Marshall saw no humor, nothing to smile about what I’d said. He was still breathing fire with straight malice shooting from his eyes. I’d never known him to be violent toward women, an asshole, yes, but never violent.
I knew if a moment ever came when someone from that time in my life was in front of me, I’d have to face all that I left behind. I’d have to stand tall and take whatever anger and hate came at me.
And it would all be completely justified.
I sighed and ran my hands across my vintage pale pink shirt, my fingers brushing over something sticky I must’ve spilled in the kitchen earlier. It wasn’t an everyday item I wore; it was mostly for when I was going to meet new customers.
“So?” Marshall said, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re Tipsy Treats?”
I nodded. “I am. And you are what? The manager of Ginger?”
“Owner,” he snapped. “Co-owner actually. You want to take a fucking wild stab in the dark who my partner is?”
Marshall always drove me crazy with his filthy mouth and overzealous womanizing, but despite all that, I’d always liked him. He was one of the few people that would cross my mind from time to time.
However, my anxiety kicked in with the mention of a copartner. No doubt it was Aaron, my ex-husband. His restaurant and bar businesses were flourishing when I left Chicago, and I had no doubt his success would expand further someday. I just didn’t think it would be right in my line of vision, halfway across the country from his home base in Chicago.
“What are you doing here? I mean, how did this happen here?” I asked.
“Aaron’s girlfriend is from the central coast. After they came for a visit, he put his feelers out, and you know how good he is. He knew this was the right place.”
Aaron’s girlfriend.
Of course he has one. I was glad. No, I was more than glad because I never wanted anything but good things for him.
“This is obviously not going to work,” Marshall barked. “I don’t care how fucking good your shit is.”
“It isn’t shit, and I don’t think you should be so hasty.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Hasty? It’s not hasty to not want to have anything to do with you.”
I winced at his words, the razor-sharp intent hitting me in the heart. I paused, waiting for the burn to subside before moving forward and in a different direction.
“Okay, this is a shock for both of us,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Ah. Yeah.”
“How are you?” I asked.
A dirty look passed over his face. “What the fuck do you care?”
I shrugged. “I was trying to be polite.”
“You weren’t so polite when you ditched your kid and husband,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “By the way, they’re fine.”
I inhaled deeply, letting his words, his anger settle into my bones. I’d wished I’d had time to prepare for this, and in some ways, I guess, I had years to. But I just never thought I’d ever have to deal with him or anyone from Chicago. If I’d known, in any capacity, I would be running into him, I could have processed how I would deal with it.
Or maybe not. I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me.
“I’m glad they’re well,” I whispered.
“Well?” he spat, his voice raising as he dragged out the word. “You’re glad they’re well? What the fuck kind of thing is that to say? You aren’t talking about the weather or how your lunch was. And please excuse the spite in my delivery, but there’s no way I can be anything else. Not after what you did.”
I twirled the bottom strands of my hair around my hand, a nervous habit I couldn’t break. “I wasn’t…prepared…and—”
“Oh, please,” he said, rolling his eyes.
And this was when I snapped. The part that held everything I’d endured was safely tucked away for no one to see, but seeing him again made it break right open.
“Enough!” I screamed. “I’m no happier to see you than you are me. I didn’t think I’d have to see you or be reminded of…everything…ever again. So, I get that you’re angry at me, but this is my territory. I built a life, a business—and a damn good one—here long before you, or more than likely Aaron, wisely chose the Happiest City in America to open a bar.”
I paused, my chest expanding and contracting from the force of my words. You’d think he would’ve been shaken by my outburst, or at the very least, startled. He was neither.
“Are you done?” he asked calmly. “I’m not going to wait for you to respond to that. You are. I don’t give a fuck how long you’ve been here and what kind of life you have in this happy place. I’m here now and I don’t want to see your face around my bar.”
I heard a gasp and turned to see Wells and Phoebe poking their heads out of the office door. Phoebe whispered something in his ear as he nodded in agreement.
“And what are you two gossiping about?” Marshall snapped. “If you have something to say, then—”
“Fine,” Phoebe said, stepping out of the office with Wells following. “I was trying to be discreet, but since you called me out, I’ll be honest. I was telling Wells it was obvious by the way you two are bickering at each other that you must have boned years ago. This is obviously some past-due lovers’ quarrel.”
“No way!” I said as Marshall shouted, “Fuck no!”
They both recoiled, something between shock and disgust written all over their faces. I sighed deeply again, trying to clear my head and regulate all my emotions. This was a disaster. As the silence between us all began to grow, it seemed like the walls were closing in around us.
“Well, I really don’t think there’s anything left to say,” Marshall said. “I’d say it was nice to see you, Lexie, but—”
I stomped my foot. “Alexis! Geez!”
“Alexis,” he shouted back. “I don’t want to see you in my bar again.”
Phoebe gasped again as Wells whispered under his breath, “Damn.”
It was all deserved. I didn’t have to like it, and Phoebe and Wells didn’t have to understand it, but it was all warranted. Even though I told myself all this, it didn’t soften the blow enough. My instinct was to give it right back to him and not be talked to that way.
My instincts, in all areas except for business, were much different than they were years ago. I was no longer that woman who would level anyone, even a man, with a ferocious retort. I gave all that up when I gave up Lexie Matthews.
I stared him straight in the eye, allowing him to see I got it, but I could still stand tall. “The best to you, Marshall. I’m sure our paths will cross at some point. Small town and all.”
I turned my back to him and headed to the door, calling to Phoebe over my shoulder. “See you back at the house,” I said.
I pushed my way out the door, but it didn’t shut before I heard Marshall shout, “Holy fucking shit, Lexie Matthews.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Alexis,” I whispered.
* * *
The early afternoon sun was pleasantly warm as I made the drive home through the winding roads between San Luis Obispo and Arroyo Grande, where I lived. Five years living here, and while there were times when I missed such a drastic change of seasons, like in Chicago, I never missed it enough to give up this place. There was a comfort in knowing that while it always varied slightly, there was no need to plan for weather. The mid-seventies temperature, the sunny sky, and beautiful landscape added a peacefulness to the surroundings in a way I’d never known.
As I pulled myself off the twisted road and onto the gravel path to my home, I finally was able to breathe. As clichéd as it seemed, my home was my sanctuary. The converted barn house on five acres was surrounded by farms, ranches, and rolling hills. Far enough away from the downtown craziness of San Luis Obispo, but close enough to be able to make daily trips for deliveries. I came to a stop in front of the U-shaped driveway that was centered in front of a massive wraparound porch.
It was much too big
of a house for me the architect had said.
I told him I knew what I wanted and I wanted the house.
It was too much house for one person, but when I laid eyes on it, I knew it was mine. Living a life alone didn’t deter me from purchasing, renovating, and running a business out of it.
As I walked through the screened front door, I was reminded of why I did it all. Original oak beams preserved the authentic nature of the barnlike qualities while I added modest touches of modern. Warm, neutral colors throughout the living room, along with an oversized couch situated near the brick fireplace, was one of my favorite places in my home. I continued my path, meandering my way through the house across French limestone flooring that guided me to hardwood floors in my kitchen and work area.
I entered my spacious commercial kitchen, which was nothing short of picture-perfect, one fit for Architectural Digest. An enormous walk-in pantry and stacked rack-style bakery ovens were the focal points, while the deep, side-by-side basin sinks were flanked by oak cabinets and beams.
The scents of the cooling Fireball whiskey apple puffs and bananas Foster pastry cups I’d made earlier hung in the air. After stopping in front of them to give them a glance, I plopped myself on one of the island stools. My hands settled on the cool soapstone top, my fingers tracing the engrained patterns, and my mind rewound eight years as I allowed myself to think about the past.
“Only Chicagoans would flood the beach on one of the hottest days of the year,” Sydney says, rolling onto her back, her body stretching across her beach towel.
“I don’t mind it,” I say, looking up to the sun and basking in the heat. “It will be twenty below before we know it.”
She sits up slightly and moves her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose. “Check that out,” she says. “Yum.”
I glance over to where she is pointing at the volleyball game happening. A two-on-two match between what appeared to be a set of college-aged kids and a midtwenties duo. Shirtless, board shorts, and sweaty, they all were eye candy.
“The youngsters are too young,” Sydney says, pushing her sunglasses back in place. “However, that other pair. I wish I didn’t need my shades so I can start making eyes.”
Both tall, the dark-haired one is slightly taller, with an insane body and smile to match. The dirty blond is equally hot, but there is something about him that I’m drawn to more. I take him in, but before I could indulge further, Sydney taps my arm—
“Dibs on the blond,” Sydney says, making my choice easier.
My eyes drift back over to them, the sun beating down on their tan, toned bodies, their muscles tightening with every bump, set, and spike. The blond sees us ogling and gives us a quick wave before nudging the one I’ve come to know as mine.
The whole scenario brings to mind a certain movie sequence, and before I even tell Sydney, she beats me to it.
“We never get to see so much hotness, aka Top Gun, action in real life,” she says.
“I was about to say the same thing.”
“Well,” she says, perching from her beach towel. “Dark hair and light hair. Maverick and Iceman.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I always thought Iceman was hotter. I think I’ll call the dark-haired one that.”
“You can’t just switch the names like that!”
“Why not? I can do whatever I want.”
We sit quiet as we watch the rest of the game unfold. The college boys are good. They’re really good, but Team Top Gun is better. When they spike the game point, Sydney and I cheer, letting them know we’d been paying attention. After they celebrate, Iceman starts to jog over, and I know I have to play a bit of hard to get.
“Hi there,” he says when he approaches me. He smiles, and now that it’s directed toward me, I know that smile probably gets this guy anything he wants.
I look at him, up and down. “Hi.”
He stretches his arms above his head, further accentuating his tight abs. “Hot enough for you?”
I shrug. “I can take hotter.”
“Can you?” he asks before sitting down next to me.
He is confident and sexy. Two very attractive qualities. He is also sporting an enormous ego I am going to need to put in check so I can get him right where I want.
I laugh. “Don’t waste your time, lover boy. Those lines and the pretty boy face don’t do shit for me.”
He smiles again, unfazed. “If my face or lines don’t do it for you, what would?”
He won’t back down, and I know this is as level a playing field as we are going to get. Either he’ll be a happily-ever-after guy or the biggest regret of my life. My gut tells me so. It’s too tempting of a scenario to shy away from.
I shield my eyes from the sun to look at him better. “Offer to buy me a drink. That’s a good start.”
He nods. “That I can do. The vodka lemonades at Castaways might put me in an even better position.”
I stand and brush off some sand that has stuck to me. I take my time, twisting just so, so he can get a better glimpse of me standing. After bending down to pick up my shorts, I glance at him as I pull them on.
“Come on, Iceman. I’m thirsty.”
We start walking toward Castaways, the North Avenue Beach bar, as we steal glances, checking each other out.
“Why Iceman?” he asks as we near the bar. “No Maverick?”
I pause and turn to look at him. “Iceman was way hotter.”
The slamming of the screen door brought me out of my reminiscing. Phoebe was standing with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. The curvy girl, with the fiery red hair and personality to match, was going to want answers. Not only was she my friend and employee, she was someone who was never a bystander. It was what I liked best about her. It was what drew me to her in the beginning. When the business began to get busier, I knew I needed the added help. She is a hell of baker, and we work side by side with ease. Her becoming my friend, too? It was an added bonus.
“What the hell happened back there?” she asked.
Chapter Three
Marshall—
I couldn’t shake everything I was feeling after seeing her. It was so fucked up. Out of all people, out of all places, Lexie—or Alexis I guess she was called now—was the one to show up. I hadn’t seen her since before she left Aaron and their daughter Delilah so many years ago. And she didn’t just leave, she abandoned them. She gave up all rights and custody of Delilah and was never seen again. I was hoping I’d never see her again after witnessing what her selfish, fucked-up act did to my best friend.
Fuck. Aaron was going to lose his shit when I told him. In a way, I couldn’t wait.
She looked almost the same—tall, pretty, and long, wavy blond hair. There was one thing that was different, and it was the one thing I was having the hardest time shaking: She had the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. It was almost haunting. There was so much hidden behind those eyes, and I knew a lot of it. The “Ice Queen,” the name we all jokingly called her, always had a hard exterior that no one, not even Aaron, could crack through completely. There was never a lot of emotion out of her ever, but now? There was definite sadness.
Abandoning your husband and baby was one way for someone to be sad, and it showed.
Good. She deserves it.
I had to sit back and watch my best friend get his life destroyed. I had to see Delilah, the daughter she gave up and never saw again, begin to grow up without a mother. Yeah. Things were better now with Callie, Aaron’s girlfriend, in the picture, but how could Lexie ever justify that? She couldn’t. No fucking way. I’d done a lot of questionable shit in my life, but taking off like she did and just leaving a note was something you didn’t do.
I glanced at one of the boxes she left. TIPSY TREATS was written in fancy, blue lettering across the pink pastry box. I flipped the top open, and fuck if the pastries inside didn’t smell as good as they looked. I was stubborn enough to want to refuse to eat any of it because she made them.
But I w
asn’t stupid.
So, I picked up the goddamn brownie with the shiny frosting and took a bite.
“Christ,” I mumbled.
I was so fucking pissed with how good it was. In fact, it wasn’t just good. It was the best brownie I’d ever had. I glanced at the bottom of the wrapper where it read “Stout Brownie” and realized that was what made it so unique. It had this deep chocolate flavor with a, like it said, background of stout. And while I knew I’d never had anything quite like it, there was something familiar about it. Maybe it was the beer flavor. Whatever it was, it was fucking delicious.
“Damn it,” I said, before setting it down and deciding on what to try next.
Well. Good for her. She made good shit. At least she could do something right.
I selected a small doughnut, yellow with a white glaze, next. ”Margarita Doughnut.” Again, after tasting, I was blown away. A sweet yellow cake with a tequila chaser. I wanted to throw it on the floor and step on it because it was so amazing and so perfect for this bar. Too bad the woman who made them made me angrier than when people put the toilet paper roll on wrong.
Always over. Never under.
“Whatever,” I said, slamming the box cover down while finishing the rest of the doughnut.
“What did that box ever do to you,” Wells said, walking through the front door.
“Where the hell have you been?” I snapped.
He stopped midstep. “I was walking Phoebe to her car.”
“That was like forty-five minutes ago.”
“It was a long walk,” he said with a dumbass smile.
He stood there, grinning like a jackass eating cactus. I shook my head because I didn’t even have the energy to give him shit after the whole Lexie…Alexis…debacle.
He came up next to me. “Oh! The cherry moonshine turnover,” he said, yanking it from the box.
He was about to bite into it when I slapped his hand. “Put that down!”
So Wicked Page 2
