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He’d been a little horrified the first time he looked in the mirror, but now it just made him laugh. That was easier than feeling like his gay as hell body was betraying him by taking away the one thing he enjoyed most about fucking. That was something he didn’t like to think about often. He knew he’d have to face the grief soon enough, but for now, he just wanted to enjoy living.
After all, it had been months since he’d felt that gut-wrenching Crohn’s pain in his intestines, and he was ready to live again, goddamn it.
Squaring his shoulders, Peyton set the trays on the stove and carefully began to scoop thick dollops into each little divot. This was something he could have done blindfolded and drugged without fucking up, but it still felt like a triumph that he hadn’t lost a single ounce of his muscle memory.
He scooped and dropped until the pan was full and the mixing bowl was empty. Setting it aside, he grabbed the bread crumble from the bowl and sprinkled them over the top of the muffins.
When the tin was finally ready, he set the tray on the rack, closed the door, and stared at the remnants of his first bake in his new kitchen.
It was a mess, but it was a gorgeous mess.
Picking up his phone, he snapped a few shots, posting them to his Instagram account. His phone immediately began to buzz, so he set it aside and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, making his way to the side door that led into his yard.
It was a nice night—humid from the ocean breeze, the waves crashing not far in the distance—spring in the air promising a temperate summer. He hoped for rain, even though the west coast had been horrifically dry for so long, but he wasn’t going to complain.
He lived comfortably. He lived happily.
Helived—and that was the most important part.
He didn’t like to think about how close he’d come to disaster when he was rushed to the hospital. He didn’t like to think about the doctor’s face when he said emergency surgery, or that Peyton’s life would never be the same when he came out of it.
He just liked to think that it was finally over, and he was free.
He wished his water was beer—or something a little stronger. Maybe a nice glass of Malbec and a cute guy to share it with. They could take their time between muffin batches, exploring each other’s bodies on the sofa. It had been such a damn long time since Peyton had been touched like that, and with each passing minute, he felt how absolutely starved he was for that kind of attention.
It made him feel a little pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. When he was alone like this, the insecurities crept up on him like a goddamn sniper.
Before he could get too far down the rabbit hole of self-pity and desperation, there was a loud rumble of a truck engine. For a second, he thought it was the garbage service, then he remembered it was nine p.m. on a Tuesday. The rumble came to a stop, and it sounded like it was at his front door, so he jumped down into the grass and hurried to his low fence.
It was just short enough for him to see over, and pushing up onto his toes, he caught a glimpse of a moving truck. It was struggling to back up into the driveway, and it took Peyton a second to realize that the townhouse next door must have sold.
It had been on the market a while after the old man who lived there had died in his bathroom. Taylor liked to make up stories about how the old, crotchety bastard was now haunting the place, but Peyton could only hope that miserable man had been able to move on.
Not that he believed in ghosts, but just in case…
He got lost watching the truck finally come to a stop, then a group of beefy men jump out and wrenched the back open. His mouth went a little dry at the sight of flexing biceps and perfectly round asses. And okay, maybe that was just proof it had been too long since he’d been on a date, but he doubted he would have minded the view at any point in his life.
As he stared at a particularly nice looking, very beardy man lift a sitting chair up on one shoulder like some kind of Norse god, Peyton felt something brush along his foot. He jumped in the air, then looked down and saw a wide-eyed, small cat with wiry fur staring up at him.
Without really thinking, Peyton knelt down and swept the cat into his arms. Instead of clawing his face, it began to purr and nudge him, so he gave it a few scratches as he went back to watching the movers.
He had no idea if any of them were his new neighbor—or neighbors, really—but he figured he’d know soon enough. Maybe he’d share his muffins as a welcome gift. After all, it was the kind and neighborly thing to do.
Dropping the cat back down to his feet, Peyton made his way toward the side door just as his oven timer went off. He hurried to the kitchen and gave the muffins a little shake. They were fluffy and tall and perfect, so he set them on the counter to cool, and stood back to marvel at his work.
He hadn’t lost his touch.
Picking up his phone again, he hit record on the camera, and panned forward slowly. “You all asked for it, so here’s the first little tease of what I’ll be putting up for order in my shop in a couple of weeks. Cinnamon Toast muffins. You’ve been very patient with me, so I just wanted to share my moment of triumph with you all. I’m back in the game, baby, and better than ever. Can’t wait to bake you all little pieces of my heart.”
He ended the recording, then after a beat, began to move six of the twelve muffins into a little plate with a flower pattern his mom bought for him from one of those big-box stores. He arranged them into a little cluster like a muffin bouquet, then grabbed a post-it from the counter.
Hey! I just wanted to welcome you into the neighborhood. I’m a baker, so this is my way of saying hi and if you need to borrow a cup of sugar, you know where to find it. Hope the move in went smoothly, and if you need to know where all the good stores are, I’m your man. Take care. -P
Yeah. That would do. He smiled to himself and felt like his life was finally getting back to the way it should be. Not just content, but happy, and successful.
And, more importantly,his.
CHAPTER THREE
