by Tawny Weber
Vivian had discovered a series of books called Living the Dream! written by Lola Bean. They focused on arranging wishes, hopes and goals into definable dreams and had inspired her like crazy. She’d read all of the books, then worked through the quizzes, study guides and questionnaires, narrowing down random ideas and what ifs into actual life goals built on a dream that touched her heart.
Vivian considered herself an artist. One who honored sexuality and the human form. But she couldn’t draw or paint, and try as she might, she couldn’t write a decent story. So, through Lola’s first course, “Finding the Dream that Makes You Sing,” she’d combined her two talents, sensual art and baking, and created The Sweet Spot.
As Lola so often said, with the power of that much emotion behind her dreams, how could she fail to build her dream life? And she was right. It’d given Vivian focus for the first time in twenty-four years. A sense of empowerment and excitement over building her dream career.
What it hadn’t done was actually give her that career.
Yet.
Vivian wasn’t giving up, though.
After reading through the entire booklist, joining Lola’s newsletter and finding her on social media, Vivian had been thrilled when the woman had opened group coaching. She’d convinced Minna, their friend Lisa and Lisa’s sister, Corinne, to do the coaching with her and, wow, talk about results.
Thanks to Lola’s advice, after six years of dating, Minna was finally marrying the man of her dreams. Lisa had gone back to school to get her degree and Corinne—well, Corinne’s dreams kept changing. She wasn’t quite the dream success story, which was fine with Vivian since it made her own mediocre success look better.
“Don’t look so bummed,” Minna chided, obviously reading her expression. “You’re great at what you do.”
As if to prove it, Minna whipped off the lid and showed off the penis again, complete with a sweep of one hand.
“It does look good, doesn’t it,” she murmured. “But I’m still not quite living the dream.”
Vivian’s goal was to be the go-to gal for sexy cakes and candies. She specialized in clever, sculpted, suggestive treats of all sorts. It didn’t have to be overt, like the sparkling penis. She loved getting that hint of sex across black lace formed from royal icing or leather from modeling chocolate. She’d created everything from an orgy of cupcakes to a madam’s cake—a four-layer devil’s food cake covered in black “leather” with red lace and sugar whips.
And while she was doing okay, she hadn’t quite found the key to success yet. She was pretty confident of her skills, and was sure her prices were right. And she’d built a great online store. It was just a matter of getting people to check it out and buy.
“Did you hear anything from that program you’d applied to?”
The program was an internship with one of the most respected dessert culinary programs in the country. If accepted, she’d be spending a year studying under Geoffrey of Decadence Desserts. Learning the ins and outs, not only of perfecting her dessert-making skills, but also business and marketing knowledge that’d help her build The Sweet Spot into the name in sensual treats.
The problem was, the internship took place in California. So it not only included moving away from her hometown, but leaving her comfy job working for the family bakery. Sure, she hated the tedious repetition of making the same desserts over and over. And she was so over her family’s disdain for her creative choices of sensual cake decor. But it was home and it was a job and, well, it was safe.
She’d been excited when she’d applied. All hopped up on one of Lola’s inspirational lessons on chasing the dream. But now? California meant giving up her comfort for a low-paying job living in a dorm with a bunch of strangers. Vivian just wasn’t sure it was worth it.
“No word yet,” was all she said, though.
“You’ll get there,” Minna assured her quietly as she covered the cake again. “You know Lola says you’re holding yourself back. You’re not fully committing.”
Vivian had to clench her teeth to keep from arguing. Not because she disagreed. But she’d argued this point so many times that she simply couldn’t stand to hear that she had to give up her safety net again.
“I’ll get there,” was all she finally said.
Looking relieved at the response, Minna said, “I know you will,” then changed the subject.
After assuring her that she’d come up with something fun for shower favors, Vivian waved her friend out of the bakery. As soon as Minna was gone, she grabbed her iPad and opened up her website.
Maybe she needed to do more advertising? Vivian slid through the samples, her smile growing as she looked at each one. Granted, there were more sketches than actual photos. Mostly because she hadn’t scored a lot of orders yet and she couldn’t justify making a slew of baked goods just to take photos. But picture or sketch, they all looked great.
If she did say so herself.
The infamous penis cake, perfectly proportioned—to an eight-foot-tall man, granted—with a glistening flesh-colored modeling-chocolate covering and any variety of fillings.
Bikini cupcakes, each breast covered in sassy polka dots with just a hint of cherry-gel nipples peeking through the lace.
Three-dimensional bodies—both male, female and a few with both—made not from Rice Krispies Treats like some bakers used, but delicious cake through and through.
She should be a huge success.
The only problem was that she worked at her parents’ bakery and they weren’t a fan of her dreams. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except this was their store, as they’d snippily pointed out just last week. And apparently paying for the ingredients she used didn’t make up for using their space with her crazy ideas and wicked creations.
Vivian sniffed her disdain, but since she hadn’t found any way around that particular issue yet, she had to admit it did play into Lola questioning the seriousness of her commitment. According to her, Vivian should walk away from the family business and focus on her own. Dreams required risk, chapter twelve. Safety nets only slowed progress.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
Breath knotted in her chest, Vivian spun around, almost falling on her butt thanks to her four-inch heels and slim pencil skirt.
“Mike,” she said, one hand pressed against her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. “What’re you doing here?”
Having obviously used his key to the back door, her brother stood in the pass-through between the storefront and the kitchen, frowning. Older by three years and their parent’s perfect child, Mike strode behind the counter to look over her shoulder.
“Why are you messing around with that stuff again? More of your dirty cakes and crazy ideas? C’mon, Viv, give it up and focus on the work you’re paid for,” he nagged in that big-brotherly tone that made his disdain for any other work she did clear.
Fingering the fifty in the pocket of her ruffled apron, Vivian debated waving it under his nose. But she knew it was pointless. Like their parents, Mike considered Vivian’s side job to be a silly little hobby, something they hoped she’d give up soon. Preferably before too many people learned of it and made the connection between Little Creek Bakery and its three generations of boring baked goods and The Sweet Spot, with its naughty selection of edible treats.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed like an uptight banker?” she asked, giving his casual jeans and button-down shirt a smirk.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed more, I don’t kn
ow, like someone who works in a bakery instead of a forties movie star?”
“You think I’m pretty enough to be a movie star?” Vivian teased, adding a sassy smile to her hair toss because she knew it’d bug him. The only thing more irritating than her brother’s criticism of her side business was his critique of her vintage style.
“I think you’re too much a handful as it is for me to answer a question like that.” As he spoke, Mike went through the bakery case, filling a standard pink cardboard box with a selection of choice cookies, brownies and muffins.
“What are you doing here? I’m pretty sure our parents left me in charge of the bakery while they’re on yet another vacation.” Vivian glanced at the clock to make sure she hadn’t lost time somewhere. “And since I am, shouldn’t you be bossing your tellers around at the bank instead of bugging me?”
“Shouldn’t you be closing out the cash register and prepping for tonight’s baking instead of playing on your computer?”
“Playing?” Vivian made a show of tapping one crimson fingernail on her iPad, opened it to her website and flipped through a few more cake images. “The register is already closed out, so whatever you’re taking there will have to be paid with exact change.”
“Cute,” he said, closing the box. “Here,” he said, waving a piece of paper. “I brought you a special order. Desserts for the class-reunion welcome reception.”
Vivian looked at the order and congratulated herself for holding back a sigh. Booooring, she thought, running one long nail down the list.
Simple vanilla cookies. Plain frosted cupcakes. Six-dozen standard petit fours. Yawn, yawn, yawn. And one three-tier cake in the high school colors, complete with a sugar photo of the school mascot, a roaring panther.
“You know, I could make the entire cake in the image of the panther,” she suggested. “Dress him up just like the mascot, complete with a Pikes Peak High pennant.”
“Stick with the sugar photo.” He started writing up a list of what he’d boxed, then pulled out his wallet. “I’ll pick it all up on Sunday afternoon, save you the delivery.”
“Sunday? You’re only giving me three days warning? I have other orders, Mike. A Saturday wedding, four birthday cakes and a croquembouche for Mrs. Fiore’s daughter’s shower. With the parents gone, I’m the only baker here.”
“You can handle it. Bring in more counter help if you have to,” he said with a shrug, handing her a ten and four ones.
“What? You’re not helping? I have to make this entire boring, cookie-cutter order by myself?” She glanced over it again. There wasn’t a sparkle of edible glitter or even a shiny cherry anywhere to be found.
“Use your imagination,” Mike said, giving her an encouraging look. “Pretend it’s fun.”
Vivian knew there was no doubt they were related. The Harris genes bred too strong, with their flaxen hair—although Vivian’s was a shoulder-length sweep fashioned in the classic forties style. Their huge brown eyes—but Vivian made sure hers looked even larger with heavy black liner that accented her lush lashes. And their tall, broad-shouldered build—Vivian’s being a lot more feminine than her former-football-playing brother and complete with generous curves.
But she’d long ago accepted that they were only similar in looks.
“You’re in charge of the bakery, you figure it out. I’ll be busy celebrating having all my pals home.”
All his pals?
A thrill of delight shot through her.
“The Bennett brothers are coming home?”
“Yep, Xander and Zane should be here—” Mike looked at his watch and grinned “—within the hour.”
“Both of them?” At her brother’s scowl, Vivian made a show of sweeping her long blond bangs away from her face and giving him a wide-eyed look of concern. “Are you sure Little Creek can handle an invasion by the Bad Boy Bennetts?”
“Probably not,” Mike replied with a laugh. “Luckily they’re only here for ten days. Other than breaking a few hearts, I don’t think they can do much damage with so little time.”
“Last time they were only home a week and they got into a huge bar fight after you challenged them to see who could drink the most shots. They broke the table at the diner arm wrestling and, if rumor is correct, they were seen streaking down Main Street at three in the morning as part of some insane decathlon.” Oh, how she’d wept over missing that sight.
“Nah, the streaking was just a rumor. But the rest is true.” Mike’s grin widened. “I’m going to have to do some serious thinking if I’m going to top all of those challenges.”
Vivian had a few challenges she wouldn’t mind offering Zane. Talk about a dream worth living—if only for ten days.
Her fingers tapping a beat over the boring order form, Vivian gave herself a minute to delve into her favorite fantasy. The one that starred her and Zane Bennett covered in nothing but chocolate frosting and a few tempting dollops of whipped cream.
Maybe it was time to try out a few of those coaching lessons on something other than business. After all, if she could make a glistening penis-shaped cake worthy of oohs and aahs, how hard could it be to get her hands on Zane Bennett’s real one?
Vivian flashed a wicked smile.
Hopefully, once she got her hands on it it’d be very, very hard.
3
WONDERING IF A person could go stir-crazy in less than eight hours, Zane parked his Harley in front of Myer’s Pub. Tugging off the helmet, he automatically checked the vicinity.
It looked pretty much like it had all his life.
The buildings, businesses and signs were the same. He recognized a number of the cars parked along the street, along with quite a few of the dozen people going about their business. The bakery across from the pub had a new striped awning, but that appeared to be about it for changes.
He’d spent the afternoon visiting family, and now he was ready to see friends. That ought to liven things up a little, Zane decided as he strode into the bar. One of the reasons he always opted to stay with his bud Lenny instead of at the family home was the freedom to enjoy whatever fun he found here at Myer’s.
He was ready for some fun.
He was also early.
No problem. He was sure he’d find plenty to entertain him until the old gang arrived. Lansky’s advice ringing in his ears, he scoped out the action. The bartender was familiar, but not in a did-I-do-her kind of way.
“Quinn? Quinn Oswald, right?” He recognized the slim brunette from high school. They hadn’t run in the same circles, but everyone who attended Pikes Peak High recognized their Princess. And clearly, the years were kind to royalty. With her dark hair waving around a pretty face, Quinn made a black tank and jeans look damned good. “I didn’t realize you’d moved back to town.”
“There’s no place like home,” Quinn quipped with a flash of a smile. “After all, where else does a girl have a chance to award both of the Bennett brothers the honor of being Pikes Peak High’s most valuable graduates?”
“You’re handing out the award, huh? Guess that’s one way to get us up on stage.”
“You don’t seem thrilled.”
Thrilled at the idea of getting up on stage to receive an award he didn’t want for classified work he did in a job he preferred no recognition for?
Obviously seeing the reluctance on his face, Quinn leaned across the bar to offer in a husky voice, “I’ll be presenting it in a very sexy little dress, if that helps.”
“I can’t think of much a sexy little dress doesn’t help,” Zane said, grinning as he leaned
on the counter and gave her a once-over. “Are you handing out hugs and kisses with that award?”
“I could be,” she teased. Before she could say more, the other bartender, a hulking blond with a nearly invisible goatee harrumphed and gave her a get-back-to-work look.
Quinn rolled her eyes at the guy’s back, but did put the flirting away to give Zane a cheerful smile.
“In the meantime, what can I get you to drink?”
“Negra Modelo.” Looking around, he pointed toward the prime spot in the back next to the pool table. “Make it two. And a pitcher of Bud.”
“You’re that thirsty?” Then her big blue eyes widened. “Or is your brother joining you?”
“You look worried,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t be. I’ll keep him in line.”
“But who’s going to keep you in line?” she teased, handing him the first of the two beers to take with him.
“Why ask the impossible?” he shot back with a wink, tucking a five into the oversized glass mug next to the register.
Zane made his way to the table in a flurry of greetings, a few backslaps and one intriguing offer from a woman he remembered as having amazing flexibility. A scowling redhead walking out of the back room caught his attention as he slid into the chair facing the doors.
“Hey there, Dianne,” he greeted the bar owner, noting the older woman was looking as badass as ever with that narrow-eyed expression of warning. “How’s it going?”
“Well, well, if it isn’t one of the Bad Bennett Brothers,” she returned with sharp smile, casting a cautious look over the crowd. Scouting for troublemakers, he figured. “I heard you boys would be in town. I figured you’d hit my place.”
“Nowhere better to go for a good time.”
“Where’s Xander?”
“How do you know I’m not Xander?” he said with a wink.
“First, you’ve got that scruffy thing going on, and everyone knows that Zane hates to shave and does so as little as possible when he’s on leave.” She ticked one finger in the air. “Second, of the two of you, Xander’s the gentleman.”
