Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
KENZIE
Sherlock nudges me a minute before my alarm. I lean over to pet my dog. Mikael’s already on my mind before I open my eyes. I'm happy he came by the shop yesterday. But to what end? He's handsome and handles the hockey stick well. Women love jocks. With my luck, he's married with three kids.
Does he go to the pond often? Will l ever see him again?
After the scare I had with Sherlock running across the street, I’m worried he might bolt again. He loves winter. There is an energetic bounce in his step when the temperatures dip.
More importantly, he loved playing with Mikael. My mind races with a vision of Mikael playing with Sherlock. He loves dogs. That much is certain. Men usually don't fake attachments to someone's pet. I nuzzle into Sherlock’s warm body. Will I ever find a man to share my bed?
I plant my feet on the cold tile and reach for my Uggs. I have a pair for everything. They were iconic in my youth, and they are both practical and warm.
The chill in the air precedes the fresh snow in the backyard. Sherlock trots out and returns quickly, ready for his food.
My eye catches a package on the table. It must be my new toy.
I open the padded dark envelope that conceals the coveted object inside.
It's my new bright green Destroyer 2000. I flip the switch and it hums as it vibrates. Ah, the single woman’s best friend. Damn. Sherlock's ears twitch as he eyes the object and looks confused.
I flip the switch off and place it back in the envelope.
Am I doomed to have a love affair with an inanimate object?
I toast a bagel and cover it with strawberry cream cheese before I brew a latte and sit at the table.
“What will you do all day, Sherlock?” I'm fortunate that Bo loves him and lets him out before she leaves for work. “It's a long day, I know. I'll make it up to you this weekend,” I reassure him.
I give him a tiny piece of my bagel. He loves cream cheese. When I finish, I place my plate in the dishwasher and dress for work. I straighten my hair with heat just in case Mikael stops by.
I'm being ridiculous. It was a one-time thing. He felt like he owed it to me to stop by.
I kneel and snuggle Sherlock before I leave.
I'm the person who opens the bakery and always the first to arrive. I don't mind getting up at five. Gabriel shows up later and with good reason. He's spent his entire life in the kitchen. I must ask Bo to look at the documents for the shop's sale. Gabriel has a timetable, and the clock is ticking.
I push down the heaviness in my chest. It's risky to start a business, but I have more going for me since I'm baking most of the products. I've been here a few years, so I’ve learned the business. The store is in a great location. If I were to take it over, sales would remain steady. Perhaps I'd be able to give myself a raise.
I hum as I flip the lights on and turn on the surge protectors for the appliances. The industrial mixer awaits me. I put on my apron and begin gathering ingredients.
I slide the red velvet cupcakes into the warm oven. I hum as I conjure a new cake. I’m thinking strawberries, chocolate cake, and chocolate ganache icing. I love it. I busy myself in the kitchen and mix a double batch of batter. I can make a heart-shaped cake and begin to prepare red frosting.
I doubt Mikael eats much sugar. I know from experience that weightlifters are calorie-conscious, and I assume Mikael is as well. The mini desserts are great ideas, as limiting the quantity of baked goods won't blow a diet.
Why am I thinking about Mikael again?
The fact is, he's the hottest man I've seen in years. I estimate him to be over six feet tall. I love tall men and cologne, and he’s a dog lover. He has three boxes ticked before I get to the twenty-one questions. I can’t get excited because, with my luck, I’m a few questions away from hitting the first deal breaker.
Co-workers pile in, and the hum of voices lulls me into my zone. A timer buzzes, and I pull the cake from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. I move to a fresh mixer and mix more colored frosting.
The morning passes with me ducking in and out of the kitchen to help staff with the morning rush.
I catch myself looking at the door each time the bell dings, expecting to see the man I covet. By noon, I'm chastising myself for being disappointed. We didn't have a date. He might be married. There are a million reasons why I won't see him again.
Bo surprises me by dropping by after lunch. I pour two cups of coffee, and we move to a small table so we can visit.
“What's up? Did you go to work?”
“Oh, yeah. We won a huge case, so we had a short day.”
“Must be nice,” I tease.
“I'm not complaining,” she snickers.
“No, I don't think you will.”
“What are you doing with your free afternoon?”
“I'm going to watch an entire season of Emily in Paris. I love the outfits.”
“The chef is pretty hot, but I like the Italian more.”
“Don't you know it,” she chuckles.
“What was in the package on the table?”
“Oh, that! That is my bright green Destroyer 2000. A new toy. It scares me, but it's every woman's go-to when the dating pool dries up.”
Bo's face reddens, and her eyes grow three sizes.
“What? You're not embarrassed by a vibrator,” I state.
“No, but he might be,” she says, nodding past me.
I turn around and see Mikael's amused face. I am mortified.
“Hello, Kenzie.”
“Mikael,” rolls off my tongue like a summer tide. My face is warm. “This is my best friend, Bo.”
“Hello, Bo.”
“Mikael, nice to meet you,” Bo smiles politely.
I hate him for being so smooth. He didn't miss a beat, and the mischievous glint in his eye lingers. I know he heard me talk about my vibrator. I want to crawl under the table in embarrassment.
“We were just talking about the dating sites,” I blurt out.
“There's nothing wrong with toys,” he replies, and my face is even warmer than it was a minute ago.
Oh my, he'll never speak to me again. I can't show my face in public. Why do I always talk as if I’m alone? It’s an occupational hazard of being me.
“Hum. What can I do for you?” I'm sure he's here to get an order for the office or something.
“I loved your coffee and cupcakes. You're an incredible chef.”
“Thank you.” I stand.
“I thought I'd grab a sandwich and a drink.”
“No problem. What will it be?”
“The roast beef on the ciabatta. Do you have horseradish mayo for that?”
“Of course. You have great taste. I make mine like that as well.”
“Really? I'll have to remember that.”
“Do you go to the park often?” I ask while trying to sound casual and not nosey.
“Occasionally. Not as much as I'd like. You?”
“I live nearby.” I glance at his ring finger, and there's no wedding band. This might be misleading. Many men don't wear rings. Bo is suspiciously quiet but within hearing distance. She waves her hand in a forward motion, encouraging me to continue talking. I’m nervous.
I busy myself with his sandwich, and my hands are all thumbs. I’m nervous that he’s watching me. I drop a piece of lettuce and it lands on the tiled floor. And to make matters worse, the flavored mayo makes an obscene squirting sound when I squeeze the bottle.
“Do you bake the bread here?“ he asks. “It looks very fresh.”
“We do. Do you want a flavored tea?”
“Regular with no sugar is great,” he replies. I glance up and his gaze is intense. He showers me with the scrutiny one would give a monolithic dinosaur—and he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I crack under pressure and fear I will spill his tea when I pour it into a to-go cup. I wrestle to snap the lid into place.
“Do you want to meet at the park this week?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Tomorrow afternoon? About four?”
My stomach lurches. I'm curious how he has a weekday free. I'll ask more questions tomorrow. I can't risk scaring him off with personal questions today. Does he like me? Is this a date?
“Sounds great. Sherlock will love it.”
I hand the combo meal to him, and he moves to pay the cashier at the end of the counter.
“Oh, wait,” I say as I duck into the kitchen. I return with two chocolate strawberry mini cupcakes with a white grenache frosting on top. I place his order in a box to go and slide it over the counter.
“Let me know if you like these.”
“I will break the scale if you continue to bake. I can't resist them.”
“My grandmother always said the way to a man's heart is food.”
“She might have a point,” he murmurs. He pays Sylvie and wishes me a good day before he sails out the door.
Whew.
Bo moves to the counter and leans over.
“Did that just happen? Maybe you need to pinch me!” I giggle. I'm happy I took the time to fix my hair today.
“He's hot. I think he likes you.”
“We’re meeting in the park. It hardly qualifies as a date.”
“One has to start somewhere,” she reminds me.
She has a point.
Has Cupid called a truce?