Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

BLAZE

The rhythmic strumming of the bass guitar filters through the speakers as Chrissie Hynde sings about going back to Ohio. It's a good crowd, bigger than a typical Saturday in February. The weather has been shitty all week, but the break in the rain today seems to have been enough for people to venture out in the cold and wind.

From a table far in the corner a burst of laughter sails over the conversations that meld together, sounding like white noise as I fill two glasses with the Rebel Yell pilsner, tipping each glass just enough to give the perfect amount of head. I slide the mugs across the reclaimed copper bar top that cost a small fortune—but was totally worth it to give the taproom the feel I was going for—to the big guy in front of me.

"Thanks, man." Cameron Davidson, the captain of the rugby team I play on when I have time, hands one pilsner to his partner, Aspen. They clink their glasses together. Cam brings the mug to his lips, drinking the cold beer down in a long swig. He closes his eyes, then lets out a loud, "ahhhh" and sets the drink on the bar. "Don't know how you do it, Blaze, but every time I try a new brew, I swear it's my favorite?—"

"Until the next new one," Aspen finishes for Cam. Tonight, his hair is dyed bright red with silver and gold tips, which I suspect was a request from Cam's daughter. Aspen's gold and silver eye liner match the tips, and paired with his naturally ruby lips, he looks like he should be sitting in a high-end club in New York City, not a taproom at a local brewery in Philly.

I nod my appreciation and pull the tap, filling two more glasses, one with our double cream stout and one with our blond ale, then slide them to Seth and Devonte, who perch on stools next to Aspen.

"You have plans tonight?" Devonte asks.

My gaze scans the room. Tilda and Marco are keeping up with the orders and helping Sam with busing. At the end of the bar, an intense debate goes on about the Power's chances of winning the championship this year, even though a lot can happen in the last two months of the hockey season. I lift my hands, gesturing to the room. "You're looking at it."

"But it's your birthday." Cam's mouth hangs open like he's personally offended.

"And he's a business owner." Aspen rubs his back.

Cam shoots Aspen a look. "So am I. So are you." He points to Seth and Devonte. "So are they. And you don't see any of us not celebrating our birthdays."

"I appreciate your concern." I press my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from laughing. If I didn't know Cam so well, I'd think he was full of shit, but the guy has always been super serious about celebrations, especially birthdays. I open the pink bakery box they brought me and smile at the cake in the shape of a beer bottle. On the label, made to look like a label from my microbrewery, Happy Birthday, Blaze is written in black frosting . "Should we dig into this?"

"After we sing Happy Birthday." Cam sits up straighter and clears his throat.

I pin Aspen with a stare. "Please stop him."

Seth and Devonte laugh, and Aspen rolls his eyes. "You know there's no stopping him. Just be glad we didn't come with the balloon bouquet he wanted to get."

"Or the floral arrangement." Seth opens his arms wide and mouths, "Enormous."

"Hey! Olive thought we should get both." Cam works hard to look offended, but his twitching mouth and shining eyes give him away. He looks like he could be a professional linebacker and would intimidate anyone on the line, but a nicer, more sincere, more loyal guy I've never met.

Aspen shakes his head, but in his expression, there is only love. "Of course Olive thought you should get both. She's your mini-me." He looks at me. "This is why we're now the parents of two abandoned turtles."

"Had I known our escape artist chicken would be so enamored of turtles that she'd forget about running away, I would have gotten a pair years ago." Cam whips out his phone and shows me a photo of the chicken and the turtles hanging out together, with Olive in the background.

My friends laugh and I shake my head, thinking of the many stories about Cam being bested by Doris the chicken. Tilda calls over an order and I fill it. But behind my back I hear a clearing of a throat and then a high-pitched whistle. Conversations abruptly stop. I turn to find Cam on his feet, commanding the attention of the room.

"Oh, no." I rub my hand over my mouth and groan.

Devonte reaches across the bar and claps my arm. "Sorry, man. There are some things we just can't stop. And Cam is one of them."

"We have a birthday today." Cam gestures to me. "Our beloved brewer and owner of this fine establishment." Cheers and whistles erupt. Cam waits for the room to quiet. "Instead of celebrating tonight, he's working so we can enjoy his delicious beverages." More cheers and clapping. "So, it's only right that we acknowledge this man's birthday in song."

The laughter and hoots that fill the space soon turn to a surprisingly good rendition of Happy Birthday led by my goofball friend, who sings at the top of his lungs. As the final bars come to a close, Happy Birthdays and Congratulations punctuate the applause .

I raise my hand, waving it back and forth. "Thanks everyone."

More best wishes ring out before everyone returns to their conversations.

"You're incorrigible." I set another pilsner in front of my friend. "On the house." Then I finish filling Tilda's order.

"Had I known there was going to be cake and singing, I wouldn't have brought this."

My pulse quickens at the genial voice that reminds me of just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies, gooey, warm, and delicious. I spin around to find the man I haven't stopped thinking about since he showed up wet and bearing baked goods, and my grin is immediate. "You're here."

Not the most articulate thing to say, but Casimir doesn't seem to mind because his smile matches mine. "I am. And I brought you this." He holds out a silver ice bucket with a waterfall of rainbow tissue paper flowing over the top, filled with an assortment of at least two dozen cookies on sticks in it. "Happy Birthday."

I pluck a cookie with baked-in strawberries, downing half the enormous confection in one bite and moan. "Oh my god. Is that strawberry cheesecake?"

"It is." His entire expression lifts and his chest puffs out. The overhead lights make the gold flecks in his hazel eyes sparkle.

My stomach flutters, much like I imagine prospectors, the first time they glimpse a shiny golden speck after sifting for gold.

"The strawberry cheesecake cookie is my favorite," Devonte says, reminding me we're in a busy room full of people. He lifts his hand and leans over the bar to look around Cam and Aspen. "Hi Casimir."

Casimir squeezes past a group talking to a couple at a nearby table and makes his way to Seth and Devonte. "Hey guys," he hugs Devonte, then Seth, "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Looks like we're not the only ones who wanted to celebrate the brew guru." Seth releases Casimir. "Do you know Cam and Aspen?"

"I've heard your names, but I don't think we've met." He shakes Aspen's hand and waves at Cam.

Devonte pats Casimir on the shoulder. "Casimir's our neighbor."

"The guy who owns the cookie place?" Aspen's smile is warm as he shifts closer to Cam to allow Casimir into the semicircle of friends standing before me.

My gaze flies to Casimir and I nearly bobble the second half of my cookie. He said he'd been busy with work the other night, but didn't mention he was the owner of Costas Cookies. "I didn't know the shop was yours."

"Never mind that." Cam eyes my cookies, making his intention clear. "Are you going to share with the group?"

I grab the bouquet, hugging it to my chest, and narrow my eyes at him. "Keep your paws off my cookies."

"But…" He clutches his chest with more theatrics than a soap opera actor on the show Tilda likes after finding out their dead twin was alive, had a face-altering operation, and married the character's husband. She watches it every day in the breakroom and Sam is hooked on it too.

Aspen slides his arm through Cam's and leans into him. "It's Blaze's birthday and they're his gift. Plus, there's cake."

I set the cookie bouquet on a spot behind the bar far from Cameron, then round the bar and head toward Casimir. Getting a chance to see if he feels as soft as he looks is my only thought. His gaze meets mine and all the chatter and noise around us fades to the background. I pause in front of him and hold my arms out. "Thank you."

"I figured you deserved cookies on your actual birthday." He steps into me, his hold around my middle firm, tender… perfect. His cushy torso presses against mine and his sandy brown hair tickles my nose when I dip my head to inhale the sweet, sugary goodness clinging to him.

As much as my body begs to stay in his embrace, to drag him out of here to my apartment and lock the door so I can taste and touch him until I get my fill, I release him and step back. "Can you stay?"

His fingers tug his coat's zipper tab down, giving me a slow reveal of his forest green sweater. "Sure. How late?—?"

I glance at my watch. "We close in an hour. Nine o'clock."

An uproar of cheers booms from the quad of regulars watching the Power game playing on the screen over the bar. Casimir startles, then winces. His coat is only halfway open. His fingers tighten around the tab like he's contemplating drawing it upward and getting away from the noise.

Nerves stampede through my gut. Every stomp a ripple in my stomach, similar to the nausea I had as a kid the one time my grandfather took me fishing on a boat. After that, every time we visited my grandparents in Italy, my grandfather would take my brothers out on the boat, but always set time aside to fish with me from the shore. "Maybe we could get a bite to eat. There's a diner nearby that has the best pie."

"I'd like that." He finishes unzipping his coat, then shrugs out of it.

"Blaze," Tilda calls from behind the bar. "The stout's kicked. You want me to get a new keg?"

With more reluctance than should be possible after knowing the man for less than an hour, I settle Casimir onto the empty stool next to Seth, and hang his coat over my arm to store it behind the bar. "I'll get it."

She nods and hurries to help a customer at the end of the bar.

Casimir smiles up at me. "I like your place."

My palm spread on his lower back, the wool of his cardigan is soft from what I guess is many washes. My fingers itch to dip under the sweater and the shirt underneath until they caress the alabaster skin beneath the layers, to know what he feels like. "You want a pilsner?"

Ever so slightly, he leans into my touch and my thumb smooths along the top of his pants. His shiver sets off sparks, lighting up my spinal cord, and when he turns, the prettiest pink brushes his porcelain skin.

"Please." The word comes out with more breath than sound and my dick takes note, liking it more than is appropriate on a busy Saturday night at work.

I let my fingers trail over his sweater before dropping them and finding my way back behind the bar. With less than steady fingers, I pour Casimir's drink and slide it to him. "Don't go anywhere."

I remove the empty keg, then sling it onto my shoulder. It could be wishful thinking, but I swear I hear Casimir's throaty voice mumble, "Not without you."

My steps pause and so does my heartbeat. It kicks in again, and I glance at Casimir and warmth washes into my chest. Surrounded by my friends, he lifts his drink to me in a toast. They nudge each other and raise their glasses to me, grinning like fools. Smiling at him and shaking my head at them, I head through the swinging doors leading to the back. One hour to go, and then Casimir is mine.

"You sure you have it?" I ask for the third time. The tranquility of silence after everyone has left is my favorite part of the day. But having Casimir next to me, the brush of his arm against me as he absently smoothes the front of his sweater is my new favorite.

Marco snorts, but doesn't look up from wiping down a table. From the back, I hear glasses clinking and Sam's off-key singing to something he's probably listening to with his headphones.

"We've got it." Hands on her slim hips, Tilda rolls her eyes. "Go enjoy the rest of your birthday."

Every fiber of my being wants to run out of here so I can spend time getting to know the man standing next to me. But the biggest lesson I learned from being the CEO of my family's business before breaking away to do my own thing is to work harder than any of your employees. It's your business, and no one is going to love it the way you do. And it's disrespectful to expect people you pay to work harder than you.

"Go." Tilda shoos me toward the door, her black nails shimmering when the overhead lights hit them. "We've got this."

Hand on the door handle, I hesitate. "You're sur?—"

"Leave or I'll call your brothers." Tilda holds up her phone and waves it in the air, brandishing it menacingly.

Marco stops his cleaning to watch, his mouth twitching because we both know Tilda does not make idle threats.

Casimir threads our fingers together and the press of his warm palm to mine has me sucking in a breath. "Not the brothers." His tone is teasing, and he pulls me with him as we walk backwards. He holds his free hand up like he's talking down someone who's pointing a gun, not a cell phone. "We'll go, but promise, this stays between us."

Amusement takes over Tilda's expression while Marco openly laughs. Hamming it up, Tilda narrows her eyes and points the phone at me, then at Casimir like we're in the wild west ready for a shootout. "One wrong move and I hit the call button."

"This is my staff," I say to Casimir, who is openly grinning. The sight is so distracting, I lose track of where I'm going and my shoulder knocks into the entrance door jamb.

Getting into the silliness, Marco twirls the white rag, snapping it in the direction of Casimir and me. "And you're still here." He tips his head to Tilda. "She'll do it. You better get moving."

"Run," Casimir yells, slamming open the door and dragging me into the damp night. I follow behind him, and we jog the length of the brewery, under the bright streetlight, to a soundtrack of tires swishing through puddles.

"Don't come back," Tilda calls. The laughter of her and Marco follows us.

I look over my shoulder. Framed in the doorway, Tilda's hands are on her hips and Marco hovers beside her, still brandishing the dish towel. "Don't eat my cookies."

"Happy Birthday, boss." Marco gives a salute of sorts, then follows Tilda inside, the door closing behind them.

Casimir and I race down the busy sidewalk, dodging pedestrians hurrying to their destinations before the rain starts again. The clomp of my boots hitting the cement mixes with Casimir's laughter, and the tightness that has lived in my chest for too long loosens. I thought it would go away when I left our family winery to follow my passion. Unfortunately, it stayed. And there were days it grew worse, because if I failed at my microbrewery, then what?

But this… this absurd scenario… grown-ass men running down the street from pretend foes… is fun. The kind of fun I used to have when my brothers and I made up intricate games in which we were pirates or cowboys or space aliens.

After a block, Casimir slows. His chest heaves with quick breaths, his cheeks are rosy from exertion, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. The streetlight shines down on him like a spotlight and I notice half the lashes on his right eye are blond. His wide smile beams up at me, brighter than the streetlight. "You can thank me later for saving you."

"My hero." I bring our joined hands up and press the back of his hand to my heart. "What would I have done without you?"

He lifts a shoulder, then starts walking. "Hard to say. I don't know who these brothers she spoke of are, but they sounded ominous."

"That, they are." I follow. We're not headed toward the diner and I'm not sure where we're going, but I don't care because apparently, being with this man is all I'm interested in. "I had exactly thirteen months of peace before my brother Elis came into the world and disrupted said peace."

Mouth turned up, Casimir shakes his head. "How awful."

"It only got worse," I continue, enjoying the teasing banter. "Not two years after that, Zale joined the ranks, and eleven months after him, Wrenley arrived. Peace was never had again."

Casimir slows, his eyes wide. "Wow. Four boys that close together. Your parents must have been run ragged."

"I think they wanted to make sure they had enough children to help with the family business." I chuckle. "In truth, the four of us were terrors when we were younger. How they kept the business going while wrangling us is beyond me."

We're walking now, our fingers still laced together. The rightness of it settles deep inside me. It's the same feeling that had me inviting a total stranger into my home at close to one in the morning two days ago to share my beer and cookies that weren't mine. Who does that?

Not me.

Until the undeniable, unnameable feeling seized me with such force I would have jumped to help him pack his things and cleared out a side of my closet for him if he had asked to move in with me.

"What's the family business?" He points to the window display of red and pink roses with twinkling lights and dozens of hearts, and I realize it's Seth's flower shop.

I follow his lead as we walk and hold hands. "Santora Wine."

"No kidding? A customer was just telling me how much they love that winery a few days ago."

We amble along the streets and Casimir regales me with stories of growing up in Ohio with his fourteen cousins—all of whom lived on the same two blocks—and their well-meaning, meddling ways. For an only child, he was never without company. Whether he wanted it or not. And as an introvert who preferred books to people, most of the time he didn't want it.

He talks of his dream of building a cookie empire, but his parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all thought he was limiting himself.

"So when my friend called and said she'd found the perfect space, I figured it was now or never." He lifts a shoulder like moving to a city to start a business and only knowing one person in that city was no big deal.

I'm in awe of him, in so many ways. And, oddly, for as short a time as I've known him, I'm proud of him. People say I had balls going after my dream, but I didn't do it alone. My support system ensured I'd have a soft place to land, regardless of how things worked out. "I wish I had that kind of bravery."

He opens his mouth to respond when three consecutive pings sound from his pocket like an impatient patron banging on the bar. Casimir pulls out his phone and stares at it. His brows scrunch into two mini mountains and his thumbs move over the screen in a blur. "I'm sorry." He looks up at me, his expression pinched. "I have to get to the store."

He spins on his heel and speed walks in the direction we just came from, leaving me standing alone. The cold wind whips at my hand that seconds ago was snug in the grip of Casimir's warmth and I fist it, wanting to hold the heat in. "Wait." I jog and catch up to him in a few quick strides. "Hey." I want to reach for his hand again, but the phone is to his ear.

"Tell me exactly what's going on," he says to the person on the other end.

I match his gait, walking with him. Every time the wind blows, I get a whiff of sugar and sweetness and I lick my lips. He's like the Pied Piper only instead of music, it's the scent of cookies that lures those around him.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll be there in a few and we'll see what we can do. Thanks, Ramon." He stops at the corner as traffic races by and jams the phone into his coat pocket.

Unable to keep my hands to myself, I touch his elbow. "Everything okay?"

He flinches like he forgot I was here, but relaxes just as quickly. "I don't know." Blowing out a breath, he closes his eyes for a second as if he's mustering any extra strength he can find. "Our ovens aren't working. We pride ourselves on delivering warm cookies, and if my ovens aren't working, I can't do that." He shakes his head. "We've only been open for two years, and we're just starting to get a following. Name recognition. But this…" He puffs his cheeks out like a puffer fish, holding it for several breaths, then exhales slowly. "This could be a big setback."

"I can help."

He shakes his head before I can get any more words out. "It's your birthday. You should be celebrating, or at the very least, getting a decent night's sleep. I can't ask you to?—"

I turn him so he's facing me and cup his face. My jaw is scratchy with end-of-the-day stubble, but Casimir's is smooth. I let my thumbs stroke the silky skin. "You're not asking, I'm offering. I know how hard it is when equipment breaks. Especially when you're the owner. Please let me help?"

"It would be nice to have someone other than Ramon and the other delivery drivers there." He rests his palms on the front of my leather coat and I wish there weren't layers of fabric between us. "You're sure you wouldn't rather?—"

"Kiss you?" I trace his plump bottom lip back and forth with the pad of my thumb. "I really want to. Right here, right now."

His eyes darken. The stoplight changes to green, but instead of crossing the street, he sucks the tip of my thumb into his mouth and twirls his tongue around it once, twice, three times. My dick hardens, pressing into my zipper, and a low moan rumbles in my chest.

He releases my thumb and steps into me. People pass us, but the man snaking his arms under my jacket and pulling me closer until there is no space between us is the only one I see.

"Come here, then." He stands on his toes. A hand reaches up to the back of my neck and pulls my head down.

His lips brush mine, warm, soft, but it's not enough. Another brush, but this time with a little more pressure. He teases with more soft kisses, but the hold on my head is firm. I growl and feel him grin against my lips, so I take the opportunity to trail my tongue over the seam of his mouth. He lets me in and when our tongues touch, hundreds—no, thousands—of stars burst to life behind my eyes.

He tastes of sugar and hops. With every swipe, every exploration of his tongue, my limbs grow weaker. My body trembles, and I hold on to him as if he's the only one who can moor me in place. I bend my knees and he rises on his toes more, both of his hands grasping my face like I might disappear. Heat wraps itself around me, warmer than the sultriest summer day.

Woop woop. The sound of a police car has us jumping apart.

Dazed, I blink. Casimir looks just as disoriented, his lips red and swollen and his skin pink from my beard.

"Take it somewhere else," the cop calls from his open window.

"Thanks, officer." Still shaky, I clasp Casimir's hand and watch as the cruiser slow-crawls down the street. "You okay?"

He smiles up at me—which does not help my shaking—and winks. "Better than."

God, this man is adorable. And gorgeous. And thoughtful. "Then let's see if we can't fix your ovens."

The light turns green, and he tugs on my hand and yells, "Run!"

And for the second time tonight, I follow him running down the streets of Philadelphia and laughing.

We end up at Casimir's store, cheerfully out of breath. The neon Costas Cookies sign lights the window in a warm glow, encouraging passers-by to stop in for a gooey late night treat. He pushes open the door and a bell tinkles, announcing our presence.

"It's me, Ramon," Casimir calls as he unzips his coat and strides to the other side of the counter. Bright lights illuminate the industrial kitchen, showing off the white subway tiles and glistening ovens that are visible from here.

A dark-haired guy with a gold hoop in one ear and what looks like an earring my grandmother would have worn in her youth in the other pops his head around the corner. "Sorry to interrupt your night off, but I didn't know what to do."

"You never have a day off when you're a business owner," I say and follow Casimir farther into the kitchen.

"Ramon, this is Blaze. Blaze, Ramon." Casimir wiggles his finger between us, but his attention is on the ovens. Any uncertainty he may have exhibited earlier in a bar full of strangers is gone. In its place, a capable, take-charge business owner.

My dick twitches. Apparently, I have a competent kink I was unaware of.

Ramon pushes up the rainbow frames of his glasses with his index finger. "You're the beer guy, right?"

Bent at the waist inspecting the dials on a lower oven, Casimir freezes. And, if I'm not mistaken, the tips of his ears redden. God, this man is too adorable.

"I am." I step closer to Casimir, partly to help, but mostly because he's like a magnet, and I can't help but be drawn to him. "Any ideas about what's wrong?"

He twists knobs and presses buttons on all the ovens. Then, with arms folded and his brows pinched, he walks around the kitchen, flipping switches, turning on and off appliances. The store bell rings, followed by the low murmur of voices.

"I'll take care of them," Ramon says and hurries to the front.

"Give them a coupon for free cookies on their next visit," Casimir calls while walking the perimeter of the kitchen. "It doesn't make sense. They were working fine earlier today." He flips another switch and halts so abruptly, I plow into him.

Maybe if I wasn't walking so close to him, I would have stopped in time. But he smells so damn good. Though, I'm not complaining because I catch him by the waist, keeping us both upright, and any excuse to touch him, to feel the cushy layer under his clothing is definitely worth it.

"Sorry," I say.

"No worries." He steps out of my grip and flicks the switch again and again and again. Ramon jogs back and Casimir asks, "Did you check the fuse box?"

Ramon's eyes round. "And that would be where?"

"C'mon. I'll show you." Casimir's fingers graze my wrist, unleashing a flock of goosebumps up my arm. "Do you mind staying here to see if this light turns on?" He points to a pendant light hanging above us. "I think it's on the same circuit as the ovens."

"No problem." I lean against the stainless steel island and watch as Casimir leads Ramon down to the basement. A few seconds later, the light flashes on and the whir of the convection ovens sounds. "That's it," I yell so they can hear me.

Casimir dashes up the stairs, his smile radiant and arms raised above his head like the winner of a prize fight. "We're back in business." He turns to Ramon. "Just use one oven tonight so we don't trip the circuit again. I'll call the electrician Monday morning."

"Sorry again." Ramon puts a variety of cookies on a sheet and slips it into the oven.

Casimir zips his coat, pulls a hat from his pocket and puts it on his head. "I should have shown you where the fuse box was. Thanks for letting me know." He turns to me, "Ready?"

"Where to?"

He threads our fingers together. "To celebrate your birthday."

I follow him, like I've followed him all night, and the only thing I can think is, "I want to know this man".

This is turning out to be a damn good birthday.