Rough and Rugged: A Meet Me In Milwaukee Charity Anthology

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Becker

Morning is my favorite time of the day.

As the sun rises, as the critters in the woods wake up, with the cool temps up on the mountain, I am at peace. Lately, that peace has changed. It has become charged with excitement. Twittering in my chest and in my gut as I rush from my place on the mountain to town. I cannot start my day without a visit to the new bakery in town.

Well, not until I see the beautiful baker, Bria.

Grinning as I speed down the mountain, heart thundering, I pause long enough to fix my beard and make sure my hair isn’t too wild. The first time I saw her, I was a damn mess. I was filthy from busting my ass felling trees, frustrated because it was hot as hell out, and craving something sweet.

The moment I laid eyes on Bria, I wanted her sweetness for myself.

“That girl does not want you,” an evil voice in my head snarks.

“Doesn’t matter if she does, I need to see her,” I growl out loud.

Glaring at the rearview mirror, I let out a string of obscenities. I’m not my biggest fan. There is little I like about myself. I’m a hard worker, sure, but mostly because if I’m not working, I’m an irritated loner. If I’m alone with my thoughts, with myself, all I do is tear myself down.

It’s a habit I picked up from my mother. It was my fault my father left us. My fault she couldn’t keep a man, couldn’t keep a job, pay the bills, or stay sober. I heard it so often it was hard not to believe it. I was a worthless loser, someone no one could ever love, a man no one could ever want.

The moment I could, I left her and those snarling voices behind. Well, most of them. That mean asshole in my head, the one that tells me if I’m screwing something up on the landing or thinking I can make friends with the crew there, he stuck with me. During my time in the army and my years working on oil rigs, it was always there to keep me company.

“Shut it up,” I whisper softly, knowing that voice is my self-confidence or lack thereof, not some nutso voice in my head.

Whenever I’m at the shop with Bria, the roar goes quiet. I can think clearly. I can think about how she makes me feel, how pretty she is with flour on her nose or chocolate on her cheek. The woman smells like fresh bread and sugar, and it makes me crave her all the time.

Pulling up outside her shop, I take a deep breath. It’s Monday morning, so she will bake fruity treats after shopping at the farmer’s market. I know her menu as well as she does. Unless she mixes it up for fun, which I love. I tell her I come for her bread, but it’s a lie. I do love her baked goods, but it’s the woman baking them I’m head over heels for.

“Get your bread and go. No need to tell her how you miss her or how you go to bed at night thinking about her. How you want to sweep her off her cute feet, hide her away at the cabin, and fill her with your babies.”

Yeah, that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Telling her how seeing her round with my baby would put me on my knees. I can’t tell her that.

“Morning, handsome,” Mackenzie’s voice, similar but rougher than her sister’s, sails past me. “Your girl made your favorite sourdough.”

Flushing because she loves to tease me about my little crush, I nod at her as she jogs across the street. I make sure she gets inside the police station where she’s a dispatcher—her sister would want me to make sure Mack is safe—before I lumber out of my rusty, dusty old truck.

Once again, I hesitate. My blood pumps faster in my veins, my heart thundering like a felled tree. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. It fills my lungs not with the spring air, but with her baking. Chocolate and raspberries fill the air and that sweet scent, the one that is all her.

Grinning, I head inside, excited to see her. I stayed away all weekend, hiding away in the cabin. It was all I ever did before, but now that I found her, I make my way to town as often as I can. I’m here earlier than I ought to be, but she never minds. Stepping inside, I hear the jingle of the bell hanging atop the door, the little chime a welcome sound now.

“Morning darlin’,” I call before I even see her, my usual greeting.

There she is. With a soft pink apron tied around her wide waist, Bria is a vision of sweetness. Her round hips and thick thighs make my dick jerk in need. I want to bury myself inside her softness. Adjusting myself so it’s not obscene, I cross towards the counter, my boots loud on the tiles.

Turning, she beams up at me, something different sparkling in her pretty green eyes. If you ask me, the air between us is always hotter than the ovens in her kitchen. When she smiles at me or turns those stunning eyes on me, all I want to do is take her to the ground and get inside her. I want to mark her soft body as mine, so the world sees she belongs to me.

As I’m about to come up with something better than my usual banter, her green eyes change. They go from pleased to sad. She might as well have sliced a knife right through me. The air shifts from hot to cold. I open my mouth to ask what could be wrong, but she’s gone.

“Bria? What is wrong, darlin’?” I call after her as she storms off.

I have half a mind to follow her back to the kitchen and make her tell me who upset her. Who could ever hurt someone so pure, so perfect? She is the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful soul I have ever known. I know I’m wasting her time coming in here every morning, but I can’t help it.

That darkness in me is drawn to her sweet light.

“You don’t belong with her. No one wants you,” a voice from the past twists with the negative asshole living rent-free in my head.

As I’m trying to shut that voice up, she comes through the swinging kitchen door. In her hand is a bag of sourdough bread, but I barely notice. What I do notice are the tearstains on her face and the sadness in her eyes. I reach for the bread, our fingers brushing. I ask what is wrong, what I’ve done, but she dismisses me entirely.

“Thanks, darlin’,” I mutter, lifting the bread stupidly.

Outside, the ding of the bell irritates me. I almost smash the bag of bread. But I know how much effort she puts into all the things she makes. I cherish all the bread she gives me, most of which she won’t let me pay for.

Bria says she owes the guys up on the landing, but I don’t see how. Sure, we all shop at the little shops, attend the fairs or the parades, and the two logging landings at Felle’s Landings employ tons of locals. That doesn’t mean she owes any of us. They all take good care of us idiots.

Twenty minutes later, I’m on the landing with fresh bread. I hand it out to the guys. I tell Sebastian, the site supervisor, I might cut out before I even get started. It’s been a rainy few days, so we’ve filled the long hours with site work and safety checks. I am in no mood to do a lot of.

“You came all the way up here to drop off bread and split?”

“No. I shouldn’t have brought you bastards her bread,” I snark, reaching out to snag a hunk off before Miller can eat it all. “I’m not in the right mind for this today. I need some time to go think about some things.”

“No problem, brother. We all need those days. Tell your old lady we love this stuff.”

Grinning, I nod because I have yet to correct any of them about calling her my old lady. If I can get out of my damn way, she will be. Shut off the voices and do something sweet, show her I’m not a brutish logger with nothing going on upstairs. Besides, if any of these jerks went anywhere near my sweet Bria, I might lose my damn mind.

Heading back to my truck, I wave off their teasing about going to get sweets. I wish it were that simple. Wish I could go back to the bakery and tell her how I feel. If I thought for one moment she might feel something for me, I would not even hesitate. Since I can’t be sure, even after all these months of my daily visits to the shop, I do not know what I’m going to do.

Taking the road back to town, I slow as I roll past her cottage. I doubt she knows I drive by every single night before I head home. I have to make sure she’s home safe. I also show up before dawn when she heads to the bakery. It means I have been living on no sleep, but the trade-off is worth it. Even though she doesn’t know I’m there, I am better being close.

“That is mental. Stalking. Creepier than shit,” that ugly voice hisses.

Nodding, I turn up the radio, listening to some country song about heartache and loneliness. I know plenty about that. When I came to Driftwood, I never intended to wind up staying. I came here for a summer getaway. Until I met Mack Felle and some guys on the landing. Then I walked into a bakery and found the woman of my dreams.

That first day, I was a goner. Done for. Get a ring and a preacher. I went in because I smelled fresh bread and sugary sweets. There she was, in her cute print apron, hands covered in sugar, and a smile that changed my entire world. I was in love before I took a single bite of her sweets.

“What can I get for you, big guy?”

“You... I mean... uh, can I get... uh...” I meant the first word blurts out. I wanted her. For a moment, I feared she knew I meant it.

Because I damn sure meant it when I said it. Those green eyes gazing up at me, that big smile and her sugary sweetness had me from the first moment. I was pulled to her almost like a magnet to metal. For the first time in my life, I could ignore that nasty voice in my head.

I became addicted to that, to going to chat for a few minutes each morning. My day is off if I don’t see her. I am no good at flirting or letting on how I feel, so she seems clueless that I’m not coming every single day for her bread. I come for her because I need to see her to feel right.

Slowing on Main Street, I angle the truck into a parking spot across from the bakery. Sitting there for a short time, I watch the shop. Watch her customers come and go. See how many go smiling because she has given them a sweet or her savory breads. I am jealous of each of them for the moments they have with her, moments I never allow us.

Here and now, I decide tomorrow, I’m going to get out of my way. To talk to her about what I feel, how badly I want her. It might mean I never get another sweet cupcake, loaf of her bread, or a moment of her time. It’s time to be honest.

Time to tell Bria while I love her bread, I want more—want her wed and bred with my babies.