Love Unwrapped

by Kate Asher

  What was she going to do? Helping her grandmother shouldn’t come at the cost of her mental health.

  Andi forced her spine straight and reached to turn on the warm spray. She carefully rolled her clothes together and tossed them in the dry cleaner bin before risking the water temperature by stepping inside the shower. Luckily, the water temp was perfect and she let it run straight down her head. The soothing happened immediately. Okay, maybe life wasn’t at an irreversible place. Maybe some soap and water, her fluffiest robe and super-soft house shoes, then a large bowl of ice cream in lieu of dinner, would set everything right again.

  She let the pulse option on the shower head do a number on her back muscles, wishing she had time to call her masseuse before tomorrow when she had to face that man again. With her eyes closed, she let her mind go back to the argument they’d had before she’d left. What did that even mean…he wasn’t involved? Same story Nat had tried to use. Only she’d said it was all Blake’s doing. Andi shook her head. Always someone else’s fault. She believed in taking responsibility for your actions. All the blaming and finger-pointing after so long just proved nothing had changed.

  Had Blake gotten all those tattoos in the military? She’d caught Bree’s gaze lingering over Blake several times. Bree’s bubbly attitude and constant watchfulness meant her assistant was interested. She needed to warn her, but that crossed every one of her strict rules. She never got personal, not with anyone. Blake was just too alluring. He transitioned from boyish good looks to a rugged, hard-bodied handsome man. When had that lanky boy filled out? For someone like Bree, she’d only see a nice-looking, cocky grinned business owner and bypass his surly attitude and sketchy past. Bree had horrible taste in men.

  What had happened to cause such an ugly scar?

  Who knew, who cared? Why had she even wondered? Andi reached for the shampoo and washed her hair, thinking about reassessing the facts. Though she had her eyes closed under the soapy wash, she rolled them. The facts weren’t hard. The shop owner Blake and Nat had robbed had testified against them. Nat had come inside the store, grabbed the guy’s money from the cash register when he had turned for a pack of cigarettes. Nat bolted and the shop owner had run after her to see her jump in the car with Blake behind the wheel. Not too hard to understand for her or the judge.

  “Stop thinking about him,” she groaned aloud.

  Andi finished and wound the towel around her hair then went for her robe, trying to decide if she should invent an emergency at the office tomorrow. She had so many options. The airlines were so busy that surely she had access to information someone wanted or needed.

  With her fuzzy slippers on, she went for the kitchen. First, she filled Felix’s food bowl, something that didn’t entice the cat to move an inch. Then she went for the freezer, forgoing any dinner, and took out a tub of mint chip ice cream. She didn’t need a bowl, just a spoon.

  On her second bite, right as her butt hovered over the most comfy spot in her sofa, her cell phone rang. It was already past nine. Maybe it was her grandmother calling to say Blake didn’t want her back. More eager than she’d been all day, she popped back up from the couch and placed the ice cream on the coffee table as she launched herself toward her room. She dug the phone out of her purse on the fourth ring, answering the private number. “Hello?”

  “Andi? Why do you sound like that?”

  She dropped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. Luckily, the bed caught her fall as her sudden movement had toppled her backward and she landed with her butt on the bed.

  Yes, this was officially the worst day of the decade.

  “What, Nat? What number are you calling from?”

  “I don’t need your shit.”

  Andi cocked a brow at that then closed her eyes, trying not to get her back up straightaway.

  “Zane’s sick and I owe the doctor. I have to pay before they’ll see him in the morning.”

  “I’m not giving you my credit card number again,” she said defensively. Zane was Andi’s nephew and tended to be ‘sick’ all the time. That was, until she realized his doctor charges were to the tune of three thousand dollars, which had actually paid Nat’s living expenses.

  “You can never let it go, can you?”

  “I’m not giving you my credit card,” she stated again firmly.

  “You can call the doctor yourself then. The answering service takes payments over the phone. You’re such a shit all the time. I’m worried sick about my son…” Nat raged, and Andi let her, but ignored every word while reaching for the small notepad and pen on her bedside table. She ran a circle on the paper, making sure the pen worked, thinking about how the two people who had tarnished her life had both raised their voices at her today, blaming her for the perceptions they’d created.

  She was tired of letting people run over her, but at least when Blake had confronted her, she got to see the bulging vein in his neck thump, letting her know she had truly gotten under his skin.

  “Are you still there?”

  “I am,” she said, thinking about Blake’s deep tan and how it lent him an outdoorsy vibe. When did he have time for the outdoors while running that bakery? How had he even become a baker? The town loved his shop. There were just so many holes to his life story…

  “Then speak!”

  “What’s the doctor’s number?” she asked, absently. Her sister gave her the number and Zane’s patient number. “How much do I have to pay?”

  “It’s five hundred and thirty dollars.”

  “Five hundred dollars, are you serious? I’m still paying off your last…” The phone went dead. She sat there maybe ten seconds, furious, before she groaned and gave in, dialing the number to pay her nephew’s medical bill.

  Chapter 6

  Blake had gotten another two batches complete the night before, not nearly as many as they’d require by this afternoon, but Ryan’s impromptu visit had cut short his plans. They’d sat around his office, drinking beer and catching up while the cookies baked. Then they’d crashed right there rather than risk the drive home. Ryan had insisted on taking the couch, so he stretched out on the bed in the back room.

  At five in the morning, he had gotten ready in the attached bath, changing into a fresh bakery uniform. Then he’d left Ryan asleep in his office and met Wyatt, his part-time associate baker, in the kitchen to get the day started.

  While Wyatt handled the morning activities like a pro, Blake rolled, cut, and baked batch after batch that they’d need later in the afternoon. They worked well together, each anticipating the other’s movements so no one got underfoot. He’d taken a chance on the guy a few months back. But the financial hit of hiring another baker had paid off in spades, allowing him time to work with customers and increase their catering options as well. Wyatt had fit into the process seamlessly. Luckily he’d agreed to work the entire weekend to help with the event, but Wyatt’s pregnant wife had family coming in this weekend and Blake didn’t want to create trouble.

  “You’re sure it won’t cause you any issues to work this weekend? Tomorrow, I’ll need help in the store for final packaging of any cookies we’ll need for Sunday. And then possibly to make deliveries to the venue, not to mention check up on things there. Babs will have volunteers to run the sales themselves since all the money goes to the charity, but I’d like to have eyes on the inventory from someone who knows what we need and how to display the items. I’m worried I won’t make it that way while managing the volunteers here.” Blake pulled another batch from the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack, glancing over to where Wyatt had mixed a large batch of icing for the few birthday cake orders that had to be ready mid-day.

  “Dude, my mother-in-law is coming into town to go to the Christmas Bazaar with Janie. When I told Janie I had to work, she was upset, but I sold it by explaining how she never gets to see her mom without her step-dad and brothers there and it’ll be good mother-daughter time before the baby gets here.” Wyatt looked over and grinned at Blake,
proud of himself. “And if that also happens to let me avoid having to ooh and ahh over table after table of handcrafted items all day…well, I’m not complaining.” Wyatt’s laugh was infectious and Blake joined in easily. Blake had met Janie a number of times, and he doubted she was fooled in the least.

  “Great. When I volunteered to do this, it was about the kids, but I didn’t realize how many hands would be needed to pull it off. I’m glad you’re here. This is a whole new scale of production.” Blake glanced at the huge wall clock over the door—almost eight. “I better get the room ready for the girls to ice and package today. Let me know if you need anything in here.”

  “Got it all under control, boss.”

  Blake didn’t doubt it. After organizing the prep room, he grabbed a bag and added a couple cheese Danishes from the bakery’s front case and two apples. Then he filled two mugs with coffee and balanced it all before heading back to his office. He’d see if Ryan had risen from the dead while he’d been working, then he’d recruit his buddy to help with packaging. Ryan’s love of sweets might sell the plan. Or not. He’d find out.

  He cracked the door open to see Ryan sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, wearing nothing but a fresh set of boxers, a short-sleeve tee, and a ruffled mob of water-darkened blond hair. His eyes shifted up, over his phone, and he grinned, tossing the phone to the side and sitting up. “Now we’re talking. I wondered if you were going to leave me to starve. Some host you are.”

  The gimme-gimme gesture made him look like a four-year-old at an ice-cream store, if one didn’t take into account Ryan’s “six foot tall and built like a tank” frame. Blake snorted as he tossed the bag to Ryan and set one coffee on the table in front of the couch.

  Ryan took a huge gulp of the steaming black brew before digging into the bag and practically inhaling one of the pastries. “I’ve missed these. It’s not been the same since you left.”

  Blake clutched his chest dramatically. “Are you saying that’s the only reason you visit? For my sugar supply?”

  His guest grinned, cheeks pushed out with his mouth full of pastry, and said, “No, of course not. There’s also the cheese. And the”—he waved his hand over the object in question—“and the whatever the dough stuff is. Oh and your company’s up there in the top ten or so.”

  Blake grunted as he sat in the recliner, coffee in hand, and took a sip. “If you think this is good, you should have met Nana Jean. Nothing better. Can’t be replicated. I can’t come close, not even with her own recipes.” His grandmother had taught him how to bake years ago. He’d spent many a weekend rolling dough and making cinnamon pastries for her Sunday church events. He’d loved spending time with her. She’d taught him how to bake everything from cakes and cookies to pies and pastries. She’d supplied the town with their sugar high for many years before she’d passed on when he was in high school. As a SEAL, he’d trained constantly, but they had downtime between missions. Blake had hated that downtime, and he’d refused to visit his family for leave or any other reason. So, he’d started baking again, just to have something to do. Then his brothers would ask for certain pastries, and before he knew it, he had a following on base.

  When he’d been given the option of retirement or a desk job after his injury, he’d retired, unable to consider being tied to a paper-pushing position. His fellow SEALs had encouraged him to open a bakery, which was how he’d ended up with Manly Cakes. While he missed the action and his brothers, he couldn’t say he’d had much in the way of boredom or downtime since opening this shop. So, mission accomplished on that front.

  “Want to help me out in the bakery today? I’ve got a charity event that needs cookies packaged. I have two volunteers, if they show up this morning.” He had his doubts Andi would show after their words yesterday evening. He couldn’t figure out if that would be a good thing or not. He’d rather her keep her holier-than-thou comments to herself, but just being in her presence stirred something within him he had no control over. It was the only reason he could think of for his responses. He didn’t usually defend himself to anyone, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d risen to any bait. Andi had been stunning as a teenager, but ten years had served her well. She’d filled out in all the right places. When she’d been antagonizing him by the car the previous evening, it had taken all his effort not to snatch her up and kiss the smartass right out of her.

  Ryan cleared his throat, dragging Blake’s attention back to him. When he had it, he shrugged. “Sure. Happy to package for you. But what I want to know is what the look was for. Only two times I’ve seen that level of concentration on your face.” He held up one finger. “When we enter a target area and you’re getting ready to set the C4.” Ryan held up a second finger. “When we’ve been on bar recon and you’re about to make a move, hoping to get lucky.” He took a sip of his coffee and raised an eyebrow. “So which is it? Are we storming the enemy or is there a hot chick in this equation?”

  “Neither,” Blake answered quickly. He wouldn’t touch Andi with a ten-foot pole. The Wilson sisters were nothing but trouble. Very different trouble, but trouble just the same. The temptation she presented would never end well. “Just getting mentally organized for the day.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “The volunteers should be here any minute. You might consider pants.”

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.” Ryan dragged on a pair of jeans as a knock sounded at the door, thankfully stopping any more of his interrogation.

  “Come in.” He looked over his shoulder toward the door, assuming Wyatt or Chelsea had a question or needed help with a customer. But Andi opened the door, a scowl marring her pretty face until she saw he had a guest in his office as well. How he wanted to give her a different reason to lose that glare. He stood to face her.

  She smoothed out her expression and said, “Oh. Sorry to interrupt. Chelsea said to head on back and let you know we’re here.”

  “We’ll meet you in the prep room. I’ve got an extra volunteer for us today.” He used his thumb to indicate Ryan.

  “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” She had zero control over those dirty looks she sent his way, and the slight shock her eyes betrayed let him know she had about as much control over her mouth as he had over his reactions to her. She could try to be self-righteous, but he couldn’t help being turned on by all her various mercurial moods. And the situation couldn’t have been more clear if she’d been wearing a bikini and strutting through his office with a sign proclaiming round two was about to commence. Now, there was an image he could pull out late at night. He grinned, if for no other reason than to annoy her completely. She turned on her heel and left the door open as she disappeared.

  Ryan buttoned his jeans as he shoved his feet into his Doc Martins. “I think we’ve got ourselves a combination, bro. You’ve got a hot enemy combatant on your radar.” He clapped him on the shoulder, then rubbed his hands together in glee. “Maybe I can set the C4 this time. Let the games begin.” He laughed as he headed out the door.

  Blake threw his hands in the air and followed his best friend. Nothing good could come from those final words.

  ~~~

  Andi shook her head as she walked into the prep room. That man confounded her. He’d shoot her looks that made the skin on her arms pebble with goose bumps, drawing her interest. Then he’d open his mouth and say the most annoying things, raising her hackles. She couldn’t help her responses to him. And that irritated her more than anything. She was always in control. Always. She rubbed her forehead as she looked around the room at rolling racks full of baked cookies. How had all this been completed since she’d left last night?

  “You look tired,” Bree said, already wearing an apron and gloves and sitting at the workstation, packing the cookies as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. They had left at the same time the previous night. Did Bree not notice all the work that had been done? She glanced around as if trying to figure out what Andi was thinking, then waved a han
d at the new cookies. “Let it go. He clearly works hard. I can’t believe how many cookies he got done after we left.”

  “Yeah, I can’t either. I think he had to have had help,” she said, washing her hands in the sink before tying on her apron and sidling up to her stool, turning toward Bree.

  “Yeah? Like little magic fairy people?” Bree nodded toward the cookies she’d placed in front on Andi’s spot and pushed a pair of gloves her direction. “We’re behind, remember? The whole lecture you gave me on the phone on the way here this morning about getting everything packaged so we can get done and out of here?”

  Andi ignored her, again looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Two military looking men, working all night, tucked away inside a bakery. What in the world? Maybe she’d misread Blake entirely. Could he be gay?

  “Well, look what we have here.” The stark clap of hands smacking together made her jump. Both she and Bree turned toward the masculine voice that didn’t belong to Blake. “My orders just got better, and this place got a whole lot prettier.”

  Blake walked out of the office behind him and gave this new guy a glare as he walked past. “No monkey business. Got it? Cookies in bags, pretty bow. Repeat.” He pointed a finger at his friend and kept eye contact by walking backward toward the door to the main kitchen area, leaving the grinning man behind.

  Bree beamed as she stared up at the guy, all rugged and super-muscled up. Andi’s eyes narrowed at the words that were clearly meant to be charming. His hand shot out first to Bree, who dropped the current cookie in her hands back on the table, yanked off her glove, and eagerly accepted it. When he reached for Andi’s, his dark eyes showed an age and wisdom of someone who had seen the world and had the emotional scars to prove it. Her heart softened, so did her stiff hand as she acquiesced to his greeting.