“Only pretty strict?” Gabe asked, holding back a smile.
“Okay, really strict, but I like when Sam sends me here to help out.”
Gabe shared a look with Monica. She gave him a slight nod and took off her apron. “Okay, Jonah. Let’s see what you remember. Tell me what needs to happen with the charm rolls.”
Jonah stared hard at the work table. “We’ve got them ready to go, rolled around the metal dowels. Now, I’ll line the baking trays with parchment paper and bake them for twelve minutes at four hundred degrees Fahrenheit. They can cool overnight, and we can fill them tomorrow morning.”
Monica nodded. “Don’t forget to keep an eye on them once they hit the ten-minute mark. And don’t put on your headphones and zone out. Those last two minutes can make or break the pastry shell.”
Jonah’s straightened up. “Yes, ma’am! You can count on me.”
Monica hung her apron on the hook. “All right, Jonah. I’m trusting you with this. Don’t forget to turn off the oven before you leave.”
The teen nodded and reached for the parchment paper.
Gabe walked around the display case and joined Monica at the back of the shop. They went out the door, and Gabe gave the knob an extra tug to allow the lock to engage.
“Why did you knock?” she asked as they walked down the alley.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got Oma’s set of keys?”
She’d given them to him that morning. He felt his pocket. “I’ve still got them.”
“Then why didn’t you just come in?”
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Nostalgia. I like watching you work through the bakery window.”
“You realize how creepy that sounds,” she said, but she was grinning.
“Do you think he’ll be okay on his own?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do. He reminds me a lot of a teenage boy who got his start in The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive.”
“You’re not going to put on your Sacred Heart uniform for Jonah, are you?”
“You’re terrible,” she shot back. Her sexy smile, however, said something entirely different.
The streets were empty. Langley Park on a Sunday night was just as quiet now as it was years ago. The pitter-patter splash of the town square’s fountain filled the space between them. The most direct route to the botanic gardens would have been to head east on Bellflower Street, but something inside him pushed him to head north on Mulberry Drive and then east on Prairie Rose, the street that bordered the town center to the north. The community center and the basketball courts came into view, and the urge to claim Monica, to let the world know she was his again, ran hot through his veins. He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. He was ready for her to protest, but she didn’t say a word. Her gaze flicked to the basketball court, and a shudder passed through her.
“What is it, Mon?”
They’d passed the community center and had made it to the rarely used north entrance of the gardens. Covered in foliage, only the locals knew of it, and from the creaking noise when he pulled it open, even they weren’t using it these days.
“It was weird seeing Courtney today.”
He wasn’t expecting that. “Because she’s got kids?”
A beat passed then two.
“That, and she’s married to Bryson Vanderkamp.”
“He was the tall guy with the little mousy blonde girlfriend. I remember them from the basketball court and…” He almost gagged recollecting the sounds of those two getting it on in the bushes. The only saving grace of that fucked up night was that it wasn’t Chip and Monica doing the deed. His stomach twisted at the thought. It was bad enough watching him paw all over her.
Monica tightened her grip on his hand. “Yeah, and…”
“And what?”
“It made me think of Chip.”
If he ever needed to drum up anger, Chip Wilkes was the fastest way to get his blood boiling. Selfish, entitled, and had he not stopped it, the douchebag who would have sexually assaulted Monica. Gabe released a hot breath. Resurrecting his fury for the spoiled fucker would help no one. And if Monica had something on her mind, he wanted to hear it.
She was quiet. He could almost hear her thinking, hear her turning whatever it was over and over. The path narrowed, and the long, heavy limbs of a willow tree brushed their shoulders. Neither of them said they were going to their spot, but wordlessly, they veered off the path and weaved their bodies through the needles of the blue spruce and into their secret place.
Somewhere between the willows and the gray-blue needles, he’d lost hold of her hand. The sky was cloudy, but a sliver of moonlight caught Monica sitting on the crumbling stone bench. He came around her from behind, nudged her forward, and sat down, his body surrounding hers protectively. He wrapped his arms around her, and she melted into his chest.
“What’s on your mind, Mon?”
“Some terrible choice always leads me to you. First Chip when we were teenagers and then going to that stupid party in the Portola Valley.”
He tightened his grip. “Chip Wilkes did not lead to you to me.”
“If I hadn’t gone with him. If I hadn’t led him on, maybe—”
“That was not your fault. You did nothing wrong.” He had to stop that misguided trail of thought from working its way into her mind.
“But if he hadn’t attacked me, you wouldn’t have revealed yourself.”
He brushed a few stray strands of hair aside and pressed a kiss behind her ear. “Do you remember that morning, when I came to the bakery window?”
“Of course, but you didn’t say anything.”
“I was nervous. I’d watched you for all those years.”
“I’d watched you, too. I pretended like I wasn’t looking, but I always was,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.
“Mon, when I saw you at the basketball court. I knew it was the universe telling me I was right. Everything I felt for you…it was real. We were meant to be together. Chip or no Chip, I would have fought for you, no matter what.”
She shook her head. “I must have seemed so weak.”
He shifted his body and pulled her onto his lap. In the hazy glow of the moonlight, he caught her gaze. “Monica, I never—not for one second—thought you were weak. In fact, it was the complete opposite. You tried to stop Chip. I saw you.”
She dropped her chin to her chest.
He lifted her chin. “You are stronger than you know, Mon. You’ve lost your parents. You spent all your schooling with kids who always had more. You worked in the bakery every damn day. You know how many kids would straight up refuse to do that?”
“There were times I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t. And you never let any of that hold you back from your dreams.”
“But what about you, Gabe? What about what I did to you?”
“Everything we went through to get to this point has made us who we are today.”
She held his gaze. “I thought I never wanted to come back here, but now I can’t imagine a life anywhere else.”
He understood. Seeing his cousin as a father and husband. Cooking for the Camp Fire Kids at the restaurant he jointly owned with his brother. Standing next to Monica, braiding strudels, inhaling her scent, the tingle of excitement that ran through his body at even the thought of touching her. They all revolved around this place. Their home, Langley Park.
He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. “We both have a new appreciation for this town…our town.” He leaned in. “I don’t want to be without you ever again.”
“I don’t want to be without you,” she echoed, a tear trailing down her cheek. But…”
His heart nearly stopped. “But what?”
“I know I’ve said this before, but we can’t say anything until after Oktoberfest. I don’t want to jinx this. I don’t want to take the spotlight away from the festival or the town.”
He understood more than she knew. The
spotlight, and his desire to be in it, had caused the absolute clusterfuck he’d left in New York. He tried to speak. He wanted to tell her everything about Corbyn and the TV project negotiations, but she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Today, when that reporter was interviewing us, for the first time in my life, I thought of the bakery as mine. My whole life, with my grandparents, I lived in their upstairs apartment. I worked in their bakery. All the kids I knew growing up, I went to their school. I was allowed to have a glimpse into their world. Even modeling, I wore their clothes. I was the face of their brand. The only thing I’d ever thought of as my own before today, was you. You were always my paperboy.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You were my princess, locked inside a bakery. I always thought it was my job to save you, to rescue you, but it wasn’t. You didn’t need to be rescued. You never did.”
Another tear glided down her cheek. “What you did for me was so much more than being rescued. You believed in me, Gabe. You loved me back then.”
He pressed her hand to his chest on top of the M in his mise en place tattoo. “I never stopped loving you, Monica. You’ve always been here. You’ll always be here.”
He slid the hand cupping her face into her hair and pressed his lips to hers. She shifted in his lap and straddled him. She’d taken off the Sacred Heart uniform and changed into a simple A-line dress before joining him at Park Tavern to hand out cupcakes to the Camp Fire Kids. The hemline edged up her thighs as she arched into him, and the movement had him rock hard in seconds.
He ran his hands down the length of her back and gripped her ass. Monica released a low, breathy gasp against his lips. He rocked her body against his. The friction built between them like a fire, growing and consuming everything in its path.
“I love you, Monica. I love you so fucking much,” he breathed, kissing a path from her lips to her earlobe. His body remembered the first time he’d kissed her. He remembered the heat between them as he pressed against her, grinding and caressing, feeding the frenzy of lust between them.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he guided her ass up and down against his cock, straining against his pants.
“I want you. I need you inside me,” she gasped.
She didn’t need to ask twice. He reached between them, undid his trousers, and freed his hard length. Monica pushed up onto her knees, glanced down at his erect cock, and bit her lip.
“You kill me, Monica,” he growled, eyes locked on her mouth.
He reached between her thighs and cupped her sex. Her panties were soaked with the evidence of her arousal. His cock twitched like a wanton beast desperate to fuck. He pushed the drenched fabric aside and ran two fingers past her slick entrance. She bucked against his hand.
“Gabe, please!” she moaned
Her words fed his desire. He tightened his grip on her ass and guided her onto his cock. Inch by inch, she enveloped him in her sweet, wet heat. The fire in his belly grew as he filled her completely. His cock pulsed, demanding he thrust, but he held himself back. He met her gaze. Her eyes were swimming with desire.
“I love you, Monica. I want you so badly. I don’t think I can go slowly.”
“I don’t want it slow. I want you rough. I need it. I need to know this is all real. I need you, Gabe. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
That was it. She loved him. He needed to hear her say it. He needed to know she wanted him just like he wanted her.
His body tensed like a sprinter, waiting for the shotgun to go off.
“Gabe,” she cried, her words caught somewhere between desperate want and unbridled need.
He squeezed her ass and thrust. He fucked her hard and fast. Their quick, labored breaths came in hot, punctuated gasps as if their bodies needed the fevered pace to outrun all the things that had held them back, held them prisoner in their own self-imposed exile. He shifted his grip and dug his fingers into her hips, working her body. She rode his cock. Her breaths grew into sweet moans as she slid up and down his shaft, pumping and grinding against him.
She was close. Her sighs, once a chorus of soft moans, grew low and primal. The heady scent of their lovemaking enveloped them. The slap of their thighs, the muffled sounds of fabric shifting and twisting, the buzz and heat of their rapid breaths mingling together sent her over the edge.
He kissed away her cries of passion and found his release. He thrust his cock in a perfect rhythm of sweat, heat, and motion. In the blink of an eye, he’d disintegrated and dissolved into the night, one with the woman he loved.
He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her like he was trying to recapture every moment and every memory he’d worked so hard to forget. They were all his again. She was his again. Everything made sense buried deep inside her, and he was reminded of his mise. Mise en place. Put in place. This was his place, here in this town with this woman.
The breeze ruffled the leaves of a nearby aspen, and Gabe smiled as Monica hummed her contentment in the crook of his neck.
“Is this what pretend makeup sex is like?” she asked in a dreamy whisper.
He was about to respond when a bobbing circle light caught his eye.
“Mon?”
“Hmm,” she hummed against his neck.
“I think the gardens hired a night watchman.”
“What?” she whispered, straightening up.
He didn’t get a chance to answer.
“If you kids are back, you better get! You’re going to be in a world of trouble if I catch you,” called a man’s voice. He sounded more irritated than angry, but Gabe wasn’t about to hang around. He was already in a world of trouble after New York.
The light got closer.
Monica pushed off of him, arranged her dress, and came to her feet. “Do you think he knows about this spot?”
Gabe fastened his pants. “I don’t want to find out. We need to make a run for it.”
“If he sees us…if he recognizes you, or even me, that could ruin everything. We were on the news tonight.”
Panic had replaced the calm in her voice.
He took her hand. “Nobody’s going to see us. We’ll head to the break in the fence near the pavilion by the lake.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
As quietly as they could, they weaved through the blue spruce. The glow of the flashlight was closing in.
“We’re okay,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We run on three.”
He counted down, and they were off, sprinting toward Lake Boley. A warmth as sweet as summer rain coursed through his body. It was wild and ridiculous and wonderful. Here he was, a grown man, running away from a security guard like a teenage hooligan. And at his side was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hair had come loose. It bounced from side to side in a dark tangle brushing her shoulders with each stride.
“Christ, I love you, Mon!” he said between breaths.
She giggled as they passed the pavilion.
“Hey!” called the guard.
Gabe glanced back. Lucky for them, the man had a decent amount of heft to him and wasn’t able to move at even half the clip he and Monica could run. They maneuvered through the gap in the fencing and sprinted onto Langley Park Boulevard. At this time of night, the street was void of any traffic. The only witnesses to their escape were the silent lampposts creating warm pools of light every couple of feet.
The bakery came into sight. They rounded the corner and ran into the alleyway. Chest heaving, Monica pressed her back against the shop’s door. He caged her in with his arms and held her gaze as they caught their breaths, giggling and failing miserably at trying to be quiet.
She pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. “Let’s go inside.”
Gabe found his set of keys and opened the door. He held it for Monica, and she started up the stairs to the apartment. He pushed the door shut and jiggled the handle to allow the lock to engage.
“I
haven’t put away my Sacred Heart uniform,” she said, peering over her shoulder with a wicked smile.
Sweet Christ!
“You’re going to have to catch me first,” she added.
They raced up the stairs and into the apartment. Monica kicked off her shoes and unzipped her dress as she ran into her room. He followed close behind and flipped on the small lamp. If she was going to be doing a striptease followed by schoolgirl uniform modeling, he sure as shit wanted the lights on. Monica stopped in the middle of the room, dress half off with her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder. She tensed, and her body went rigid.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The bracelet,” she gasped, looking back and forth. “I haven’t moved it! I haven’t even touched it!”
Neither had he. The last he’d seen it that morning, it was just as she’d left it twelve years ago, on her side table. Something sharp prickled down his spine. In the haste to get to her bedroom, he hadn’t even glanced around the apartment.
Had they been robbed?
He looked around the room. Besides the missing bracelet, nothing seemed out of place. No drawers were left half open. No pillows were thrown haphazardly on the floor.
“Stay here. I’m going to check the rest of the apartment.”
Monica nodded.
It didn’t take long to search the place. The apartment consisted of a modest kitchen that opened into a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The space was tidy. If anyone had been here, they’d covered their tracks damn well.
“Does your grandmother have anything of value?” he asked walking into her room.
Monica didn’t answer. She was standing across the room near a tall chest of drawers.
“Mon?” he tried again.
“Why is it here?” she asked.
He came up beside her. There was the charm bracelet surrounded by earrings and pins in a small ceramic dish.
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t touched it, had he? That piece of jewelry bore too much emotional baggage for him to toss it onto her dresser nonchalantly.
Monica looked around her room.
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 99
