by Lydia Reeves
She looked up, and then glanced around, as if reminded of where we were. “Now, will you please tell me what’s going on? I’ve had enough surprises this week.”
I chuckled softly, squeezing her hand in mine and tracing my thumb lightly over the lines of ink on the back of her hand.
“Well, I’ve always thought ‘Sam’s Books’ was a pretty uninspired name for a store. So, I don’t think ‘Geoff’s Bakery’ is the way to go, but maybe you can help me come up with a good name.”
Her uncomprehending stare morphed slowly into a look of astonishment, her eyebrows shooting up as she looked around again, taking in the empty store with new eyes.
Her voice was hesitant. “You…you’re going to…”
I grinned at her. “I thought it was time to ‘get my shit together’ as Sam so lovingly put it. He knows the lady who owns this building, and she let me in to look around. I’ve got some money saved—you know, for law school,” I winked. “—and I was thinking I might put in an offer.”
Bria just stared at me.
“Catering…” I started, my grin fading. “I don’t think it’s for me.” Bria opened her mouth, but I pressed on. “It’s not just the mistake with the chocolate mousse, and it wasn’t just serving my dad. I…I didn’t like how it made me feel—the stress, drinking, snapping at you. That’s not who I want to be.”
I looked at her seriously. “I met with a therapist on Tuesday. We talked about my drinking, about my relationship with my dad…well, we talked about a lot of stuff. At the end, she mentioned that she would like to do a few sessions with both me and my dad. It took me most of yesterday to work up the courage to call him…but I did.”
Bria sucked in a quick, indrawn breath.
“And he agreed. We’re going together next week.”
Her mouth parted in surprise, and I knew how she felt. I’d felt the same shock when he’d agreed to come to therapy with me. It was the last thing I could have predicted. I pushed on, eager to get everything out. “I wanted to thank you. I don’t know what you said to him, and I think it’ll take a lot of work to repair the damage between us, if that’s even possible at all…but without you, I don’t think he would have been willing to try. And I know I wouldn’t have been.”
Her eyes were wide in wonder.
“And this…” I turned to look around the shabby coffee shop, waving my arms vaguely to take it all in. “Well, this is practically what I do anyway. I’ll just be able to bake in my own kitchen instead of a rented space, and I won’t have to drive everything across town every morning. And I promised Sam I would still bring him pastries to sell, so…”
I trailed off. I was babbling, and she was still staring, and I felt a sudden twinge of uncertainty. Was it too late? Had I already ruined things between us?
“You, uh, you can feel free to say something any time now.”
There was a long pause. Her expression turned serious, and I felt my nerves grow. Finally, she met my eyes and looked at me intently.
“You could call it, ‘The Rolling Scones.’”
My jaw dropped open, and her serious expression wavered just a little.
“‘Stop and Smell the Flour?’” she suggested, her eyes sparkling.
I started to laugh, relief rushing through me.
“‘United Cakes of America?’”
“Oh my god,” I gasped. “You named Sam’s bookstore, didn’t you? Those are terrible.”
“Hey!” she said in mock offense. “Ooh, ooh, I’ve got it.” She raised her arms in the air like she was framing a painting. “‘The Bun Also Rises.’”
I grabbed one of her arms and yanked, pulling her up out of her seat and across the tabletop, where she fell, squirming with laughter, into my lap. I pinned her there with one arm, tickling her mercilessly with the other until she squealed, gasping for breath.
Then I kissed her.
She responded immediately, her soft lips moving against my own, and happiness expanded inside me like a balloon.
“Geoff, I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, pulling back a little to look at me, and I felt my heart swell in my chest, a rush of emotion building inside me, growing and growing until I couldn’t contain it. I knew we would need to talk more later, to make things right between us and figure out how to move forward together, but that could wait. For now, I leaned into her again, and poured out all my emotion into a searing kiss and she clung to me, matching my fervor with her own, leaving us both breathless.
“You can’t name the bakery,” I told her between kisses, and she smiled against my lips, sliding her hands over my shoulders and up my neck into my hair. I pulled her more tightly against me, all of her soft curves fitting perfectly as if they were made for me.
She pulled back slightly, gazing at me with dark, sparkling eyes. “Can I at least help to christen it?”
I groaned and pulled her mouth back to mine. “You should probably let me buy it first.”
* * *
Change My Mind
Chapter 1
MARIAN
I have an addiction to crafts. No, seriously. Some people have hobbies; I have a problem. I was currently adding to that problem by way of a shopping cart piled high with yarn and needles. How had I made it this long without trying knitting?
True to form, I went all-in. I had straight needles in all sizes, circular needles, double pointed needles. I had row counters and stitch markers and swatch rulers. Point protectors and cable holders. And don’t even get me started on the yarn. I had worsted wools and lace weight silks in every color of the rainbow. Variegated fingerling—I didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded vaguely dirty—and the softest baby alpaca. Super bulky blends with metallic threads woven into the fibers. I was set. All I needed to do was learn how to knit.
“Knitting this time, is it?” Sherry, manning the register at Fairfield Hobby and Craft, pushed an unruly lock of gray hair out of her eyes and peered into my cart with disbelief. “Have you really never tried knitting before?”
“I know,” I said with a wide smile. Nothing—nothing—made me happy the way buying craft supplies did. “I can’t believe I’ve waited until now. Just making up for lost time.”
“Well, pile it all up here,” she told me, pushing her scanner out of the way to make room for my haul. “Let’s get you checked out.”
“How have you been?” I asked as I stacked yarn on the counter, bracing it with my hip so the skeins wouldn’t fall off. “Have they scheduled your surgery yet?” I could see the slight tightening of her eyes as she shifted her weight, bending down to grab a stack of bags from under the counter. Sherry was in her early seventies, and had been working at FHC for as long as I’d been coming here—which was a long time. I knew she could have retired by now, but she insisted the discount she got on craft supplies was too good to give up. I didn’t doubt it. The thought of taking up a second part-time job here had crossed my mind more than once.
“Oh, Marian, that’s sweet of you to ask. Yes, it’s going to be the end of May.”
“Less than a month!” I exclaimed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You’ll be able to move so much better with a new hip.”
She nodded, starting to scan my towering mountain of knitting supplies and stuff them into bags. “I’m looking forward to being able to walk my dog again. She’s going pretty stir crazy being cooped up. So am I, come to think of it,” she added with a wistful smile. Then her eyes narrowed, and she looked me over. “What about you, honey? How are you doing? I won’t see you while I’m out for recovery.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “I’m actually going up to full-time at the bookstore. Geoff left to open his own bakery, so I’m taking over his shift.”
I looked studiously down into my cart, pulling out the last of the yarn, so I missed her narrowed eyes and searching look, but, regardless, I knew they were there. Sherry knew me too well.
“And how do you feel about that?”
I shrugged and laughed a little. “It’ll b
e good, I think. Get me out of the house more.” God knew I could use that. The craft store and work were pretty much the only two places I went. “Besides, I like my job.”
I looked up at her, and her wrinkled face softened. “I know you do, honey. You’ll have less time to learn how to knit, though,” she teased, and I laughed.
“That’s okay,” I assured her. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
The store was largely empty this early on a Monday morning, so Sherry hobbled around the counter as I loaded my bags and gave me a hug. “Come see me before my surgery,” she told me. “You don’t have to buy anything, just come say hi.” I laughed—we both knew I couldn’t set foot in the store and leave empty handed—and returned her hug, promising I would stop by soon.
Then I loaded the bags onto my arms and made my way out into the bright spring sunlight.
My apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from the craft store. That was good because I didn’t own a car, but it also meant that I was forced to limit myself to buying only what I could carry. I was pushing it today, with bag handles wrapped up both forearms, but at least the bulk of it was yarn, which was pretty light. Rain or snow—probably even tornadoes—couldn’t keep me away from the craft store, but today it was bright and sunny, the warmth of spring finally breaking through the chill Indiana air. I swung the bags on my arms as I walked, the sunshine bolstering my already good mood.
I’d made this trek a million times, but it was a little different each time, and I made finding the tiniest changes into a sort of game. The grass on the edge of the sidewalk was starting to turn green again after all the recent rain, and the bright yellow daffodils were pushing up around the sign in front of the Chinese restaurant. The gas station on the corner had changed their sign, and the motel next door was in the process of washing the winter grime off their windows.
Beyond that was the strip mall, and flowers were blooming there too, tulips in front of the nail salon and—oh no.
Next to the nail salon, the door to the martial arts gym was swinging open, disgorging a loud group of sweaty men in matching uniforms out into the parking lot. They called to each other, slapping backs and waving, and I deliberately slowed my steps, waiting to see if—yes, there he was.
My eye fixed on the man in the back, and my heart jumped into my throat. He wasn’t tall, not compared to some of the other men spilling out of the doorway, though still taller than my diminutive five-foot-three-inch frame. But even without the height, his build was thick and muscular in a way that made everything about him seem menacing—big hands, broad shoulders, and a faint scar that traced over one cheek and down the side of his jaw.
Frantically, unreasonably, I looked for a place to hide. Not easy to do when I was right out on the sidewalk and loaded down by a pile of squeaky shopping bags. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I did the best I could, lunging for the thick trunk of a towering oak tree growing up through the sidewalk, its roots dislodging the heavy cement blocks and forcing them apart at the seams. I pulled the bags in around me as tight as I could and hugged myself close to the trunk, mentally becoming one with the shadows. Then I peeked around the trunk as far as I dared, and watched the group of men—and three women, I now noticed—begin to disperse.
Most of them made their way to cars in the small parking lot, donning sunglasses and throwing duffel bags in trunks. But the man in question—Levi—just nodded farewell to his friends and strolled out toward the sidewalk. He passed not ten feet from my hiding place, and I held my breath the whole time, but he didn’t glance my way. I let my breath out in a thin trickle of air, not daring to make a sound, and watched his broad back move away from me down the sidewalk.
Though I knew the men practiced in bare feet, he had donned a pair of tennis shoes, and I could hear his footsteps on the pavement. Just as I’d noticed the tiny changes of spring on my walk home, I couldn’t help but pick out the little changes in him.
His hair was messy, sweaty from practice and a little longer than the last time I’d seen him. I noted the way it curled around his ears. The uniform they practiced in was made of heavy canvas, and his was a faded blue, folded over itself in the front and held in place with a long brown belt that wrapped twice around his waist. Faded strips of cloth made stripes on the ends of the belt where it hung down in front, and a new stripe had appeared since I’d last seen him in the uniform, but I had no idea what it meant beyond marking his level.
I waited behind the tree, feeling foolish, until he was far enough ahead of me not to notice when I stepped back onto the sidewalk, continuing at a sedate pace so as not to catch up. It was not the first time I’d passed in front of his gym just as class was letting out, but it was the first time I’d hidden behind a tree to avoid detection. Because I sure as hell wouldn’t make the mistake of talking to him again.
I’d done that just once, the day he’d moved in next door to me nearly two years ago. I’d first caught sight of him as he’d been lugging furniture across the parking lot, sandy hair falling in his eyes, sweat soaking through his t-shirt. I’d immediately been struck by the sheer power of a man who could move a loveseat across a parking lot on his own seemingly without effort. It had been impressive to watch. And the hard angle of his stubbled jaw and ropes of corded muscle in his forearms hadn’t hurt either.
That evening I’d brought him a small potted geranium, planted in a little ceramic hedgehog I’d found at the grocery store, introduced myself, given him a friendly smile, tried to be neighborly. And he hadn’t said a word, just took the plant, stared through me with those icy blue eyes the color of a frozen lake, then shut the door in my face. He hadn’t even smiled.
I gave him a wide berth after that, and he was nothing if not consistent. He still never spoke to me, just looked at me with those cold eyes when we passed in the hall. Sometimes he nodded politely, but never a word or a smile.
For a long time, I still smiled at him; I could be friendly even if he couldn’t. Even if those muscles were equal parts intimidating and attractive. Even if he was as scary as he was easy to look at. Then one day I passed him on the way to work, and discovered he was a police officer. That should have made me feel safer; at least he was using all those muscles for good. But I could only take so many icy blue stares and monosyllabic grunts before my own efforts to be friendly began to wane. Eventually I began to avoid him entirely.
I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize I’d reached my apartment until I arrived at the front door, only to find the very man who had been occupying my thoughts holding the door for me.
Shit! I thought I’d given him plenty of space; I swear I’d started at least a full block behind him. But there he was, door braced open with a big hand as he gave me room to step through.
Oh well, too late now. I hoisted the bags higher on my arm and scuttled around him, keeping my eyes on the floor so I wouldn’t have to see the unnerving, cold expression I was sure would be on his face.
And yet I couldn’t bring myself to be rude. “Thank you,” I squeaked as I passed, making a beeline for my apartment, keys already in hand.
I had no expectation of a reply, so when it came, I froze, my hand motionless on the key thrust into the lock.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and his voice, which I’d never actually heard before, was deep and smooth and would have made my spine tingle if it hadn’t come from someone who unnerved me so completely.
He didn’t speak again, didn’t even glance my way, just crossed to his own apartment, unlocked his door, entered, and shut it smoothly behind him, leaving me gawking in the hallway.
Chapter 2
LEVI
I was pretty sure my strange neighbor was still standing motionless outside her door as mine clicked shut behind me. I headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off my gi, and I flipped on the shower and ducked under the spray before it had fully warmed. The cold water was a shock against my overheated skin, but my awareness of the icy spray was muted as my m
ind replayed the scene in the entryway just now.
From the look on her face and the way she’d hugged the wall as she’d moved through the door, keeping as much space between us as possible, you’d have thought I had some kind of highly contagious disease.
It had been two years now, and I still couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with that woman.
To be fair, we hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. The day I moved in had already been a shitty one, spent hauling furniture all by myself after my brother had failed to show up to help, and I hadn’t known whether to be more angry at him for standing me up or worried when he didn’t answer the phone. By the time the rented moving truck was finally empty I’d been sore, exhausted, and somewhere between grouchy and murderous, and when my fifth call to my brother had gone to voicemail, I’d finally given in and called my mom.
My mother was a wonderful person, caring and sweet, but also high strung and anxious, and the last thing I wanted to do was worry her. But instead of concerning her over the disappearance of my normally hyper-responsible brother, I’d instead gotten the full story of exactly why he hadn’t shown up to help me move. It was only seconds after I’d hung up from that conversation that there’d been a knock on my door, and I’d swung it open in a daze only to reveal a short, smiling redhead with eyes too big for her face, holding a plant stuck into some kind of ceramic rodent. I don’t know what exactly happened. I don’t know what she said, or what I said, if anything, but a minute later I was back in my new apartment, surrounded by boxes and mind still reeling from my phone call with my mother, holding this bushy plant in its weird ceramic pot, and the next time I saw the redhead she would barely meet my eyes.
The water had warmed by now, and I sighed as my stiff muscles, sore from the past hour of punishing exercise, finally began to relax.
