“Let me go,” says Jennifer, voice muffled by Lauren’s busty embrace.
“Did you just bite my boob?” asks Lauren, letting Jennifer go suddenly.
Jennifer’s face reddens. “I wasn’t--I just--”
“Annnyway,” I say. “I know how we’re going to save the bakery. We’re going to set up a tent by the Francis’ farm to sell everything people need for strawberry shortcake next week. Think about it. Fresh strawberries. Fresh shortcake. Freshly made whipped cream.”
“I just thought about it and gained two pounds,” says Lauren. “Oh, and an ulcer. Am I too young to get ulcers?” she asks no one in particular.
“Probably,” Jennifer answers helpfully.
“So you want to set up a tent,” says Lauren slowly. “But you keep saying the word ‘fresh’. Last time I checked, the Francis’ farm is about ten minutes from here. Are we going to be driving like crazy people to bring freshly baked shortbread from the bakery to the farm?”
“No,” I say, my smile widening. “We’re going to bring our ovens to the farm!”
They both groan.
A man in a fancy suit is leaving Reid’s house when I come home. My first thought when I see the expensive clothes is that my parents are over, but the man is far too young, and when I pull into my driveway, I see he’s a large man with fiery red hair and a thick beard. Definitely not my father. But what the hell is Reid doing talking to a guy like that?
I’m considering going over to his house and asking when a Bentley pulls into my driveway. The black bodywork of the car is polished to a mirror sheen, and the chrome is dazzling in the midday sun. Alfred and Collette step out of the car, looking toward me. I realize if Reid sees and decides to come out right now, he’s going to step out of his house looking like a mechanic. He’ll be wearing jeans and either no shirt, or a dirty one. He’ll probably even have grease smeared on his body. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I try to walk back to my house with as much calm and dignity as I can manage, all the while hating that my parents still have the power to make me go through so much trouble to impress them. I can’t believe I’m bending over backwards to maintain this ridiculous little lie I should never have begun. Not for the first time, I consider just calling the whole thing off and telling them the truth. But now the possibility of saving my bakery has me wanting to wait just a little longer. That, and the distant hope that I could be pregnant.
I shove all the doubts into the back of my head and force a smile. “Where have you guys been?”
“Well, your fiancé was kind enough to come by and warn us about the issue you were having,” says my father. Even now, he’s craning his neck to look past me toward the house, probably hoping to spot Reid or Roman. “It has been a while and we just thought we’d come make sure you were okay.”
“Reid’s not here,” I say pointedly.
As if he is literally the god of bad timing, Reid freaking Riggins chooses that moment to stroll out of his garage, shirtless and gorgeous. I might have been able to get my parents’ attention diverted in time if he hadn’t dropped a wrench and proceeded to yell back to Roman at the top of his lungs to come look at the ducks.
The ducks. Really? Is his life so boring that three ducks mulling around his front lawn is enough reason to summon the whole Riggins clan ?
“Is that…” starts my father.
“Reid?” asks my mother quietly.
The shock and disappointment is obvious in their voices. Reid has a dirty red rag tucked in the waistband of his jeans and his smooth, muscular frame is dotted with smears of oil. He looks exactly like what he is. A mechanic. My parents don’t need any help figuring it out.
My father shakes his head at me, narrowing his eyes. “I should have known.”
“Why?” asks my mother. “Why would you lie to us?”
I turn on them. “Why would I lie to you?” My eyes are threatening to fill with tears, but I focus on the anger I’ve held for so long instead. They don’t deserve to see the sadness they’ve caused me. They can have my anger. Every last drop of it. “Let’s see,” I say dramatically, holding up my hand to count off a list on my fingers. “You two have always rooted for me to fail, you’ve never approved of anything I chose for myself, you probably wish Vanessa had come first so you could’ve just fucking stopped while you were ahead!”
“Sandra, lower your voice,” whispers my mother.
Of course. I lay my feelings out on the line for the first time in my life and all my mother can do is think of how embarrassing it is to be shouted at by her daughter in the middle of nowhere.
“That’s not true,” says my father. “We don’t want you to fail. We just wish you would see reason. There’s no reason for you to live in a filthy place like this. You’re better than these people, Sandra.”
I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s where you’ve always been wrong. The people here are good people. They work hard and they care about each other.”
“Exactly, dear,” says my father. “They work hard. You really think we want that for our daughter?”
“No. I know you don’t. That’s the problem. You want me to just waste away and spend your money. I never wanted that for myself and you guys never cared what I did want.”
“Honey,” says my mother. “Listen to yourself. You’re saying we didn’t care because we didn’t want you struggling away the best years of your life just to make enough money to buy a place like this?” she gestures toward my house without even looking.
“I’m saying you didn’t care because you never bothered to see that I’m not like either of you. This place is mine. I was proud as hell when I was able to buy it, okay? Maybe you can’t see that. Maybe it looks like a pile of sticks to you, but it’s mine, and I earned it. That means the world to me.”
My parents both focus their gaze somewhere behind me. I hear his footsteps and turn to see Reid approaching. The look on his face is not kind.
“You okay?” he asks, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my cheek.
His rough whiskers tickle my skin and the wonderful manliness of his smell fills my nose. In his arms and in his presence I feel safe. Protected. Whole.
“I’m okay,” I say softly, hoping I can make the words true if I try hard enough.
“We trusted you,” says my father.
“Yeah, well, I guess you can’t trust every asshole with greased hair and buttons on his shirt.”
My mother makes a shocked face and my father scowls. “I told your father we shouldn’t have come.”
My father shakes his head, looking at me sadly. “I wanted so much better for you, Sandra. So much better.”
They move like they’re about to get back in the car when Reid steps between my father and the door, planting a firm hand on the car and keeping my father from opening it.
“No,” says Reid. “You’re not leaving yet.”
My father actually tries to push past Reid, but he might as well be shoving against a tree for all the good it does. Reid waits patiently for my father to give up, straightening his suit and crossing his arms petulantly. My mother is halfway in the car, apparently frozen between her decision to get in or get out and try to help. She settles for something in between, peeking over the top of the car at the standoff between Reid and my father.
“You’re not leaving,” continues Reid, “until you have a chance to know what an amazing fucking daughter you have. Your daughter owns a bakery. I’m guessing you didn’t know that by the look on your face. Yeah, she owns her own business and she does a damn fine job of it too.
And you know what? She did it without your help. Do you even realize how incredible that is? Do you get how many people would take the easy handout you’re offering? You should be proud as fucking hell of your daughter for the woman she is. If you can’t see that, neither of you deserve to be here. So you can get in your fancy fucking car and go back to your bullshit excuse of a life.”
Reid practically sho
ves my father in the car and slams the door. My father starts the engine and hastily backs out, turning as quickly as he can and spinning the tires in his rush to get away from Reid and his anger.
I stand speechless, mouth open as I look at Reid, who is sucking in heavy breaths and frowning. He just defended me. No one has ever defended me, not like that, and especially not to my parents. I’ve always tried to stand up to them and get my point across to them, but it never worked. They never saw who I was or even listened to me. Even if a word of that didn’t sink in for them, I can’t stop hearing it all over and over again in my head.
“You really think all that?” I ask, smiling shyly.
“Every word of it.”
I kiss him then, with the fading afternoon sun warm against my neck and his body pressed to mine. His strong, possessive hands splay across my back, taking me in and making me feel small and vulnerable in all the best ways, in the ways that make me know I can let my guard down around him. I can be the girl I never got a chance to be. I can be vulnerable. I can be all the things I couldn’t because he’s here to protect me. To keep me safe and to care for me.
I kiss him knowing all of that is true down to the last syllable because I can feel it in his touch and see it in his eyes. And for the first time, I know with blinding certainty and without even the faintest glimmer of doubt that I want to have his baby. I hope beyond all hope that it’s already growing inside me, and if it’s not, I want to keep trying.
“Reid Riggins,” I say softly, pulling away and looking up into his eyes. “You might just be the man of my dreams.”
He smirks down at me. “Sweetheart, if I came out of your dreams, I’d hate to see your nightmares.”
19
Reid
Roman waits in the truck and listens to his songs about bears while I go to confront Alfred and Collette Williams, who are ordering around a small team of teenagers from town. The teens are bringing load after load of supplies out of the bed and breakfast from furniture to suitcases to floral arrangements. It’s all being packed into a semi-truck while Collette and Alfred watch, command, and don’t break a sweat.
“How long were you planning on staying?” I ask them, eyeing the ridiculous amount of stuff.
“You have some nerve to come here,” says Alfred.
“Yeah, get used to it,” I say. “You’re both making a mistake. You know if you leave now, you’re going to lose her.”
Collette sniffs derisively. “Sandra is losing herself. We’ve done all we can for her.”
“That’s what you think?” I ask. “All you’ve done is taken the satisfaction out of chasing her dream. You’ve made her feel like a fucking outcast. Like she’s some kind of slimy, lowlife person for wanting to make something out of herself.”
Alfred looks to the sky, holding his hands up as if asking for help from above. “Good God, man. You really don’t get it. Maybe to people like you in places like this, being a… a… baker,” Alfred finally spits out, as if even uttering the word offends his sensibilities. “Maybe that’s ‘making it’. But Sandra is better than that. She has millions of dollars waiting for her if she so much as asks. And she’s too headstrong to ask, so we’re forced to watch one of our own subject herself to this life.”
I huff a humorless laugh, nodding my head, finally understanding. “She doesn’t need you. Either of you. Fuck. I should’ve seen it sooner. Yeah,” I say spitting on the ground, inches from Alfred’s expensive shoes. “Why don’t you two get as fucking far from here as possible and don’t even think about coming back. She’ll be better off without you.”
I get back in the car and Roman looks at me from his carseat in the back. I eye him in the rearview and force a smile. “Ready to go home, Bud?”
“Why were you yelling, Daddy?”
I sigh. “Because someone I care a lot about deserves to be treated better than she is.”
“Who?”
“A good friend.”
Roman grins deviously. “You like Miss Sandra.”
I turn the car on and back out, grinning back at him. “Okay. Caught me.”
“I like her too. She’s pretty.”
“Watch it now,” I say. “You’ve got Lyla. Miss Sandra is mine, okay?”
Like the little player he is, Roman refuses to give me a verbal commitment that he’ll stay away from my girl. He just hums quietly to himself, looking out the window innocently. But I know better.
A few minutes later, I help Roman out of his carseat and head into Sandra’s bakery. Her only customer is Mrs. Stevens, who’s leaning close to the display and apparently making a life-or-death decision between a danish or a doughnut. Lauren spots me when we come in.
“Sandra! There’s a male model out here to see you. He’s got a little kid with him too. Super cute.”
Sandra emerges from the back a few seconds later. She has flour all over her apron, hands, and even on her face. The specks of white bring out the red in her cheeks and make her look beautifully flushed. Innocent even, but I know better. I can still remember the way she rode my face. I fucking love that she can look so sweet an innocent and still let go as hard as she does between the sheets.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say.
Sandra’s cheeks get even redder and Lauren raises her eyebrows, fanning herself off with a well-manicured hand. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too,” I say. “Roman wanted to come over to your place tonight. He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“I haven’t?” he asks.
“Yeah. Remember?” I ask him, nudging him with my toe.
“I haven’t stopped asking about it,” he says mechanically, drawing grins from both Sandra and Lauren.
“Wow. So your daddy doesn’t really care one way or another? He just wants to come over because you do?”
Roman looks up at me. I raise my eyebrows and signal for him to disagree.
“No ma’am. My daddy likes you a lot. That’s why he yelled at your parents before we came here.” Roman gives me two thumbs up and I wince, scratching the back of my neck and bracing myself for the anger.
Sandra’s eyes slowly move from Roman to me. “He did what?” she asks.
“I might have had a few words with them. Hey, I know. Let’s talk about it over dinner tonight and I’ll give you all the details.”
Sandra folds her arms. “Or we could talk about it now.”
“Yeah. Wish we could,” I say quickly, scooping up Roman and carrying him over my shoulder. “Little Roman has one of those four hour stomach bugs though. He’ll have to sleep it off before we can come over.”
“Reid!” Sandra says sternly.
I wave over my shoulder, carrying a giggling Roman out of the bakery and closing the door behind us.
We’re outside Sandra’s house that evening, just before sunset. The crickets are already chirping and there’s a chill in the air. I lick my thumb and try to smooth down a clump of Roman’s hair that’s standing up in the back. He wanted to dress nice for our “date” with Miss Sandra, so he’s wearing a dress shirt, slacks that are a little too short, and of course his favorite pair of tennis shoes.
I’m wearing a button down shirt without enough buttons undone to breathe and the sleeves rolled up. Roman tried to get me to wear dress pants, but I opted for jeans.
“Ready?” I ask.
Roman nods and runs his hands through his hair, messing up the style he had going on. I smirk, knocking hard.
Sandra opens the door. She’s wearing a short black dress and her hair is shiny and falls just above her shoulders in loose brown curls. I give her a crooked smile. “You didn’t have to dress up for us,” I say.
“Come in,” she says with a shy smile.
She has no idea how much her bashfulness turns me on, but Roman’s here tonight. It’s not the time for that kind of stuff. Tonight, we’re just going to have a good time. Nothing sexual. Nothing dirty. At least that’s the plan. If the little man passes out on the co
uch or something, I can’t promise to behave.
“Smells good,” says Roman. He pads off toward the kitchen, nose raised in the air like he’s a bloodhound following the scent.
“Seems like his stomach bug cleared up,” says Sandra.
“Yeah. It’s wild how fast that came and went,” I say. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“You just get washed up and sit down. I’ll bring everything to the table.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Now that’s a woman who knows how to make me happy.”
She narrows her eyes. “It’s a woman who knows you will feel too guilty not to tell me what happened with my parents once you taste my cooking.”
I chuckle. “Sounds like challenge.”
I take my spot at the table beside Roman, who tucks a napkin into his collar and holds his knife and fork at the ready. Sandra kneels to pull several steaming hot trays from the oven. She clatters dishes and pans around for a few minutes, moving dishes to platters for the table.
I stand up, not wanting her to have to do it all herself. “Let me help,” I say, sliding behind her and letting my hips brush against her ass.
She bites her lip, not meeting my eye, but smiling slightly. “Fine. You can help, but don’t you dare drop anything.”
I lean close enough that only she can hear me. “Only thing I want to drop are your panties. What color?” I ask.
She licks her lips, flicking her eyes up to me. “Black,” she says.
“Hm... You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It depends what you said to my parents.”
I grab a casserole dish full of sweet potatoes and head to the table, trying not to let the need to drag her to the bedroom completely dominate my thoughts.
“This is delicious,” I say a few minutes later when she’s sitting across from Roman and I and we have everything on the table. She made something crusty like pie, but filled with beef, veggies, and cheese. There’s potatoes, carrots, and macaroni and cheese. Roman is in heaven. His plate is piled high and he’d digging into the macaroni and cheese like it owes him money, occasionally sucking in a heavy breath between bites.
Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 13
