“This is ironic—don’t you think?” Jazz said from the floor of my apartment.
“Ironic, how?” I asked, doodling a cake sketch on a pad of paper.
“We’re catering a baby shower, and you’ve got a literal bun in your oven.”
I looked at her. “Veto.”
“Veto, what?”
“I hate that saying. A bun in the oven. I object profusely.”
“But you’re a baker. It’s like that saying was made for you.”
I ignored her and went back to drawing.
We’d decided to close early. Between the health inspection and the news about my pregnancy, we figured it was better to spend the afternoon upstairs in my apartment returning phone calls of potential new clients.
“We have to get a delivery van,” she said after a long stretch of silence.
“With what money?” I asked. “This bakery is bleeding me dry as it is. Look at the car I drive. You think I can afford a van?”
“I have some money saved,” she admitted. “Not a lot, but some. I could find us a good deal—with Horace’s help, I’m sure. And then…”
“Then?”
“We could be catering partners?” Jazz asked.
“You sure you want to invest in this?” I asked softly. “I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth. Expenses and roadblocks just keep popping up. And now…”
“You’re going to have a baby. I know. I just think…”
“What?” I asked.
“We’re both kind of drowning. My life is going nowhere, and I want it to change. I’m desperate for it to change.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Why? Because it might come true?”
“You still believe that? Sounds like life hasn’t kicked you in the face hard enough yet,” I said bitterly. “We could fail at this. Hell, I’m halfway to failure already. I don’t need to drag you down with me. I sank everything I had into this bakery, Jazz. I was fueled by grief and a fair dose of gumption. But now, I—shit.”
“You haven’t failed,” she said quietly. “Not yet. You only fail if you quit. I really think we can do this.”
I didn’t reply as I mulled over her words.
“You can’t keep working sixty-hour weeks.” She pointed out. “Not in your condition. And you don’t have enough money to hire staff to keep the bakery going the way you want. What if we temporarily closed the bakery to the public? What if we only use the kitchen for catering events? It would be more flexible. It would give you time to regroup.”
“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” I said. “To own my own bakery.”
“You still own your own bakery. But now you can own a catering company, too.”
It’s not just about me anymore…
“All right, Jazz. Let’s get a van.”
She smiled. “Welcome to the dark side.”
I chuckled and then got up. “More tea?”
“Sure.”
I went to the kettle and filled it.
“Brooklyn?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you happy? About the baby, I mean?”
I set the kettle onto the burner and turned it on. “I’m like, seventy percent terrified, twenty-eight percent in shock and two percent happy. I’m hoping after a few days the percentages change, because I think…yeah, Jazz. I think I can be really happy about it. I just need time.” My eyes instinctively went to the black-and-white photo that hung on the wall over the TV. “It’s strange though…”
“What is?”
I turned to face her. “I grew up without a mom, and this baby will grow up without a dad.”
“That’s poetic irony if I’ve ever heard it,” Jazz stated.
“Find everything okay?” the guy behind the counter asked as I set a stack of books in front of him.
“Yeah, I think so.”
He scanned the items as I rooted around in my purse for my wallet. I handed over my credit card, trying not to wince at the workout I was giving it.
I’d been up since three in the morning, waking from a sound sleep, my mind filled with questions about my future. While my brain was active, I’d put myself to work. I’d cleaned the apartment, throwing out the harsh cleaning chemicals, getting rid of the last bit of Jameson, and dumping the caffeinated coffee. Then I’d gone grocery shopping. My fridge was full. And now I was at the small, indie bookstore buying out their entire section on pregnancy. Not really, but it felt that way.
“Have a good day,” the man said, handing me the handle of the paper bag.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“And congratulations.”
I blushed and ducked my head.
My phone rang while I was driving back to the bakery, but I didn’t answer it. When I drove down the alley to park behind the building, I couldn’t get through to my normal spot. There was a huge, white van parked and two men in orange construction uniforms were working on the telephone pole.
With a sigh, I looped around and parked down the block in one of the few spots not destroyed by the construction crew’s jackhammering bonanza.
What the hell was going on? Why was my neighborhood being torn apart?
I grabbed the brown bag of books and locked my car. I turned the corner and halfway down the block I saw a lone figure wearing a leather cut leaning against the wall of the bakery. His eyes were covered by a pair of aviators and his hair looked like the wind had been blowing through it.
I stopped walking instantly, nerves skating up my spine.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
I was never supposed to see him again.
He turned his head and froze when he saw me.
I began to walk toward him, slow and uneasy.
When I was a few feet from him, I paused again. Both of us were silent. Finally, I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
His gaze was unreadable behind his sunglasses. “You look tired, Brooklyn.”
I glared. “Thanks for noticing. What are you doing here, Slash?”
“Passing through town. Thought I’d say hello.”
“Hello.” My keys were still in my hand, so I turned and marched to the front door of the bakery. I fumbled with the lock, wanting to escape him, wanting to escape the pounding of my heart, wanting to escape my body’s reaction to him.
“Can I come in for a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“Bakery’s closed today.”
“Did your machine break?”
I glared at him over my shoulder. “I’m not interested in another night with you, Slash. We agreed. One night and one night only.”
When he didn’t reply, I turned around and finally got the door open. I stepped into the bakery and was about to close the door in his face when he braced his arm against it. “It wasn’t enough,” he said gruffly. “One night with you could never be enough.”
His words hit me hard, and I felt them in my chest.
I could barely control myself around him. It wasn’t fair.
“My life is complicated.”
“Complicated,” he repeated slowly. “You seeing someone?”
“No,” I said.
His tight shoulders relaxed minutely, enough for me to notice. “Can we please do this inside? I don’t want to have this conversation in the open.”
“There is no conversation,” I said. “I don’t want to be a warm bed you crash in when you roll through town.”
I tried closing the door again, but it still didn’t budge because Slash blocked it.
It took all my willpower to shut him down.
“What did you mean when you said your life was complicated?” he asked.
Realizing I wasn’t going to get rid of him so easily, I finally relented and stepped back. He came inside the bakery immediately and shut the door. He removed his glasses, and I met his hazel gaze head-on.
“I’ve added catering to my resume,” I remarked blandly. “So, between the bakery hours and the catering jobs, I don’t have time for anything else. That means you.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Huh?”
“Your bakery is closed. Where are your customers?” He looked around, and then his gaze settled on the empty display case. “And there are no baked goods.”
“Closed for maintenance.”
He smiled slightly. “I must’ve gotten under your skin.”
“You did not.”
Slash shrugged. “No? Then why the hostility?”
“No hostility. I’m just surprised to see you. Didn’t we cover this already?”
He reached out and gently cupped my cheek, and before I could react, he said, “I meant what I said. One night with you could never be enough.”
My breath hitched when he took a step closer.
“Slash, don’t—”
The handle of the paper bag I was holding ripped, and the weight of the books tore the rest of the bag open. I watched in horror as they fell to the floor.
Slash dropped his hand from my face and looked down. I didn’t take my eyes off him as he crouched. He reached out and picked up the book What to Expect When You’re Expecting. He stared at it for a moment before returning his attention back to me. He rose slowly.
Tension crackled in the air between us.
I swallowed. “I told you. Complicated.”
“Is it mine?” he asked tightly.
I nodded slowly.
“But we used protection.”
“Might as well not have,” I said.
“Were you planning on telling me?”
I shook my head no.
Slash handed me the book, turned, and marched out of the bakery. The jangling doorbell rang loudly behind him and then quickly fell silent.
“Yeah. That’s pretty much how I thought that would go down,” I said in defeat.
My phone rang, jarring me out of my doze. I was curled up on the couch, my face smushed into a pillow and I wasn’t in the mood to move. Not even to answer a call.
But my hand shot out anyway and grabbed my cell. It was an unknown number, and my heart tripped in excitement. Hopefully it was another catering gig.
I answered it.
“Hello, this is Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn.”
The way he said my name made shivers dance up and down my spine. “Slash? How did you get this number?”
“Your website.”
“Oh. Right.”
A taut silence fell between us. “You called me,” I pointed out.
“I’m downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not done talking.”
“You seemed pretty done when you marched out of here without a word,” I said. It wasn’t an accusation. I’d expected it. Actually, I’d expected nothing because I never thought I’d see him again.
“It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“Let me up and I’ll explain.” When I didn’t reply, he sighed. “Please, Brooklyn.”
It was the raspy please that did it, and it wasn’t begging. He was asking in a way that sounded sincere, even though I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“All right. I’ll come down and let you in through the back door.”
I hung up and grabbed my keys. I left the apartment and headed downstairs to the alleyway. With a deep breath, I unlocked the back door and pushed it open.
Slash stood at the threshold, but he took up so much space I quickly stepped back. He scrutinized my face. “You were asleep.”
I frowned. “How did—?”
“The hair.” He smiled.
My hand immediately went to my lopsided ponytail.
He shut the door behind him and followed me up the stairs into the tiny apartment.
He seemed to fill up the entire room, and suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Tea?” I croaked, needing something—anything—to do to distract myself from the fact that the father of my child was standing in my living room.
“Sure.” He wandered over to the coffee table and picked up the top book from the stack. He flipped it over, scanned it for a few seconds, and then put it back.
“Chamomile? Peppermint? Orange spice?” I asked.
“Orange spice.” He flexed his hands and then clenched them into fists. His gaze landed on the black-and-white photo over the TV. “Who’s that?”
“My father.”
“And he’s gone?”
“Yeah. About two years ago.”
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “For your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mom?”
“Slash,” I warned.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay.”
I leaned against the counter as I waited for him to gather his thoughts.
“I wasn’t pissed that you weren’t going to tell me,” he said suddenly, hazel eyes searching my face. “I get it. I really do. One-night stand. A biker. You don’t know shit about me.”
“No, I don’t know shit about you. Except that you’re bossy and solicitous of a woman you’d just met at a party.” I paused. “You didn’t fight me…”
He frowned. “Fight you about what?”
“When I told you that you were the father. A lot of men would’ve balked. Denied it right away. Accused me of being—”
Slash scratched his whiskered jaw but said nothing.
“I’m not asking you for anything. Even though you know. If you want to ride out of town and never look back, you can. You’re off the hook.”
“You must think I’m a complete and utter shit,” he said, his tone suddenly hard. “If you think I’d ever do something like that…like I’d ever take that way out—”
I blinked. “But I don’t know you. And you don’t know me, remember?”
The tea kettle whistled, and I turned around to flick off the burner. I heard the heavy clomp of his boots across the floor and then he was behind me. He radiated heat, and I could smell the warmth of his skin. I swayed, wanting to press back into him. Not just for comfort, but to satisfy my lust.
Pure, unadulterated lust.
He settled his hands on my hips and leaned down to rest his chin on the top of my head. I was trapped by his huge body, and I remembered our night together.
“We could give this a try. You and me,” he said finally.
I made the move to turn, and he let me, but he still caged me in. I looked up into his eyes, which glowed with want. He moved ever so slightly against me, and I felt how much he desired me.
“You’re a Nomad,” I pointed out. “A rolling stone. I’m not going to say yes. I’m not going to be the reason you find yourself trapped in a life you don’t want, with a woman and a kid you got stuck with. That will never work. You know it, and I know it.”
“You afraid, woman?”
“Afraid? Fuck yes, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of doing this alone.” The honesty was spewing from me, and I had no choice but to let it flow. “But I’m more afraid of relying on someone who’s going to realize this wasn’t what he wanted and then bail after getting my hopes up.”
He reached out to cup my chin, keeping our eyes locked on one another. “I guess only time will prove that I mean what I say. I want to be involved, Brooklyn.”
“I’m still not sleeping with you again.”
Slash suddenly smiled. “Okay.”
“I mean it. I’m already hormonal. And I do not want my vagina to confuse my heart.”
He laughed—a deep booming sound that lit up my insides. Just like him, it filled the entire space, and all the emptiness in the room seemed to melt away.
“We need ground rules,” I said. “Boundaries.”
Slash continued to laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth.
“What? I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious.”
“I know.” He kissed my forehead and then let me go. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night?” I repeated stupidly, feeling tingly because he’d kissed my skin.
He nodded.
“Nothing.”
“Have dinner with me.”
I raised my brows. “Like a date?”
“No. Just two people sharing a meal. One of those people will bring a list of boundaries and rules, while the other listens.”
“I’m the one making the rules, right? Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear.” His lips quirked up. “I gotta go. Thanks for the tea.”
“I didn’t get a chance to make it for you,” I protested as he walked toward the door.
He smiled at me over his shoulder. “Rain check.”