangerous combination on any lady’s panties. Even evil bitches whose hearts are closed off to the world panties aren’t safe with him. The couple times that I have seen him he’s always wearing faded blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His simple sexy is the new definition of hot as hell. No trying, he just is.
Ding!
What the hell? We’re closed. The nimwitt high school helper must have forgotten to switch the sign. Elbow deep in buttercream icing and red velvet cupcakes, I round the corner to see who’s in The Shop. Five steps into my journey and I slam straight into the man of my daydreams.
“Uumph, Miles.”
“Willow.”
“Shit. You startled me,” I say as I pull back my arms, trying not to get icing everywhere.
“Sorry. Milly hasn’t got me a key yet to the back, and it was locked tonight, so I tried the front door.”
“Ah shit. I lock the back door on the nights I work late. Ol’ dingleberry was supposed to lock the front door. Lucky you.”
