AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Camille let out another laugh, snapping me out of my weird daze. I turned my back to the infuriating man and scurried to the kitchen area. I took my time transferring my maple pecan masterpiece to a shiny, bright white cake stand before I made my way back up front. If I peeked through the swinging saloon doors first to make sure the stranger was gone, no one needed to know that cowardly little detail.
“Took you long enough,chicken.”
I let out a sharp gasp even as Camille laughed again. I gave her an exaggerated frown. “Some loyalty you’ve got, woman.”
“I think it’s hysterical that he even said it. Most folks around here are too scared you’ll cut them off to rile you up. You know that character on Seinfeld? The one that shouts ‘No soup for you’? You’re Mapleton’s version, you’re the ‘No croissants for you!’”
I flattened my lips to hide a smile. “Did he make an order for next month?”
“Sure did. Six dozen. More of what he took today and added on peanut cinnamon rolls and a load of apple caramel danishes.”
“What’s he need so many for?” My curiosity was aroused.
“He’s the organizer for that car club that rolls through every third Saturday. Just took over this month. Guess the old guy retired. Seems your guy recruited some kids from the youth hockey team to help him set up.”
I ignored her “my guy” comment. “So early? That doesn’t start until three, right?”
I was terrible at keeping up with the local events, even though I knew I was doing the bakery a disservice. It’s just these events involved so manypeople. Usually, after baking all night and dealing with customers all day, I was all peopled out by the time the meetings took place after business hours.
The bell on the door jingled again, announcing more customers, and I looked up. Standing with his back to me at the edge of the sidewalk, stood “my guy.” He held a phone to his ear and balanced all the bakery boxes with the other. The bright orange vest should have detracted from his appearance, hidden the shape of his body, but as my gaze coasted from his wide shoulders to the muscular way he filled out his jeans, I had to concede that the man had every reason for his cocky confidence. After all, here I was, staring at him once again.
He tucked his phone into his back pocket, and I blinked, my ogling interrupted. Before I could turn away and resume proper bakery-owner duties, he shifted just enough to look over his shoulder through the wide-pane windows fronting my shop. His gaze snagged on me.
And he winked.
Chapter Two
Kyle
November
“She’swatchingmeoutthe window, isn’t she?”
I might have added a little more swagger to my stroll away from the bakery this fine fall morning, but something about the prickly owner burrowed under my skin in the best kind of way.
All the years I’d been coming to these Saturday cruise-ins, how had I missed her? Wasn’t until last month when the youth team volunteered that I went inside her colorful little bakery for the first time. Kids needed sugar.
The kid walking at my side took two steps for my every one, nearly stumbling when he craned his head around to stare across the street to the big glass window looking out on the square. “Yep,” he said. “She sure is, Hoss.”
I hadn’t been Hoss in a number of years. The nickname carried over from my time with the NHL and the Renegades, but the little dude was part of the youth hockey group I’d recruited to help get things ready for the monthly car club cruise-in happening in a few hours. In the hockey world, things like nicknames lingered, even into retirement.
I indicated the pile of blue, silver, and green pastry boxes in my arms. “We’ll get our pick of these and leave the rest for the crew, yeah?”
“Why was she so grouchy, Hoss?”
I’d noticed long ago that non-players loved to use a nickname. Suddenly conversations that were fine without names were “Hoss this” and “Hoss that”. The little dude at my side was no exception. Since he was one of the youngest volunteers in the group, I was keeping him close. He was taking his role of Hoss Assistant very seriously.
“She, my friend, is what we call a grump. She just don’t know any better.”
The kid grunted.
I grinned down at him. “Look here, Bomber,” I said as I sat all the bakery boxes on one of the picnic tables dotted around Pendleton Square.
It was the end of November and Christmas doo-dads dangled from the streetlights and decorated the storefronts circling the square. The little dude grinned at the sound of his nickname. Hockey people were special like that. “See, people like the bakery lady just need a little charm. Lay on the charm and your problems disappear. Trust me, real nugget of a life lesson right there.”
“What are you teaching the kid, Hoss? He’s a little young for lessons on how to sweet-talk the ladies, don’t ya think?”
I glanced up from the fuckin’ perfect chocolate croissant in my greedy paws to see Shepherd Landon join our group. My little baker’s goodies brought out all the hungry mouths. “Never too young, Shep, my man. Never too young to charm the ladies.”
