by Lissa
“I don’t want a bigger or better location. I want this one. Right here. The one you’re trespassing on all the damn time. We don’t need any more riverfront condos that no one in this economy can afford anyway.”
“It brings work to the area.”
“For a little while, sure. And then what? Half of the units sit empty and those who built it are out of work again? No. You’re not getting my store just so you can tear it down.”
“I’ll add another twenty thousand to my offer. That’s considerably more than any of the other owners have received. They were happy to sign on the dotted line. You’re the last one, Miss Dawson.”
“Then I’d say they were too damn easy.” She wiped her brow with her arm and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “The answer is no. I lucked into this little piece of property and it’s been perfect for me and my business, so I’m not giving up without a fight.”
“What are you making?” Samuel blurted. He hadn’t meant to ask, but ever since she rolled out the dough, then brushed it with butter, he hadn’t been able to look away from her hands. They weren’t exactly the prettiest ones he’d ever seen. The nails were short and there was stuff caked under them. He suspected it was the sugary mixture she was currently sprinkling across the dough from one end to the other and back again. She moved quickly, efficiently, but she was precise in her movements. He imagined she could do her job in her sleep and whatever she was making would turn out as perfect as if she were wide awake.
“Sticky buns. My grandmother’s recipe. Don’t you know anything about the businesses you’re buying out?”
Samuel shrugged. “It’s simpler to ―”
“To bury your head in the sand? To see numbers instead of people?” she finished for him.
“Something like that,” he murmured. “I ah…I don’t believe I’ve ever had a sticky bun.” Her eyes suddenly lifted and met his. He smiled at her surprise.
“Never?” He shook his head as her eyes widened. “But how is that possible?”
“There weren’t a lot of sweets allowed in my house growing up and I guess I’ve never felt the need to change that. Sweets like what you make, while they look good and smell good, aren’t good for you.” Her gaze narrowed as the words left his mouth. Great. Now he’d just insulted her business even further. Way to score points there, buddy.
“There are a lot of things that aren’t good for you, but if you’ve ever stopped to look, some of those things bring the purest joy to someone’s face and my sticky buns happen to do just that.”
“I didn’t mean ―”
“Oh I know exactly what you meant.”
“Miss Daw ― Samantha, can we please…?” He didn’t even know how to talk to her now. She went back to her task and he once again was captured by the effortless motion of her hands. She started with the side of the dough farthest from her and began rolling it toward her. Every few seconds she’d stop and tuck in an edge or smooth out a crease, but then she’d start rolling again until she was finished.
He’d never watched anyone in the kitchen before. His house had cooks and butlers and he hadn’t been allowed in the kitchen. He actually hadn’t been interested in what when on behind the scenes. He couldn’t even remember if he’d ever said thank you to any of the servants who’d worked for his family.
“…one?”
Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized she’d been talking. His face heated with embarrassment as he tried to recover. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked if you wanted to try one.”
The smile on her face, just a small one, barely more than a tilt of her lips endangered his thoughts again. The soft look she leveled at him did funny things to his insides, things he wasn’t accustomed to having happen in business situations.
He was stunned that she would ask, but recovered quickly enough. The professional thing to do here was to turn down her offer. “Yes, I would love to.”
She nodded and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, not that it helped much. She was as covered in flour as he was. “Come with me.”
Samantha led him back through the swinging door to the front of the store. It was buzzing with wall to wall customers. Two people worked the counter, both running from one end to the other filling orders and pouring coffee. There were seven small tables in the dining area which were full, same with the few patio tables outside. He’d never been in when they were busy, always trying to catch her when she was leaving, but he’d been headed to a lunch meeting just one block over and thought he’d stop in. It might not have been his best idea.
She stood in front of him, waving her hand in his face. Samuel blinked and refocused on her. “Sorry.”
“You seem shocked.”
“It’s so diverse. Your clientele, I mean.” She laughed and he was captivated. It was the first time he’d heard it, unguarded and without harsh rancor. It was full bodied, just like her, and it fit. She was genuine in her joy and her anger in equal measure.
“San Antonio is diverse. What did you expect?”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean I know on paper what we said your demographic was, but it doesn’t seem to match up to the in person experience.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have any from now on then. In all my dealings with expectations, they always seem to disappoint when faced with reality.” She left him standing in the kitchen doorway and flowed into the hustle with ease. Customers called her by name and asked how she was and she called them by name right back and asked after their families, their jobs, their lives. She was easy to smile and grin and laugh. A few even hugged her, uncaring that she was covered in sweat and flour.
No one reacted to him that way, with warmth and familiarity. Not even his own family. He was stunned to see it in a business setting.
This project was getting to him and it had been for a while. His desire for Samantha Dawson grew each time he saw her and one day it was going to impair his judgment and cause issues with his ability to do his job.
It was time he get a handle on the situation, get a grip on his unruly and unwelcome emotions. He knew this. He understood this. But as he witnessed a side of Samantha he’d never had the pleasure of seeing… His resolve faltered. He also realized his approach up to now had not been the wisest. She wasn’t motivated by money. He kept raising the numbers and she kept turning him down. At first he’d thought it was because she wanted more, but from what she’d said in the kitchen about why she wanted this location as well as the look on her face as she talked with her customers… Owning The Sticky Cowgirl had nothing at all to do with dollar signs.
Nope. His approach had been all wrong.
She was in front of him again, this time holding out a small, clear topped cardboard box. “We use recycled material and my brother designed the boxes himself,” she explained when he’d taken it from her and was looking at it from all angles. It was light and had a little texture to it. He liked the window on the top flap and looking in to the contents, his mouth watered and he couldn’t help licking his lips.
The smell had hit him before he’d ever walked through the front door this morning. Warmth, vanilla, caramel, baking dough, cinnamon, coffee. The scents hit full force inside the shop, but leading up to it, it was like a drug. One couldn’t walk by without wanting to step inside. Even him, without ever having what she made, the aromas were too much to resist. “Are there nuts in it?”
“No. Nuts are by request only. Never baked in. You allergic?”
“I am.”
“I buy the nuts from my brother’s bakery. They come to me already prepped in our homemade maple caramel sauce so I don’t have to do anything but ladle them out when someone wants. They don’t come in contact with anything else in the store. Even the utensils I use for them are specifically, and only used for any nuts that are used. I have a separate work surface, pans, everything. And I wear gloves when handling them. Non-latex. Everything to do with them is kept separate so you’re safe.”
“T
hank you.” But he was anything but safe where she was concerned.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“I really wish you’d consider my proposal.” The second the words were out of his mouth, her smile and the light in her eyes were gone. He regretted the need to keep bringing it up, but there was nothing for it. He had a job to do, and a huge deal to close.
“There is nothing to consider, Mr. Stevenson. I won’t sell you my store. Look around you. I’d be a fool to let this go.”
She was right and he was smart enough to know it. “You’re a fool if you don’t. You can’t win against me.” He delivered the rehearsed line with all the false bravado he felt coursing through him.
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I sure as hell won’t be going quietly. So, you do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do which right now, is play with some knives and try my damnedest not to imagine that I’m stabbing you.” She grinned at him but it never reached her eyes. “Have a good day.”
“Think about your employees.” He appealed to her as he glanced to the two young workers behind the counter.
“I don’t have employees.”
“Then what are they?”
“They go to the culinary school. This is part of a new hands-on training class.”
“New?”
“New.”
Samuel considered her for a moment longer. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was playing at. What did she mean by new? New, new? An experimental thing? Or was it just a ploy to keep him at bay?
They stared one another down for a few long, drawn out seconds before she nodded curtly and turned on her heel, disappearing into the kitchen.
Several people stared at him. He still held the box of what was likely the only nice thing she would ever give him. He nodded and tried to smile at those around him, but probably didn’t carry it off well. He would take her refusal back to the board. They would want to move on it legally and much as he hated that thought, they didn’t have any other choice but to force her out.
He maneuvered through the crowded bakery and out the front door. He tried not to think about the fact that the condos they were planning to build would erase the smell of homemade pastries from this section of the downtown area and erase a thriving piece of her childhood memories.
In an otherwise deserted area, thanks to his company’s money, Samantha Dawson’s sticky bun shop was the only bright spot of color and chatter along this stretch.
He glanced around the front of The Sticky Cowgirl with its bright white and lemon yellow awning and sign that looked hand carved and carefully crafted. The metal tables and chairs, liked ones found years ago outside cafes were painted the same shade of yellow. She’d created a cheerful atmosphere and a warm welcome.
“Damn,” he whispered to himself. He didn’t want to know all this. He didn’t want to see her as a person or as providing something valuable to the people who patronized her shop. That would only make things harder on him. She’d been right earlier when she said it was easier for him to see numbers, to never see the humanity.
Samuel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opened them again and started walking, but not before he opened the box he held and cut through the pastry with the fork she’d given him. He should toss it into the trash, but he couldn’t. It was a gift and she’d seemed genuinely puzzled that he’d never had one before.
The sugars melted on his tongue. The dough was perfect, or what he imagined was perfect in terms of dough. The flavors all blended together and as he swallowed, a slight hint of orange tickled his throat.
He’d never tasted anything like it and couldn’t resist another bite and then, another until it was gone. His mother would be appalled by his eating from a cardboard box with a plastic fork while standing on the river walk, but it had been heavenly and he hadn’t been able to stop.
He had a feeling he’d have been that way with the baker too if they’d met under different circumstances. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, also given to him by Samantha Dawson and tossed it, the box, and the fork into a recycle bin. With one foot in front of the other, a single thought floated on repeat through his head: Sometimes business sucked.
Also by Lissa Matthews:
Single Titles:
Simple Need
Carnal Ecstasy
Ink Spots
The Swing
The Demon is an Angel
Stick Shift
Pink Buttercream Frosting
Twisted Up
Melting Jane
Keep It Together
Trouble In The Making
Series:
Blue Jeans and Hard Hats:
Sweet Caroline
Cracklin' Rosie
Forever In Blue Jeans
Denali Heat:
Arctic Shift
Masked:
Masked
UnMasked
Revealed
The Bar Next Door:
Malachi's Word
Coming Soon:
Eli's Promise
The Sticky Cowgirl
Exposed
