Caroline laughed, and I told her I’d join her for trivia the following night. I walked out into the sunshine outside, holding the door open for Gideon’s giant brother, Knox, who nodded at me as he headed inside. The door was just closing when I heard Caroline shout, “Out!”
Startled, I glanced through the window. Knox was smiling at her, his hands up in the universal sign of “Don’t shoot!”
I’d never seen him smile. It transformed him from scary-stoic to breathtaking.
Caroline was pointing an espresso portafilter at him.
I pushed the door open again. “Is everything okay?”
“The spawn of Satan was just leaving my fine establishment,” Caroline hissed, glaring at the big bear of a man.
He clicked his tongue. “Come on, sunshine. Sadie’s notthatbad.”
“Funny,” she said. “Now get out.”
Knox had actually spoken multiple words. And it had been ajoke. I blinked at him, feeling like I’d never seen him before. He’d spoken no more than a handful of words—mostly barely intelligible grunts—in my vicinity up until now.
Caroline wasn’t fazed by his smile. She reached into one of the display cabinets, grabbed a Boston cream donut, and hurled it at Knox’s head.
He caught it, laughed, then bit into it and waggled his eyebrows as the filling oozed out.
“You’re disgusting,” Caroline said.
“Thanks for the donut, sunshine,” Knox said, and then he took another bite of donut, turned around, and left. On his way past, he said to me, “Good luck with the new shop.”
I gaped at him. How had he found out so quickly?
“What did he say to you?” Caroline asked, glaring after the big man. “Did he threaten you?”
“No,” I said, and couldn’t help the curl of my lips. She was being protective of me. I had a friend. I hadn’t had a friend in a long time.
I left Knead More Bread with a beaming smile on my face. I loved this town. I had a sliver of a chance at reopening my business, and the sun was shining. Life was good. Actually, it wasgreat. I had more to look forward to than I’d had inyears.
I had to let go of this desire for Gideon. Only then would I be free to start a life here, in this adorably shabby town, with these people who had already made me feel welcome. But telling myself to stop wanting him felt like telling myself to cut off my own hand. I couldn’t do it.
Halfway back to my car, which was parked down a side street just past Life’s a Stitch, my eyes landed on one of Mr. Titty’s many pieces. He’d spray-painted the side of a dumpster with a pair of breasts, these more oval-shaped with large nipples. The signature barely fit on the side of the green bin.
I frowned. Something about the signature looked strange to me. And the breasts themselves…
Slipping my car fob back into my purse, I wandered over to the alley and stood in front of the dumpster. I snapped a picture of the graffiti, then walked back to Main Street, where I knew there were more examples of the graffitist’s work. I took pictures of each, and with each my certainty grew. Gideon and his brothers had missed something important about this guy. If he even was a guy.
As I walked up the hill, I spotted Ivan Popov’s antique shop. The breasts on his front window were similar to the ones thathad graced the church doors. Gigantic, tiny nipples, angular writing. I spotted the beauty salon down the street and studied the boobs gracing its frontage. My camera shutter clicked, and I found myself walking up and up and up, all along Main Street and a few offshoots, snapping pictures all the way.
That’s how I ended up at Rock Bottom. The dive bar was a squat, dark building with a flickering neon sign that stood at the back of a vast parking lot. Half the parking spaces were taken up by motorcycles, gleaming in the summer sunlight. An old pickup was parked around the side, and in front of it was another stunning piece of artwork by the breastacular Banksy wannabe.
I was busy snapping a picture of Rock Bottom’s boobs when I heard the scuff of a boot. Turning toward the sound, I gulped at the sight of a muscular man in a leather motorcycle jacket, a flaming skull on his breast.
Cash Bridges.
The biker was broad and tall, like most of the men in this town. A beard hugged his strong jaw, and tattoos snaked over his knuckles. He radiated danger, and the way he looked at me made me feel like my feet had grown roots and anchored themselves to the ground. I didn’t know if I should run or stay very, very still. He had brown eyes that sparked with interest when he saw me, and his voice was a low rumble. “Can I help you?”
“Just admiring your artwork,” I said, using my phone to point at the painting on the brick wall. I still held my matcha latte in my other hand, and I clutched it like it was a shield.
Cash’s smile was a quick flash of white in a dark beard. “One of Mr. Titty’s better pieces,” he noted. He brought his hand up to his chin like he was an art dealer at a fancy gallery.
I turned back to the boobs and tilted my head. “This piece does evoke strong emotion,” I said, picking up on his joke and running with it. “Yearning. Tension. The play between the vulgarity of breasts on a bar wall and the restraint of the art itself.”
“Don’t know about any of that,” Cash said, “but they’re a fine pair of tits.”
