by Emma Hart
He wraps the scarf around my eyes. “Threat heard and noted. You got it. Whatever you want.” He ties the scarf. “Come on then, let’s go.”
I turn around, but when he doesn’t grab me to guide me, I don’t move. “Uh, Cain? I can’t see where I’m supposed to be going.”
“Shit. Right.” The sound of shuffling footsteps across the hallway of my apartment building seems louder than it should. His grip as he takes hold of me is also stronger than usual. “Come on. Your car is right outside.”
“No it’s not.”
“I put it there.”
“You drove Sheila?!”
He coughs. “I told you when you bought it and I’m going to tell you again. Sheila is a dumb name for a car.”
“So is Elvis, but you don’t see me bitchin’ out your choice of car name.”
He guides me inside the passenger side of my car. “Elvis was a legend. It’s a perfectly good name for a car.”
I wait until I hear the sounds of him getting into my car and shutting the door. “You know he’d be insulted by that.”
“Yeah? Well who is your car named after?” he asks over the rumbling of the car as he starts it.
I’m not going to respond to that. Maybe she just looks like a Sheila. You don’t always name your kids after somebody else, do you? No. You name them what you want. That’s my stance with Sheila. I like her as Sheila, so Sheila she shall stay.
“How much longer are we going to be?” I shift in my seat, turning my head left and right although I know I’ll see nothing but the inside of this damn scarf.
“Couple minutes,” he answers.
The car veers to the right.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply this time.
“Where are we going?”
Again, silence.
“Where are we going?”
More silence.
“Are we there yet?”
“Jesus, don’t start that,” he says quickly. “I don’t want to hear that for the next two minutes.”
“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we—”
“Shut the fucking hell up, or I’m turning around and you’ll never know,” he threatens me. “Sound good?”
I mime zipping my lips and drop my hands in my lap. It’s taking forever and ever to get to wherever the freaking hell we’re going, but I’ll do as I’m told and be quiet. For once.
Maybe.
This is taking a long time. I’m not sure I like having my eyes covered. In fact, I’m almost certain I don’t. No, I lie. I hate it. Straight up hate it.
“Cain?” I say in a small voice. “I want this thing off my eyes now.”
“One more minute,” he replies, turning again. “I promise, B. Then we’ll be there and you can get out the car.”
“Promise?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
I nod. “Thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds,” he confirms, his voice shaking.
My god, is he nervous? Wait, he’s not going to propose, is he? We haven’t even said I love you yet. That would be a huge step. Oh my god, is he proposing? I don’t want to remember this birthday as the one where I had to… oh god, what would I say if he proposed? Yes? No? Maybe? Okay, but in a few years?
Oh dear god.
This is ridiculous.
The car comes to a stop. I’m hyper-aware of everything around me, and now I know it’s because of the scarf blindfolding me. I can hear Cain’s breathing. I can feel the stillness as the engine powers down. I can smell Cain’s musky cologne. I can feel the comfort of my seat beneath me and all the fibers as they press against my thighs.
“We’re here.” His voice wavers again, but he clears his throat. “Ready?”
“Yes. Please. Get me out.”
Shuffles.
Doors opening.
Doors closing.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Door opening.
One hand on mine.
“Brooke. Let me help you.” Cain guides me to turn.
I sigh in relief when my feet hit the ground.
“Take my hands.” His fingers wrap around mine, and he pulls me up.
“I don’t like this,” I remind him for what feels like the five-hundredth time. “I can’t see a thing.”
His laugh sends goosebumps across my skin. “I hate to tell you this, but it’s kinda the point.”
“I hate you so much.”
His lips press against mine in a perfect kiss. “Hate me. I’m at the other end of the scale.”
I gasp.
“Come on,” he says, amusement in his voice. “Trust me.”
“Did you just—”
“Trust me.” His repeated words are stronger than I anticipated.
I tighten my grip on his hand. “I trust you.”
Cain pulls me across ground that feels suspiciously soft. Are we on grass? Sand?
Where in the hell are we?
Cain wraps one arm around my shoulders before setting me to a stop. A door opens, but he doesn’t move, so I know he isn’t alone. He can’t be, can he?
No, no. He moves me forward some more and steps behind me.
My back is flush against his body, and one of his arms is wrapped around my stomach.
Slowly, he takes a step to the side, his hand trailing across the bottom of my tummy. “Six months ago, you took a risk,” he says in a low voice. “You did something none of us thought you’d ever do.”
“Cain, what?” I ask on a whisper.
“Sshh, please?” he asks, moving so far that only his hand now rests on the small of my back. “You took a risk and you’ve done it ever since. I’ve been there every day, watching you achieve a dream you didn’t know you had. So has everyone else. Your mom, sister, best friend, dad, brother, grandpa, my parents…we’ve watched you come out and believe in yourself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Give me two seconds, okay?” he says, moving into me. His hand goes up my back and there’s a light tug on the scarf covering my eyes. “So we decided to do something epic for you. We got together and decided we have one goal: to help you achieve your dream.”
“I don’t—”
He tugs.
The scarf falls from my eyes.
And I stare the sight before me.
I don’t know where I am or what’s going on, but I do know I’m standing in the world’s most perfect kitchen. There are chrome appliances so shiny not even fictional creatures could clean it so well, and at the back, nestled between matte, black cabinets, is the biggest fucking fridge I’ve ever seen in my life.
More than that, there’s a calendar on the wall. An island. Kitchen utensils next to the chrome sink.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper, looking around.
At a cake stand.
“What did you do?” My voice is thicker now, but no louder.
Cain audibly swallows and steps in front of me. Before he can speak, all the people he mentioned just moments ago do the same and line up behind him.
Carly. Mom. Dad. Billie. Ben. Mandy. Grandpa.
And his dad. Gabe. Zeke…
But my eyes are on Cain.
“We could build this, so we did. We wanted to give you the one thing you really needed.”
“No,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand.
Cain has the hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s nothing fancy, but it has enough ovens that you don’t need to steal Bill’s kitchen anymore. It has a fridge big enough for those crazy cakes. There’s a cupboard dedicated to boxes, and if you look in the drawers, you’ll find stickers and business cards. And a portfolio of real pictures of every cake you’ve made over the past few months. We decided you needed something amazing so we made it happen.”
A thick lump of emotion forces its way up my throat. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I lick my lips before swallowing. “I
don’t understand.”
Cain cups my face, his lips curved, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Welcome to Brooke’s Bites.”
“No!” I stagger back into somebody.
“Yes,” Carly says into my ear, her soft hands resting on my arms. “Welcome to your dream kitchen, Brooke. Everything you need is right here.”
“Not everything,” Ben, my brother, pops up. “She has to buy all the ingredients and shit.”
I cover my mouth with my hand as I look at the line of people staring at me. Cain catches me when I stagger backward into him.
“I don’t know where I am,” I say, choking back tears.
Nobody says anything.
Slowly, I turn toward Cain. “No.” That’s apparently my favorite word today. “Don’t tell me you did this.”
He links his fingers through mine and pulls me through our families to outside the building. Where there’s nothing but endless grass.
His field.
His home field.
His shed.
“Cain!”
“Happy birthday,” he says in a quiet voice into my ear. “Brooke’s Bites has a home. Where it’s supposed to be. The other half of the shed will become an office for you. I have permission to build another next to yours.”
“You can’t do this.” I’m shaking. Everywhere. “This is insane.”
“Dad and Zeke’s birthday present is the materials and labor. Your family put up the money. My mom bought your cake stands. Carly bought the extras.” He pauses. “I bought your packaging.”
“And the land! Motherfuck, Cain!” I step away, hands over my mouth again. “Why? Why would you all do this?”
“I can’t speak for them, but…” he looks me dead in the eye and says, “Because I love you, Brooke. More than my best friend. You’re literally everything to me. I love you the way the center of my world should be loved. Why wouldn’t I do this?”
I throw myself at him. The emotion overcomes me and I bury my face into his neck.
“Chase your dream,” he rasps into my ear. “We all believe in you. We want this for you. The best birthday present we could ever give you is this.”
“Stop it.” My voice is thick, and fuck it, I’m done. Tears escape my eyes and I hold him tighter than I knew I could. “You did this, you shit. I know it.”
“I love you.” He pulls me into him. “That’s all there is to it, okay? I love you. I love seeing you happy. This makes you happy. We can all do this.”
The lump of emotion in my throat bubbles up and over. It swamps me, and I fall against him.
“Go be Brooke’s Bites,” he says thickly. “Right here in the place that’ll always be your home.”
I bury my face into his neck. “Love you,” I whisper against his neck. “You have no idea how much, Cain Elliott.”
He hugs me.
Tight.
Hard.
“Go play with your new kitchen.” He presses his lips to mine and spins me toward the shed.
I do as he said. I hug the shit out of everyone. Everyone wishes me happy birthday or a variation of and after a few minutes, I settle in and look around me.
Holy. Perfect. Kitchen.
Everything. Just everything.
I wrap my hands around Cain’s neck, lean into him, and press my face against his neck. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”
He hugs me back just as tight. “Anything for my girl.”
THE END
Read on for a look at Emma’s upcoming release, BEST SERVED COLD, coming September 25th.
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www.emmahart.org/catching-carly
My name is Carly Porter...
And I’m really good at bad decisions.
How do I know this, exactly? Well, not including the time I accidentally bleached my eyebrows or sprained my ankle changing a lightbulb...
I had sex with my best friend’s brother.
Zeke Elliott has been a thorn in my side for eleven years. A very sexy, very tempting, very freaking annoying one. With big…hands.
And now my clitoris has a crush on the guy.
Seriously. I can’t look at him without my vagina performing accidental kegels. Which would be fine, but he’s Cain’s brother.
I hate him. He’s off limits, right?
Right.
CHAPTER ONE – RAELYNN
Chase Aaron was a douchebag of the highest degree.
If I sat here behind the counter of my failing ice-cream store and told you all the reasons why I knew that to be true, you’d be here all day. Not that being stuck in an ice-cream store all day was a bad thing, but I digress.
No, he was a douchebag because he was the reason my business was failing. The no-good asshole had taken all my plans, all my dreams and my ideas, and he’d opened his very own ice-cream store.
Right. Next. Door.
Why had I told him all my plans, you ask? Well, the first answer was simple: I, Raelynn Fortune, was an idiot.
The second answer was, at the time I told him, he was my boyfriend. He’d been my boyfriend for two years, and I was excited. I’d planned the overhaul to my family store, the one we’d run for generations, and I couldn’t wait.
Best Served Cold had finally been mine.
And, one month after I’d broken up with Chase, he’d handed me a sundae full of revenge on a silver platter when he rented the store next to mine and opened his own damn store.
The Frozen Spoon was everything Best Served Cold was not.
It was fresh and modern. It was bright and airy, and the modern diner-style set-up was eye-catching for everyone who walked past. The neon sign literally screamed at you to come and get the best ice-cream in Key West.
Of course, I’d never stepped foot inside the traitor’s store. You’d catch me swimming naked with sharks before I ever walked into the place that was full of my ideas.
In contrast, Best Served Cold was tired. Antique, my grandparents called it. A classic.
I preferred to call it old and dated, but whatever.
Put simply, it wasn’t as bright as it used to be. The sign at the front was at least thirty-five years old—a decade older than I was. The writing was chapped and broken, and the bulbs that lit it up in the darkness, well. Only one of those suckers worked.
Hence my plans to liven the place up.
Plans that would have been in place if it weren’t for Chase.
I hated him.
Hate was a strong word, and not one I used lightly. It was reserved almost entirely for my ex-boyfriend—and brussels sprouts. That was how serious my feelings toward him were.
I hated him. More than I’d ever hated anyone or anything.
I blew out a long breath and slumped against the counter. A glance at the clock told me to give up. Nobody had been in here since one-thirty, and even then, it was the older generations in town who refused to change who they went to for their sweet treats.
The bell above the door dinged. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t a customer. Fortunately, it was my best friend, complete with her four-year-old niece.
“Hey,” Sophie said, shutting the door behind her. “I was going to ask if you were free, but…”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so funny.”
Her niece, Jessica, bounded up to the counter. She had to stand on tip-toes to see over it, but that didn’t stop her from leaning against it, gripping it with her little hands. Sparkly pink nail polish adorned her tiny fingernails, and on her head, she wore a unicorn headband.
I see that obsession was still going strong.
“Hiya, Rae!” she said brightly. “Can I had an ice-cream, peas?”
I leaned forward on my forearms so I was down to her level. “I think I can do that for you. What would you like today? A cone? A little sundae?”
“Little sundae,” she replied, making a circle with her hands. “Can you make a unicorn one?”
; I glanced at Sophie, but she shrugged.
“A unicorn one, huh? How would I do that?”
“I dunno,” she whispered. “Mix the colors?”
I pursed my lips. “Why don’t we take a look at the ice-creams and you tell me how to make it?”
She nodded and bounced over to the ice-cream display case. It was full of tubs of different flavor ice-creams, everything from mango to blueberries to cookies and cream. Most of them were untouched, since the old people in town tended to shun anything more exotic than chocolate.
“I fink strawberry, booberry, and…” She tapped her finger against her nose. “And backberry.”
“Blackberry?”
“Uh-huh. Pink, purple, and boo. That’s unicorn colors.”
I guessed it was. “All righty then.” I turned and grabbed a plastic pink sundae dish that I kept especially for kids. “One scoop of each?” I asked Sophie.
She shrugged again, a small smirk on her lips. “I only have her ‘til five. You give her ten if you want.”
“Three it is,” I said before Jess got any ideas.
I rinsed the scoop between each flavor, then added her regular toppings. Strawberry sauce, complete with multi-colored sprinkles and pink stars.
“There you go,” I said, setting it on the table with a shiny silver spoon.
“Fank you!” Jess scrambled up onto the chair and got stuck right in.
“That’s cute,” Sophie said, perching on one of the old leather stools at the bar that nobody ever used.
Because nobody ever came in here, and if they did, they’d need a hip replacement by the time they left if they used those stools.
Yeah. That was where my business was at. I’d probably make more money renting it out as a damn bingo hall.
Which was very, very sad.
“You know what you need to do?” Sophie asked, jumping up and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge behind the counter.
“Start making you pay?”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to redecorate it. You were going to do it before that buttmunch moved in next door.”
“He stole my idea, remember?” The only thing more bitter than my tone was a basket full of limes, and even then, only just.
