Chapter Three
Mindy
Opening day has been a complete bust. Besides a few people who pitifully threw a glance in my store’s direction, nobody dared to venture in to try a sweet treat.
My heart sinks when I see the case of beautiful pastries and desserts just sitting there waiting for someone to come in to taste them. What a waste of food!
The roar of motorcycles vibrates my windows as two men on bikes pull up in front of the shop and park. One of them gracefully gets off his bike like a Greek Adonis. The other bumbles off his like it’s the first time he’s ever ridden one. Amateur.
My breath hitches when the two men stroll inside, and I recognize the taller one wearing what looks like a Phantom of the Opera mask on the left side of his face.
It’s the same guy who carried my mixer in for me when I first moved here.
Now he’s standing in front of me without a cover, his youthful features shining through his broken smile.
He comes in scowling, looking like a dreamy horror villain sent here to kidnap me.
It’s weird how turned on I am by that thought.
Despite his off-setting exterior, I smooth out my dress, putting on my best smile.
“Hi,” I squeak, my excitement getting away from me. “I mean, hi. Welcome to Mindy’s Sweets. I’m Mindy. How can I satisfy your sweet tooth today?”
The taller man’s eyes narrow when he catches me looking at him; his gaze sweeps over my face, like he’s trying to put together pieces of memories he’s already long forgotten.
But I could never forget him even if I tried.
There’s something familiar in the tension of his jaw, and in the way his stare lingers a beat too long, making my chest tighten nervously.
Even though half his face is partially concealed, those deep blue eyes make me suddenly giddy, my heart fluttering and sputtering like it doesn’t know how to function around a handsome face.
The heat in my cheeks is already creeping, and I don’t know how to stop it, so I look away, focusing on the other guy.
He hits me with a crooked smile, showing off the slight gap in his two front teeth as he runs a hand through the unkempt mop of blond locks on his head, fingers getting tangled in a mess of curls.
He’s got that signature haircut most men have nowadays.
Longer on top but shaved on both sides so it blends perfectly.
He’s wearing a leather jacket, but his patch says prospect where the other man’s says VP.
Fitting, because he definitely holds himself like someone of importance with the way he standoffishly hovers just behind the smaller man, observing my every move.
Crooked smile shoots me a wink right before he kneels to look at my goods. It’s not flirtatious at all, just a friendly reminder that he sees me.
“This shit looks delicious,” he says in awe. “I’ll take one of those, please.” He points to one of my famous cinnamon rolls, showing off his teeth with another infectious grin. “I fucking love cinnamon rolls.”
Oof… swearing.
It’s something that makes me internally cringe every time I hear it. I pride myself on being one of the few human beings in the world who doesn’t choose to swear, choosing strategically placed food puns to make up for everyone else’s bad manners.
The taller man smacks the other one on the back of the head without warning, startling us both. “Watch your mouth, Prospect.” He meets my gaze for two seconds before looking away, his glare turning to a spot on the floor.
Weird. It’s almost like he noticed how uncomfortable I was with the other guy’s swearing, but how can that be? He’s barely looked at me without glaring since he got here.
“Hey now! What the hell was that for?” the smaller man demands, rubbing his head vigorously. The look of confusion on his face says it all; the man has no idea he’s even cussing. It’s like second nature to him.
“You’re in the presence of a lady, Prospect, so stop swearing,” the big guy says again, shifting uncomfortably before those big blue eyes reluctantly look my way.
“Excuse him, Ma’am, he’s still learning his manners.
Last week we took off his training wheels.
Maybe next week he’ll be potty trained.” He says it gruffly and without pleasantries.
In fact, he sounds more annoyed than anything else, even though what he said was funny as hell.
“Hey, I take offense to that,” the smaller one growls.
“As you should,” the bigger one exclaims, his gaze fixating on me again… lingering… igniting excited shivers that weren’t there before.
My heart flutters just a tad, cheeks burning with flushed embarrassment.
Maybe it’s the leather jacket, or the bad boy: ‘I’m here to break your heart,’ exterior that’s got my feminine wilds going bonkers, because I’m not usually into guys with beards and longer hair.
But for whatever reason, my body hums like a thirsty lust monster for the grumpy biker.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask him, eyeing him curiously.
Has he even recognized me yet? Was I that forgettable?
Shadows shield his face as he bends down to look in the case, his longish brown hair toppling over his eyes and the strange mask he wears.
The mask is a bright vibrant white, which is why the blue in his eyes stands out so vividly.
They’re not just blue; they’re the kind of blue you imagine in a perfectly still lake, with water so clear you can see the bottom.
His beard isn’t too messy or long, which I like.
It’s short and clipped close to his chin, half of it buried beneath his mask.
His muscles tense as he grips the side of my glass case, biceps putting on a show as I jealously admire the tightly fitted black T-shirt that’s allowed to caress every part of his heavily sculpted chest. It makes me wonder what’s beneath it.
From here, I count at least six abs, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more hiding beneath the black breathable fabric.
I don’t think I’d be able to breathe if it were me wound tightly wrapped around him, not when I notice the sleeve of tattoos peeking out that is partially obscured by his shirt and leather vest. I got a soft spot for tattoos, especially ones with a horror theme.
“Love your tattoos, by the way.”
He grunts, barely acknowledging me.
The younger guy slaps him on the shoulder. “Hey, she was talking to you, big guy. She says she likes your tats.”
For a brief second, his gaze shoots up to meet mine, then he goes straight back to staring at my pastries, ignoring me again.
“Forgive him. He’s not used to being around pretty girls.” He continues munching on his cinnamon roll, the frosting coating his lips. He licks it away with no shame. “Well, are you going to order something or not, VP?”
He slowly stands, his unnerving gaze sweeping over me. “I’ll take everything.”
His buddy’s jaw drops.
So does mine.
“Everything?”
He looks at the sign on the door and shrugs. “It says you close in thirty minutes, and it doesn’t look like you sold a thing. I’d hate for you to lose all that money on your opening day.”
“Are you punking me?”
He scoffs. “Punk? Do I look like the kind of man that punks people?”
My giggle escapes before I can stop it. “Actually, yeah, you do. Among other nefarious things.”
“It’s the cut, isn’t it?” his friend says with a laugh. Puffing out his chest, that smile spreads wickedly as he grips the zippers of his leather, displaying it proudly. “Chicks dig the cut, man.”
Rolling his eyes, the taller man pulls out his wallet, flashing more money than I’d probably see in a week. “How much for it all?”
My fingers nervously move through my hair as I walk over to the register, unsure of how to proceed. This feels like a trap. But the thought of selling out on my first day is invigorating.
“Are you sure? Maybe I can just give you one of everything?”
He grunts in annoyance. “All of it or nothing. Take it or leave it.”
He wants to cuss. I can see it in the way his lips firmly press together, but his restraint is impeccable. Just for me, he keeps his tongue, and that means underneath the grumpy leather is sunshine just ready to peek out.
“If you’re sure, I’ll ring up his cinnamon roll first and then calculate everything else.”
He nods, crossing his arms over his chest, pecs protruding so I can see the peaks of his nipples.
Phew! Is it getting hot in here, or is it just him? I didn’t know I was into man nips, but my body says otherwise.
He taps his foot in annoyance, looking nervously towards the door. “How long will this take? I don’t have all day.” The man has very little patience, it seems.
“That will be four dollars and sixty cents for your cinnamon roll.”
The other man hands me a twenty. “Keep the change, sweetheart. I told you I fucking love cinnamon rolls.” This time the guy ducks, barely missing the massive palm that is swinging right at his face.
“I know. I know. There’s a lady present.
For fuck’s sake, Krampus, you don’t have to be such a dick. ”
Krampus? What kind of name is Krampus?
The fist comes out of nowhere, and the smaller dude ends up on the floor, holding on to my cinnamon roll for dear life.
“Hey, watch it! You almost made me drop my pastry. That’s a sin, isn’t it?” he asks, looking toward me as he scrambles to his feet. “Is dropping pastries a sin in the baking world?”
“I’d classify it more as a sugary travesty,” I joke. “Maybe even a frosting fudge-up.”
Is that a smile?
Did my joke make the big guy break?
If it’s a smile. It fades quickly, and he’s back to all business again. “How much for it all?” he prods, the stern tone making my heart plummet.
Don’t fudge this up, Mindy.
Blinking up at him, I carefully look at my inventory list, then calculate everything I baked for the day. My heart sinks when I see the number. There’s no way he’ll pay for it all.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t ask you to pay for all this. It’s way too much.”
Krampus’ brow narrows. “How much is it?”
“It’s over two thousand dollars.”
Beside him, the smaller biker munches on his cinnamon roll, the gooey frosting sticking to his lips as he smacks loudly.
“It’s fucking worth it. This is the best damn cinnamon roll I’ve ever tasted.
” He’s too absorbed in his cinnamon roll bliss to see the backhand coming.
A large chunk of food comes flying out of his mouth, landing on my beautiful glass display with a splat before slowly sliding down it, leaving a trail of icing infused slobber in its wake.
“What was that for? Now you’re smacking me around for giving compliments?”
“If you don’t know the answer to that, Prospect, I’ve lost all hope of you surviving in this world.”
Krampus opens his wallet and hands me some cash. “Here’s a thousand.” He then fishes out a credit card. “Then put another two grand on this.”
“That’s way too much.”
“You’re going to need to buy supplies after I wipe you out like this. Just take it.”
Reluctantly, I take the cash, thankful but resistant at the same time. “Um, thank you. I really don’t know what to say.”
He leers at me through the mask, his other eye slightly obstructed by his hair. “Thank you, for starters.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
Out comes a grunt… I think it’s some kind of response, but I don’t speak grumpy biker.
“Ummm, VP, how are we gonna transport this back to the clubhouse?” his friend asks, plucking the question straight out of my head. I would offer up my delivery van, but I didn’t plan on selling out of everything on opening day. That means I’ll need to make more for tomorrow.
Krampus already has his phone out. “Hey, it’s me. I need you to send a cage to this address that I’m sending to you for a pickup. It doesn’t matter what the fuck it is. Just do it.” Once the line goes dead, he turns to me. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He has me baffled. The man just bought out my bakery, and he’s apologizing to me? For what? Riding in on his shiny Harley like a knight in leather-clad armor?
“I got this one, VP. He’s sorry for cussing, sweetheart. He’s trying to impress you, I think. One can’t be too sure. I’ve never seen him be nice before.”
“You can shut up now, Prospect.”
“Right! Shutting up now.” The prospect pretends to zip up his lips, then salutes the other man mockingly.
Krampus and I exchange another burning stare before I break the silence. “It’s going to take me a minute to box all of this up.”
“Gremlin can help you,” he states, pushing the smaller man toward me. “It’s the least he can do after assaulting your ears with his vulgar speech impediment.
Gremlin? That’s another peculiar name for the books.
“I got sticky fingers though,” Gremlin huffs, holding up his hands that are coated in icing.
“So? There’s a sink in the back. Now help the lady, or so help me, you’ll never see another cinnamon roll again.”
“Ugh, you wound me, VP. Never fuck with a man and his pastries.” He shoots me a wary look. “I mean, never mess with a man and his pastries. Sorry, sweetheart. This non-swearing world of yours is hard to get used to.”
He’s learning…
Maybe there’s hope for this Gremlin person after all.
“It’s okay. I may hate swearing, but I understand that it’s a part of your world. I appreciate you trying.”
Gremlin only grins wider. “Say, what’s your name again?”
I hold out my hand, then retract it when he tries to shake it with frosting-coated fingers. “Mindy St. John.”
“I’m Gremlin. That grumpy asshole is Krampus. We’re members of the Elm Street Riders MC. Ever hear of us?”
Shaking my head, I start boxing up everything in my case. “No, should I?”
He frowns. “I thought everyone in Fernley has heard of our club?”
“Well, I just moved here a few months back. I really don’t know very many people yet.
” My eyes move to Krampus, dying a little inside when he quickly looks away.
I can’t tell if he remembers me and is trying to pretend he doesn’t, or if he truly doesn’t remember me at all.
I sure as hell remember him. Those blue eyes have been on my mind constantly since the day we first met.
The towel hits the counter as Gremlin dries his hands, then he puts on some plastic gloves to help me box up the rest of the treats.
“Well, now you know the two of us. Consider this your welcome to Fernley party.” His voice drops as he cautiously moves over to me, keeping his voice low enough for only me to hear as he whispers, “Get out while you can.”