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I stare at Willow for a long time. She’s so young and brash and straightforward that it never occurred to me she also wanted The One. “You really believe that? ‘Cause I’m not sure I want another guy. I’m too old for this shit.”
“Hell, yeah, I do. And you’re not old. You do realize that every asshole, every dickhead teaches you something about what you want in a man and, more importantly, what you don’t want.”
“And you want a biker?”
“So bad,” she growls. “But not just any ol’ biker. My friend McKenna and her sister are with two of the Reckless Souls, and they are friggin’ hot. Like fire.” Willow pauses with a silly grin on her face and fans her hand in front of her face. “You know, a tough guy who’s hot enough to burn my flesh, but underneath that hard, steel exterior is a good man. A bad boy who does what needs to be done but knows how to treat a woman, especially the woman that captures his heart.” She sighs.
I laugh. “Hot damn girl, you’re a romantic.”
Willow’s blonde brows dip into a frown. “Damn right I am, and proud of it. I’m gonna find my biker in shining chrome and leather, mark my words.”
“If anyone can, it’s you, Willow.” Between her confidence, her beauty, and her stubbornness, I couldn’t wait to see her own love story unfold.
“Thanks. I’ll start loading the display cases. The specials are on the chalkboard, and the POS is ready to go.”
I shake my head. “I’ll load up the cases. You want to bake something each day, remember?” I’m encouraging Willow to work on her baking skills. I’ve told her she’s a natural.
Her blue eyes go wide in surprise. “Is now the time for this, with everything going on?”
“No time like the present. What are you planning to make?”
“I was thinking mixed berry pockets, like Pop Tarts, only more fancy. What do you think?”
“Do it,” I tell her. “Holler if you need help.”
“Thanks, Boss. I won’t let you down.”
I know she won’t. For all her confidence, Willow sells herself short when it comes to work and career goals, and my goal is to change that. “I know.”
The dining room is spotless, so I take my time stacking the display, making sure everything lines up perfectly and that the handwritten cards are legible for customers of all ages.
Before I finish loading up the case, I open the doors to dozens of customers in search of their morning sugar and caffeine fix. The muffins fly off the shelves, hell, everything flies off the shelves, and we’re too busy to get more product in the oven.
“Shit, Willow, we’re running out of everything.”
“I put more muffins and cupcakes in the oven and set the timer. But the bread for the restaurants needed to go in, so two of the ovens are in use.”
I nod and glance down at my fitness tracker with a groan. “Okay. It’s just after ten, so there’s some time before the next rush. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“I’ll be out here straightening the place up and applying more lipstick.”
The kitchen is blessedly quiet, and I stretch my neck and then my spine and get back to work, kneading bread and making dough for muffins and cookies and bread and more Maven Cakes.
Anything to get my mind off the shitshow that has become my life. I’m numb because I’ve taken great care to make sure I never ended up like this, with a man who treated me like dirt under his feet.
I lose myself in measuring and leveling flour, weighing sugar and butter, just doing my thing because this is the way I stay focused.
I’ve always thought focused was all I had to be, that focused would make up for what I didn’t have. Focused gave me success but not love, but until now, I could forget that as long as I had my name on the door and a decent bank account.
Then Cyrus gave me a wake-up call and speak of the devil, the swinging door pushes open, and I look up with a startled gasp. Cyrus grins.
“Hey, babe.” He leans forward to press a kiss against my lips, and unconsciously, or maybe subconsciously, I pull back. He frowns. “Something wrong?”
“No,” I answer quickly, even though everything is wrong. I know I can’t be with Cyrus even though I love him. At least, I think I love him. I’m very fond of him but not fond enough to let ties to a deadly biker gang get in the way of my future. My focus. My business.
“Yes, actually. Something is wrong, Cyrus.”
A quick flash of worry shows but it’s gone quickly. “What is it?”
