Chapter Three
August Hodges blew out a breath as soon as the door shut behind Sloane. Maybe his heart rate could return to normal now. Maybe. He gripped the counter and let out another breath.
His day wasn’t going bad—at least it hadn’t been until he noticed the small leak in the pipe under the sink. He had no reason to complain. His careers—as the starting fullback for the San Diego Knights and one of the co-owners of the cupcake shop—were going well. And even a minor leak wasn’t that big of a problem. He’d fixed similar issues with no problems since he was a kid. But this little fucker wanted to be stubborn. No matter how much he cursed and yanked, a bit of water trickled out.
He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but he needed a new repair clamp. It didn’t matter that he’d replaced it last month. To make matters worse, just when he’d thought he’d asserted his dominance over the inanimate object, he’d heard it.
It being the magical voice. The voice sure to lead any man interested in women to doom.
And he’d responded by embarrassing himself, smashing his head against the underside of the sink. And he hadn’t even gotten to the part where a puddle of water spelled doom for him and his twelve-year-old promise to never commit the folly of touching Sloane again. As her breasts contoured against his chest, as their stomachs pressed against each other, the air had seized in his throat, and his skin began tingling. The desire to wrap his arms around her killer body and draw her closer nearly overwhelmed him. But then common sense returned.
Sloane didn’t feel that way about him, which was fine and expected. Totally. He’d moved on. So had she.
Fuck.
August scrubbed a hand across his face. So yeah, his day was no longer going okay. But the day wasn’t over yet. Time to get back to work.
He shook out his arms and turned his attention to the cupcakes on the counter. They weren’t going to decorate themselves. Although, truth to be told, they were so good they didn’t need frosting or any other ornamentation to make them appealing. As Sloane often liked to say. His lips quirked as he recalled the many times she turned cupcakes upside down and ate the desserts from the bottom because she didn’t give two damns about hand-whipped buttercream frosting.
August shook his head.
No more thinking about Sloane. For now, anyway, an annoying inner voice whispered.
Anyway… he liked decorating. Giving the cupcakes that final touch before they were presented to an eager public that would ooh and aah over them before devouring them in the next breath. He liked the repetitive action that never led to uniform results. Each cupcake, though decorated in the same way, was its own unique, beautiful creation. He got to work, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the task at hand.
A few minutes later, his phone chimed. August picked it up from the counter and sighed. His father was calling. He gave a moment’s thought to not answering. Actually, two moments, but the phone kept ringing and the man was his father, and maybe unicorns would start flying and this conversation would go better than their other, infrequent talks. Not likely, but again the man was his father. Stifling another sigh, he answered. “Hey, Dad.”
“August,” the esteemed Dale Hodges boomed. “How’s it going? Training for the upcoming season?”
“I’m at Sugar Blitz.”
A beat of silence followed, then a slight chuckle. “Good, good, but you’re not slacking on your training, are you?”
Football was okay. Not great, but acceptable. The sport had made him a lot of money and he was on TV every week. His father got to claim he was the father of a pro athlete. Cupcakes, on the other hand…
“No, I work out every day.”
“Right, right.”
His father was already losing interest. Someone was talking to him in the background. The familiar pang, now mostly a dull ache, zinged inside August’s chest.
“What’s up with you?” August asked, the need to respect his father and garner his attention never really leaving him.
“Business as usual. About to close another deal. Paula said I should call.”
Right. Paula. His father’s latest in a long string of lady friends, as Dale referred to them. August hadn’t met Paula. He’d long ago lost any desire to meet the women who flitted in and then out of his father’s life when they realized the suave, debonair Dale would never give them or their relationship the attention or care each deserved.
August could have told them that from jump. He knew firsthand his father’s shortcomings. The internal scars from childhood never fully healed, did they?
“We’re on our way to San Francisco and wine country for a weekend away.” Dale sounded aggrieved. The trip had undoubtedly been Paula’s idea.
“Sounds fun.”
Dale grunted. Someone was still talking to his father. August made out “meeting” and “contract.”
“Son, I gotta go. Make sure you keep working out. Cupcakes? I don’t know why you’re wasting time with that. My son making cupcakes. So silly. If you wanted to cook, you could have trained under me. Do something respectful. Important. Women make cupcakes.”
After one final sniff of disdain, the phone went dead. Not that August needed to hear much else. He’d heard it all before. Baking cupcakes wasn’t manly enough. Owing a shop wasn’t ambitious enough. Not when he could be a Michelin-starred chef like his father and own several world-renowned restaurants. Be a New York Times bestselling author of a series of cookbooks. All bullshit. He’d tried, a time or two, to correct his father—respectfully, of course, thanks to the lessons drummed into him by his grandfather, who’d essentially raised him. All to no avail.
His father was self-centered. His father was a chauvinist. Facts August repeated to himself on a regular basis. And yet it still hurt that he couldn’t gain his father’s approval.
But that was nothing new. And he had work to do. A few short feet away, customers eagerly awaited the shop’s products. He returned to work, even as his conversation with his father and all the things left unsaid gnawed at him in the recesses of his brain.
When he was done, he stepped back to study his efforts. Pretty good, if he did say so himself. Nicholas would probably have something to say about the exact level of imprecision, but his ass wasn’t here, was he? They were running out of the day’s special, lemon meringue cupcakes, and August had done what needed to be done to get them through the pre-dinner rush, when people stopped by on their way home from work.
He checked the clock on the wall. He’d been in here over an hour. He needed to take the cupcakes to the front of the store before their current supply ran out.
August scrubbed a hand across his face. He also needed to check on the customers. The part of the job he hated most. He loved Sugar Blitz’s clientele, but he preferred to stay in the background and let his more gregarious partners deal with the limelight. Talking was not the way. Neither was being the center of attention. The exact opposite of how his father operated. August blinked. He’d never thought about it before, but hell, maybe being quiet was his way of rebelling against his father, who loved to talk and have all eyes on him.
In any case, Nicholas had left for the day, and Donovan was off with his fiancée. Which left August with the responsibility of representing ownership.
They had a full-time manager, Marissa, who ran the place when they were off doing the football thing, but she was taking a much-needed vacation now that football season was over and the owners could spend more time at the shop. Being at Sugar Blitz was A-OK with August. The offseason meant downtime, and he hated downtime. Downtime gave him too much time to think about how quiet his house was. Too much time to think about the aching loneliness that sometimes ate at his soul until he managed to push it to the far recesses of his brain. Besides, he loved being here, building a legacy with his best friends and teammates, and contributing to it all.
He picked up the rack of desserts and headed to the front of the store.
As he rounded the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. Apparently, Sloane hadn’t left like she’d said she was going to. She’d taken up residence at a table in the back of the shop. Not that he needed much to sense her presence. She’d taken his advice and gotten a cupcake. He bit back a smile. The wrapper was empty. The only thing left on the plate the cupcake came on was a wide smear of frosting. She still had no use for it.
Because he was a masochist, he took the opportunity to surreptitiously study her. She’d gotten a tablet from somewhere, probably from that bottomless pit she called a purse. Her eyes were glued to the screen. Whatever she was reading commanded her full attention. But not necessarily in a good way. She’d said she was fine quitting her job, but he didn’t believe her. A worry line creased the usually smooth line of her forehead. Not that it marred her appearance in any way.
Facts were facts. Sloane Dell was beautiful.
Lush, perfectly formed lips and sharp cheekbones highlighted a gorgeous face. Any lipstick she’d worn had lost the battle long ago. A fact that only underscored how pink and soft her lips were. His eyes slid down as she worked the thin silver chain of her necklace between her thumb and index finger. Her throat was smooth, skin the color of freshly brewed mocha, a perfect brown. Her expressive, deep brown eyes always glittered, usually mocking him. Except for that one time…
She released the necklace and reached up to twirl one of her two-strand Senegalese twist braids around her finger.
She swiped at the screen a few times with her other hand, her lips muttering something. What held her enthralled like that?
A waving hand in his periphery caught his attention. He turned. Ella was frantically waving him toward the front counter. Oh right, he held the holy grail in his hands.
He rushed over, maneuvering between a rowdy crowd that tried to swipe the treats straight off the tray. Before they opened the shop, he never would have guessed his blocking skills, honed over two decades as a fullback, would come in so handy. A few precarious seconds later, he made it behind the counter and successfully delivered the cupcakes to the case. He let out a breath. There was only one sad and lonely lemon meringue cupcake left.
He ducked his head at the cheers from the customers who had been not-so-patiently waiting for the cupcakes. He didn’t like attention, never courted it. But he liked serving, and feeling like he contributed to a team effort.
He rang up orders, while Ella packaged the goods. His eyes only skidded once, okay twice, to the back of the room where Sloane was still engrossed in her tablet.
“I’ve got it from here,” Ella said when the line that had stretched all the way to the front door dwindled to only a woman and the guy she was with, who both looked like they’d just come from the gym.
August nodded. “Right.” He had no more excuses.
Time to mingle. Check on the customers. Try to make casual conversation.
Logically, he knew it wasn’t that big of a deal. That most people didn’t want to talk to him. They’d rather stuff cupcakes in their mouths, but still. He always felt flat-footed, unsure of the right thing to say. He didn’t have Nicholas’s charm or Donovan’s business sense. But he was a hard worker and he took pride in Sugar Blitz and its offerings, no matter what his father said. Making sure customers were happy and had everything they needed was his responsibility as a business owner. He could smile and nod with the best of them.
So that’s what he did. He smiled and nodded. Took a selfie with a San Diego Knights fan, who didn’t require much other than a high five and an autograph.
“August, August!” At the sound of the high-pitched yell, August’s shoulders relaxed.
Kids were easier. They assumed your goodness and expected less from you than adults. He turned to find a whirling dervish heading straight for him.
Young Chad was a five-year-old regular, and a regular menace. His parents placated him with cupcakes if he did well at school. August couldn’t fault them. If bribes were what it took, then so be it. He crouched down and held out his arms as Chad, missing his two front teeth, came careening toward him. He braced himself for the contact. He only winced slightly when he saw Chad’s hands covered in frosting. “August, August, you’re here!”
Since he was here pretty much every time Chad showed up for his weekly treat, August could only smile. Chad patted his cheeks with his tiny, messy hands. The little boy leaned closer. “I’ve got a secret,” he whispered. “I got a crush.”
He then pointed across the room to Sloane. All August could do was laugh. He understood all too well the allure of that woman.
Sloane, of course, chose that moment to look up from her tablet like she sensed his regard. Her eyebrows lifted in query. Her gorgeous eyes punched him in the gut yet again. Chad’s mom, Theresa, groaned. Thankful for the interruption, August turned back to the smitten kindergartner.
“You might be a little young for her, buddy,” August said.
Chad shrugged, then went into a monologue about his favorite YouTube shows. August listened attentively for a few minutes, then handed him back to his mother, who thanked him for indulging her son.
“No need for thanks. Chad’s my dude.” August grabbed a napkin from a dispenser on the next table and wiped the sticky residue off his face, then resumed his patented smiling and nodding with the customers. Yes, he felt ridiculous, but everybody smiled back before returning to their cupcakes and drinks.
He headed back to the front counter, where business had picked up again. He easily fell into the rhythm of boxing cupcakes as Ella rang up the sales.
“This place is so girly. Football players run this place? Yeah, right.”
August lifted his head. Three guys, who looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, had joined the line. One of them was running his mouth. Had they stumbled in here by mistake?
“Why are we here?” the second one said, obviously reading August’s mind.
Dude One made a face. “My girl likes their cupcakes. I want to get laid tonight, so you know…”
Dude Two raised his hand for a high five. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Awesome. August mentally rolled his eyes as the Dudes stepped up to the counter. Who cared what some assholes were saying? They’d be gone in a few minutes and hopefully would never step foot in this establishment again, since cupcakes and cupcakeries were obviously beneath them. He kept his mouth shut, his preferred way of being, while Ella took their orders. All three bought cupcakes, since according to Dude Three, “They were there. Might as well.”
Who could ever resist such a compliment?
“Go, go.” Ella shooed him away again after they were done with the Dudes. She was like the little sister he’d never asked for. She thought he needed to come out of his shell. He liked his shell, thank you very much. His shell protected him, while allowing him to safely observe the world around him. If, sometimes, in the quiet of night, he felt like that wasn’t enough, well, that was his problem to deal with.
With a sigh, he rounded the counter and wandered through the tables, picking up an errant napkin, smiling and nodding there. He did the same to the Dudes who’d taken up a table in the middle of the store.
Dude One stood, blocking August’s path. “Yo, let me ask you a question.”
August’s brows rose. “Sure.”
“Isn’t this beneath you?”
August decided to be magnanimous. “Is what beneath me?”
“Baking cupcakes. That’s what room moms do to celebrate little Susie’s birthday. It’s stupid. What kind of man opens a cupcake shop, especially when he’s a badass football player?”
A question his father had lobbed his way when he told him his plans during one of their infrequent conversations. His dad was full of shit. So was this jackass.
August fixed a hard stare on him. “So baking cupcakes is unmasculine?”
“Yeah.”
“But you respect the fact that I play football.”
“Yeah, which is why I don’t understand why you’d open this froufrou place.”
Another page from his father’s handbook. The vein in his temple began to throb.
“You don’t?” His voice had quieted, but even August could hear how lethal he sounded.
“Uh… no.” The dude backed up a step, his voice catching on the word.
August was too mad to care. “According to you, I’m manly because I play football, but I’m unmanly because I own a cupcake shop. Which is it? I’m the same person.”
Dude’s mouth flopped open like a guppy’s.
August still didn’t care. “Also, according to you, baking is women’s work, which means it’s beneath a man to do. Did you know cupcakes is a three-billion-dollar industry? You know who made that happen? Women. Women who knew that bringing joy to people’s lives was a worthy endeavor.”
He unleashed all the words he bottled up every time he spoke to his dad.
“You think men have to live up to this ridiculous, harmful definition of what being a man is. Heaven forbid people be happy and do what they love. My partners—also manly football players, by the way—and I decided to open a shop because the women in our lives shared the joy of baking with us, and in our small way we’re continuing and honoring their legacy. We are doing our damnedest to be men the women in our lives can be proud of. So I suggest you go and try to do the same. All of you. Now.”
He wasn’t one to use his size to intimidate, but he also believed in using the resources available to him. He stared them down until they all scuttled toward the door. A swell of satisfaction filled him when they were on the other side.
It was only then that he realized the shop, usually full of lively chatter, had gone ominously quiet. Worse, everyone was staring at him, some with their phones up like they were taking photos. Or video. Fuck.Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hands curled into fists, which only served to underscore how clammy his palms had become.
His stomach churned, with the cupcake he’d consumed earlier backing up in his throat.
Someone, a dad with two preteen kids, started clapping. One by one, the other patrons joined in until the slap of hands rang like a three-bell alarm in his ears. They all beamed at him. It was the teen romcom movie scene from his nightmares. Over their heads, he met Sloane’s wide eyes. At least she wasn’t applauding. Her eyes offered sympathy. Somehow that was worse.
He couldn’t even summon a half-hearted smile and nod to the customers gathering around him. He pushed through the crowd and escaped down the hall. They didn’t know he didn’t have an office. Donovan wasn’t here. His office would do. As the door closed behind him, only one thought rang in his head.
Oh, shit. This is going to be bad.