by L. A. Fiore
“Why not?”
“He’s my landlord.”
“So. Did you get goosebumps when you met him?”
“Lost my breath, but it doesn’t matter. He is with someone.”
“Married?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but he also works with his hands.”
“Find out. If he isn’t married, he’s fair game. You’ve never lost your breath for a man, ever. You should make a move. With him being your landlord, there are so many options available to you: you can’t open a window, or the refrigerator is making a strange sound or, better yet, the water stopped working when you were in the middle of a shower.”
“You’re as deranged as Nat.”
Jess laughed and Aidan cried louder. “I need to get this boy down.”
A reprieve. I’d have to sneak the kid an extra cookie for unknowingly getting his mom off my landlord’s scent.
Jess added, “Pictures. Oh, I can’t wait to visit.”
“Speaking of which, maybe we could do Christmas in the city.”
“December, that should work. I’ll check with Kit and get back to you.”
“Kiss Aidan for me.”
“Will do. Talk soon.”
Hanging up, I dropped my phone on the table, sat back and just soaked it all in. I was the pastry chef for Clover. I’d done it. I was living the dream.
I needed more peanut butter. Scraping the sides of the jar, I realized a man in his thirties eating his dinner from a jar was downright sad. I’d gotten a lot done today. Not as much as I’d planned, but I lost a few hours with my tenant moving in and Melody’s surprise visit. Dropping the spoon in the sink, I couldn’t help the thread of anger when I thought about Melody’s stunt from earlier. She never came here, preferred meeting me when we went out. I knew she was curious about my tenant; she’d reacted oddly when I mentioned I had taken one on. For her to show up here, she was falling into a pattern that was becoming far too predictable.
We’d met a few months back at Sapphire. Sexy and beautiful, she’d also been fun. It wasn’t as much fun anymore because there was a vein of jealousy that ran through her that annoyed the hell out of me. She was even jealous of my friends’ wives. On the rare occasion she joined us, she acted like a bitch, which put me in the position of making excuses for her. I was growing really fucking tired of the whole scene.
And my tenant…I hadn’t known what I expected when Trace mentioned his pastry chef. No, that wasn’t true. I had pictured a grandmotherly-type: older, gray hair, wide from eating her creations. I hadn’t expected Avery. Kneeling next to my dog rubbing him down like he was a long-lost friend. She got serious points for that, my own damn girlfriend kept a wide-berth from Loki. And how refreshing, a beautiful woman who was comfortable enough in her own skin that she didn’t need to hide behind makeup and designer clothes. Not that she needed them, her ass in those sweats…fucking fine. I can’t remember a time my blood stirred as much as it had stepping out of the barn and seeing her. She was a fucking knockout, but she was like a jacked-up fairy—happy and bubbly while spewing bullshit like that nonsense about her car with its good lock and key. She was a nut, but a sexy one.
Turning toward the trash can, a movement outside the window grabbed my attention. It was Avery and she was pacing in front of the carriage house. Had she locked herself out already? In the next minute, she stopped pacing and stared down at Loki, apparently talking to him. Loki’s head tilted to the side as he had a tendency of doing, studying her probably a lot like how I was. What the hell was she doing? And then she started pacing again, but this time she was talking to herself. I could see her lips moving. I wondered if Trace ran a background check on her. Her words popped into my head about how I wouldn’t know she was there, I had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t going to be the case.
Walking out back, I called to her. “Are you okay?”
Her head snapped up and she looked both surprised and embarrassed if her cheeks turning pink were any indication.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Were you just talking to Loki?”
“Will you call for a straitjacket if I say yes?”
“Admitting you have a problem is half of the battle.”
A smile spread over her face, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. Envy, sharp and raw, cut through me because I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that kind of unbridled good humor. “I’m working out recipes and I think better when I pace.” I wasn’t really sure how to answer that. Before I could she added, “I know it’s weird and I probably look crazy, but I’ve always been that way. Ideas come to me when I’m using more than one sense.”
“Okay.”
“I’m harmless, really.”
The laugh that came from me in response took us both by surprise. “I’ll hold you to that, being harmless.”
She crossed her heart; fuck I hadn’t seen that since I was a kid. And then she held up her fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever a scout?”
Her smile was more a grin when she replied, “No.”
I chuckled, couldn’t help it, and damn but that felt good. “So you’re okay?”
“Yep. I’m fine.”
“Good night then.”
“Sweet dreams.”
That stopped me as I twisted my head to see that she had started pacing again. Sweet dreams. Practically unconsciously offered and yet for some reason that jarred me, not so much the words, but the casual nature in which they were delivered. My new tenant was odd, but I suspected I was going to like her brand of odd.
The light scent of the hibiscus extract combined with the rich vanilla fragrance of the pastry cream was divine. A vanilla bean sponge cake sat cooling on the counter. How to top the dessert? In my head, I could see the presentation: a delicate chunk of white chocolate, two slices of starfruit and a dusting of powdered sugar. Continuing to whip the cream, I moved to the oven to check on the almond crisps for the almond and sweet cream panna cotta I was concocting. I may have gone a bit overboard with testing my recipes. The counters in the kitchen were covered with dishes, some fully formed, others still in stages.
Setting the bowl of cream on the counter, I checked the crisps. The edges were slightly darker and the buttery aroma that wafted up to me was heavenly. Crisps were tricky because it took only seconds to go from perfect to burnt and burnt nuts were bitter, overpowering every other flavor. Pulling the crisps from the oven, I transferred them to the cooling rack so they wouldn’t continue baking on the hot pan. I had just started on the presentation of the vanilla bean and hibiscus cake when someone knocked at the door.
“Come in.”
I sliced the sponge cake in half; I preferred the foam method of preparing sponge cake, whipping the egg whites until they were the perfect consistency and the result was a firm cake that was light and airy, the nooks in the cake soaking up whatever filling was spread over them. And as I spread the pastry cream on the cake, I realized whoever had been at the door hadn’t entered. Walking to it, the sound of a little kid’s voice reached me as I stepped outside. The sight that greeted me was Loki playing with Trace’s daughter, Trace standing just behind her grinning. As soon as I stepped up next to him, his focus shifted to me.
“Hey, Avery. I wanted to stop by and see how you were settling in. Faith insisted on coming. She loves Loki.”
“Looks like the feeling is mutual.”
“You all settled?”
“I am. I was just working on some recipes.”
Faith’s head turned at that. “Cake?”
“Yes, and some other sweets. Maybe if it’s okay with daddy, you could sample some.”
Faith turned the cutest doe-eyes on her dad. “Please Daddy.”
I thought Trace’s quick response, reaching down and swooping his daughter up over his shoulder, was due to those doe-eyes but then he added, “Only if I get some too.”
Nervousness twisted in my belly. I was still working through the recipes
and he was my boss, I wanted to impress him. On the other hand, getting his feedback would also be helpful. “There’s plenty to go around.”
Leading them inside, Faith let out the cutest gasp. “Look at all those yummy things, Daddy.”
Trace settled Faith at the kitchen counter, standing behind her so she wouldn’t fall, but his attention was on all the yummy things too. “Damn, you’ve been busy.”
In response, I grinned like a maniacal genius—a sight I knew well since my sister was one. “Okay, Faith. I have chocolate cake, vanilla cake, a berry pie…”
“What’s that?” She pointed to the vanilla sponge cake I’d been in the middle of working on.
“Vanilla cake, with a vanilla cream flavored with an edible flower.”
“I want that.” She said.
“Me too.” Trace added which for some reason brought a chuckle because looking at the man, he didn’t seem the type to want a cake flavored with flowers.
“I’m still working out the presentation, so bear with me.”
Using the spoon, I smeared some cream on the plate, sliced a wedge of the cake and placed it off-center on the cream. I’d already broken the white chocolate into the shapes I wanted, so I gently pushed the triangular hunk of white chocolate into the top of the cake, added the slices of starfruit and dusted it with powdered sugar. Wiping the excess from the plate with a towel, I presented it to Faith. Her eyes went wide.
Handing her a fork I said, “Please tell me what you think.”
She didn’t hesitate to dig in; the sight of her eyes rolling into the back of her head was a pretty good clue that she liked it. Trace said, “That’s a definite thumbs up.”
After both father and daughter devoured their cake, Trace trying the panna cotta and berry torte, I walked them to their car. “A group of us are heading to Allegro next weekend. It’s a jazz club. You should come, let us show you a bit of our city.”
Happily stunned mute, since I hadn’t expected the invitation, I didn’t immediately respond. And then realizing my hesitation could be misconstrued as disinterest, I said, “I’d really like that.”
“We’re meeting around 7:00pm. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks for the desserts. Fuc—” Trace cleared his throat. “I mean delicious.”
“Good catch.”
In reply, he grinned before strapping Faith into her car seat. He climbed into his car and started her up. His window rolled down. “See you on Friday.”
“Thanks for stopping by.”
“If you have desserts like that waiting, we’ll make a habit of stopping by.”
I liked the idea of guests, especially being so far from everyone I knew. “I’ll have desserts.”
“See you next weekend, Avery.”
Faith waved, I waved back. When the gates closed behind them, I headed back inside and fixed myself a slice of that cake and I agreed with Faith and Trace, it was delicious.
I loved Riverdale. The community was lovely; downtown was charming—very reminiscent of some of the towns from home. I had even found a gourmet market, which was dangerous since gourmet markets for me were like the Louis Vuitton store for other women. Grabbing a cart, I took my time walking up and down the aisles, filling my cart with more items than I needed. Nat was coming for a visit, so I bought groceries for some of her favorite meals since I was sure the last home-cooked dinner she’d had was the one I had made.
I couldn’t wait for her to see my place, loved that I could say it was my place. Not only was it visually perfect, but also being tucked in a community that felt so much like home helped me with the transition. And my landlord, dear God, the man was exquisite. I planned on setting up a chair right outside my front door, positioned so I could see him coming and going from his workshop. I honestly didn’t even care if he knew what I was doing—he already thought I was a nut.
Trace had been right; Rafe was very private. Outside of the day I moved in, he kept to himself and left me to myself. I hadn’t seen the mystery woman; she hadn’t paid a visit since that first day. I was curious about her, the kind of woman who could catch a man like Rafe.
Reaching the tea aisle, I spotted the tea Nat preferred, but it was on the top shelf. At five foot two, top shelves in grocery stores might as well be hanging from the ceiling. Scanning up and down the aisle confirmed I was alone, no tall person in sight. And even stepping up on the bottom shelf, I was still too short to reach the tea. Maybe I was shrinking. I was only twenty-nine; I didn’t think that evil twist of aging happened until menopause. Of course, I wasn’t using my female parts, so maybe my body decided since I’d closed down the factory it might as well board up the windows and retire to Florida. What a horrible thought. Though I couldn’t deny, recently those neglected parts were slowly waking, stretching after a long hibernation and I had Rafe to thank for that.
Looking around for something I could use to knock the tea off the shelf, I spied the celery in my basket. That would give me at least six more inches. The boxes were stocked very close together and the celery was bulky so it didn’t come as a surprise that my attempt to retrieve the tea resulted in several boxes, not the brand I wanted, tumbling to the floor. As they hit the linoleum, the accompanying sound echoed.
“Son of a…”
“Do you need help?”
Like warm honey over ice cream. I’d know that voice anywhere, and then I realized that Rafe had witnessed my ridiculous attempt to retrieve tea. Tea I wasn’t even going to drink. How embarrassing.
Turning, I was treated to the sight of Rafe McKenzie carrying a shopping basket. Only a truly remarkable man could make shopping for groceries look sexy.
My heart felt like a jackhammer, my limbs turned to noodles and to cover the fact that the man physically affected me, though anyone not physically affected by this man wasn’t human, I opened my mouth before I engaged my brain.
“They make these shelves intentionally too high so that the wicked, tall people of the world can stand in the security offices all across the land laughing at the vertically challenged. It’s wrong, very, very wrong.”
It took me a minute to realize what I had just said and when I had, I wanted to stick my face in the boxes of tea on a shelf I could reach.
Chancing a glance at him, he was grinning.
“I don’t really think there’s a conspiracy against short people. I mean sure the designers all cater to tall, thin women and most amusement rides I’m barely at the height to actually ride even though I’m almost thirty and sure I’ve been carded because I’m on the short side so I naturally have to be young too.” Cocking my hip, I realized maybe there really was a conspiracy. “On second thought…”
“Did you get the tea you wanted with your celery prosthesis?”
“Tea? I don’t drink tea.”
This earned me a smile with teeth visible and honest to God my knees buckled.
“Then why are you in the tea section knocking boxes off the shelf? Is this some kind of short person protest?”
Momentarily stunned by the sight of his smile, it took me a minute to remember that I was indeed in the tea section getting tea for Nat and he had just called me short.
“I’m not short. Five foot two is actually considered average for a female.” I didn’t really know if that statistic was true, but he probably didn’t know either.
Clearly hotness adversely affected the working of my brain since I had my extremely hot landlord offering to help reach my tea and through this entire exchange my take away was objecting to him calling me short.
“My sister is visiting, she drinks tea. And no, I didn’t get the one I wanted. These celery prostheses are just not made the way they used to be.”
He stepped closer and the sight of all that moving closer had those slowly, stirring places jerking upright and taking notice. “Which one did you want?”
I kind of felt like Clark W. Griswold at the lingerie counter in Christmas Vacation. In my head, the on
e I wanted had nothing to do with tea. I felt the stupid grin—openly lascivious grin—and snapped myself out of it. “The Lady Grey in the black box.”
Effortlessly, he retrieved the box, our fingers brushed when he handed it to me and just that slight contact and my body felt like it was on fire. “Thank you.”
“Do you think you’ll need my help retrieving other items outside of your reach?”
He was offering to shop with me, but that spelled disaster since I couldn’t seem to form a thought in his presence. God only knew what I’d get myself into, walking and talking without my brain taking part.
“Ah, I think I’ll be okay. I’ve got this.” I said as I waved the celery. Mortifying. When I got home I needed to order ‘Talking to Hot People for Dummies’.
“All right. See you later.”
I watched him walk away, even turned so I could see his ass that looked so nice in those jeans. And once out of sight, I lowered my head and giggled because I was seriously a clown. Oh well, I wasn’t going to see him again except for every time I left the carriage house, returned to it, walked around the yard, played with Loki. No big deal. I resisted the urge to bang my head on the mockingly tall shelves. I needed to buy an invisibility cloak too; I hope that Harry didn’t have the only one.
I didn’t want to get out of bed; the mattress and sheets were like heaven. It felt as if I was sleeping on a cloud. Even down to the details of bedding, Rafe was all over it. I didn’t run into him again yesterday. He was probably hiding from me. If he and Trace exchanged stories, the truth would be out—the Collins chicks were nuts. Climbing from bed, the aroma of coffee drifted down the hall to me. Never had I had a programmable coffeemaker and I suspected I would never again be without one. What a luxury.
A cool breeze blew through the window, the temperatures more in line with the fall season. Pulling open the front door, to get the breeze through the screen, I yelped at the sight of the black, furry figure sprawled out on the front stoop. Loki.
His head lifted and his black eyes settled on me. His tail gave a thump, I assumed in joy at seeing me, but other than those minor movements he could have been a statue.
