Chapter 8
Eloise
It was cold. Which was unusual for my kitchen, because it’s always a few degrees warmer than everywhere else. But it probably felt that way because I was naked.
And mixing cream cheese icing.
Until a hand landed on my shoulder. Then I was warm all over. Warmer than the icing suddenly melting on the hot cinnamon buns.
Then that hand landed on my buns.
I knew who it was before I turned around, but seeing Roman’s face made me hot all over.
He was naked too.
Or at least, I think he was. It was sort of hazy below our chests. But either way, I was into it.
He aimed his crooked sort-of smile at me then bent to lick up my throat, growling, “You taste delicious.”
He wrapped his huge arm around me, hoisting me up to the counter like I weighed nothing more than a feather, and pressed me down, his hand on my collarbone.
He dunked his oven mitt of a hand into the bowl of icing and spread it over my breasts, playing with my nipples.
I whined, and he licked his lips like a wolf about to tear apart his dinner.
I wiggled, reaching for him, desperate for him to take his first bite. Then, as he bent over me, mouth moving above my nipple, something blared.
I shoot up in bed and blink into reality.
I’m not in my kitchen, naked with Roman, about to be eaten up whole.
Goddamn it.
Instead of getting up to brush my teeth and take my pills, I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the dream. About Roman and the feel of his hands on me.
Even though it wasn’t real, it felt real, and I rub my thighs together beneath the covers.
Between my legs, I’m tingly and wet, and even though my brain is still foggy, my body is already awake and needy.
I keep my petal-pink vibrator in my nightstand and waste no time slipping it and my hand under my pajama shorts.
I don’t bother with underwear at night, and before I even power the toy on, I slide my fingers through my slit, dragging the moisture up to my clit, and close my eyes, imagining Roman’s hands on me.
In my mind, Roman’s hot mouth sucks on my nipple, so I pull up my T-shirt to tweak it and spread my legs wider.
Enough room for him if he were really here with me.
I think of the dirty, growly things he might say to me and arch my back, toes curling as I moan out loud.
Pleasure surges through my veins in waves, and the closer I crest, the more my skin pebbles with heat.
But right as I’m about to orgasm, the vibrator shuts off.
I kick off the sheet, one hand still on my breast, the other repeatedly pressing the toy like it’ll suddenly start up again. It doesn’t, and I whimper, tossing it to the side before using my fingers, but it’s not the same.
And the fire that had been roiling in my belly dies down to barely a simmer.
I come, but it’s not close to the satisfaction I need.
Rolling to my side, I groan into my pillow, frustrated and tired, before pushing myself up to standing.
Then I plug the vibrator in to charge, telling it, “I’ll be back for you later. ”
With a deep breath, I shake off the lingering frustration from my unsatisfying solo session and start my morning routine.
I review my schedule for the day while brushing my teeth.
I have an app that helps me stay on track with reminders for taking my meds, making to-do lists, and blocking off time for important tasks, because having ADHD means I’ve had to learn ways to keep myself focused and organized.
After dressing in gray joggers and a light pink T-shirt, I slip into my sneakers and toss a snack and water in my bag before hopping on my new bike. It’s perfect. With the basket, big enough to fit my bag, and the color, I love it.
I know some people—my mother—might think it’s stupid and immature to love pink as an adult, and some big dudes—like Roman—might be totally turned off by the super-girly things I love, but he went and bought me a bike.
Bought me a bike with a woven basket that’s the cutest bubblegum pink I’ve ever seen. Like something out of my Pinterest dreams. If I were any good at taking photos of myself, I could be an influencer on this thing. That’s how goddamn cute it is.
And he gave it to me.
Because…
Well, I guess because he is a man who pays attention and he wanted to do something nice for me.
Or maybe, possibly, hopefully this itty-bitty crush I’m harboring on him isn’t totally one-sided.
I take the long way to work, drinking in the cool morning air, watching a couple of kids make their way to school.
Even though I do most of the baking myself, I hired an assistant to help in the mornings.
Leonard is an older, widowed gentleman who’s been with me for a while, a man who closed down the bakery he owned with his wife when she died a few years ago.
After hearing of the story, and knowing him in passing from stopping at his shop for the best challah I’ve ever had in my life, I asked if he wanted to come work with me.
He’s in before the sun is up, prepping the kitchen, and starting our most popular bakes. When I arrive at Sweet Cheeks, I lock up my bike on the rack and call out a hello to him while tying an apron on.
He greets me with his usual smile as he kneads dough with the heel of his palm. “Morning, Elle.”
“How’s your back this morning?” I ask with a rub between his shoulder blades.
“All right.”
“You haven’t bought that pillow yet?” I tsk. “Leonard!”
“Don’t you go yelling at me like that. I forgot the name of it,” he mumbles, placing the dough into a bowl as I finish putting my hair up.
I wash my hands, speaking over my shoulder. “Your birthday’s coming up, right?”
“No, Eloise. You’re not going to buy it for my birthday.”
“Yes, I am,” I say, rinsing away the suds.
“No, you’re not.”
I toss the kitchen towel over my shoulder after drying my hands with it. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s what my kids say.”
“Which is why we get along so well.” Leonard’s a bit older than my parents, his two adult children in their early forties, and I’ve met both of his sons. They’re great. I even celebrated Passover with the whole family last year.
Though Leonard told me his eldest has been going through some things recently. “Max is still married, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But Ezra’s single?”
Leonard turns to me, his bushy eyebrows raised. “He started dating somebody. Why?”
I shrug, waving off the question.
“Eloise!”
“Don’t you go yelling at me like that.”
He puffs out that amused sound I love, straight from his chest, shaking his head at me. “What’s going on?”
I paste on a grin and fold my hands in front of my chest. “You wouldn’t happen to have plans on October 16th, would you?”
“I don’t exactly have much of a social calendar,” he intones, and I can’t help my laugh.
I love this grumpy guy.
Then again… Do I have a thing for grumpy guys?
I literally shoo the thought away when Leonard elbows me so he can use the sink, my mind having wandered to Roman. Yet again.
“I told you about my cousin’s wedding, right?” I ask, pulling out ingredients to start on pumpkin scones. “Her shower is this weekend, and I know I’m gonna get harassed about not having a date, let alone a boyfriend, and I’m just really tired of hearing it. You know?”
Leonard lets me ramble, both of us working, as I unleash ten minutes of pent-up irritation at my cousin, my aunt, my mother, my situation, my waiting too long to remember I need to buy new shoes for the cute jumpsuit I bought to wear on Sunday.
It’s black with daisies all over, wide-leg, and a perfect fit.
Except I don’t often wear high heels, and none of my flats look right.
I’m in the middle of telling Leonard how I’d really like to find some type of tall black sandal, but I’m not sure if I’d be able to with most stores having switched over to winter, when my cell phone buzzes on the counter.
“Speak of the devil,” I murmur and move to tap my pinkie on the screen to ignore the call from my mother, but with my fingers covered in wet dough, I accidentally drop some on the screen, and in my panic about somehow ruining the phone, I swipe the side of my palm on it, answering the damn call instead.
I grit my teeth and flap my hands as Leonard watches me, obviously wondering what the hell I’m doing, as I can hear my mother on the other end of the call. “Eloise? Eloise, are you there?”
“It’s my mom!” I whisper-shout at Leonard, and he wipes his hands off on the closest rag.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” he offers in full volume, and I roll my eyes.
“No, Leonard!”
He sighs, muttering something about me being nutty as I fly around the kitchen, washing my hands and wiping off my phone, all the while planning how I’ll refute the oncoming lecture on any various topics, from my work to my inability to properly answer a phone call.
“Hey, Mom,” I eventually say when I have myself together.
“What are you doing, Eloise?”
“Working.”
“Oh yes,” she says, dragging it out like it’s a chore. “Well, I can never remember. You’re always all over the place, bouncing here and there. I never know when I can call you. Since you never call me.”
I prop my hand on the counter and mentally count to ten before I answer. “I am not all over. I’m at the same place I am pretty much every morning. In my bakery.”
“Well, why don’t you call me?” She skims over the fact that she doesn’t want to acknowledge she’s wrong.
“I don’t know. I’m busy.”
“Why don’t you put it in your calendar?” she suggests and then immediately asks, “What time are you coming on Sunday?”
Confused, I pause to think. I was told I had to be there at noon to help set up the party or whatever. My mother was the one who told me. “Twelve,” I say eventually. “I—”
“Why? I told you I need you there earlier. You—”
“You didn’t. You didn’t tell me I needed to be there earlier.”
“I texted you last week.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. She’s right. I saw the text, but I was literally elbow-deep in dirty water when it came through on my phone. I told myself I’d put it in my calendar, then evidently forgot all about it until now. “Okay, so I’ll be there at eleven.”
Though I can’t help but poke the bear. If only to prove she really thinks I’m an idiot. “If you knew you told me, why did you call to ask what time I’ll be there?”
“Because I don’t trust you to be anywhere on time.”
“Thanks for that,” I say, bending over to put my elbows on the counter. “Really… Feels great knowing you’re in my corner.”
“Don’t be so condescending to me. I know how you are, that’s all.”
“Yes, and clearly, you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it, Eloise, but you’re always so sensitive about it. I called you because I knew you wouldn’t remember, so here I am telling you. I will be there with your aunt at eleven, so I don’t have to hear about how I don’t help her out ever, and I need you there to prove it.”
I nod to myself. Because that’s how it always goes.
“But while I have you on the phone, I was thinking about asking Sandy’s son to come to the wedding with you.”
“Sandy, as in the lawyer you work with?”
“Yes, and—”
“Her son as in Eddie, the kid I used to babysit?”
“Yes, and he’s not a kid anymore. He’s—”
“A sociopath.”
“Don’t talk like that. It’s not very nice.”
I huff. My mother, the queen of nice.
“No. I’m not going to the wedding with Eddie, the kid who karate-kicked the TV onto the floor when I told him it was time for bed and then tried to stab me with a screwdriver.”
“He was five. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic.” Irritation makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle with sweat. “That’s what happened.”
Back then, I also heard that he pushed his sister down the stairs when she was two, and she busted her face in multiple places.
“So what?” Mom asks, and my voice is completely shrill when I parrot her.
“So what?” I pivot in a circle. “Am I living in the Upside Down?” Of course she doesn’t know what the Upside Down is, and I charge on. “So, at best, he was a brat back then. At worst, a serial killer in the making.”
Leonard catches my eye and raises his brow in silent question. I shrug.
“He graduated college now and is working in insurance,” my mother tells me. “I figured I can get Sandy to ask him.”
What I know of Sandy is that she paves her little boy’s way in gold and makes sure she’s there to get him out of any trouble he finds himself in. I’m not about to bring this twenty-two-year-old to my cousin’s wedding, sociopath or not.
“Do not talk to Sandy. I am not taking him to the wedding.”
“Well, who are you taking?” She is the condescending one. She is the dramatic one. And I’m so tired of being her punching bag, the words are out of my mouth before I’ve even thought of them.
“I’m taking my boyfriend,” I blurt, then immediately slap my hand over my mouth.
“Your boyfriend?” A chair scrapes on her end of the phone call like she’s pushed away from a table. “You didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend.”
I flap my hand at Leonard like he can help me as I flounder to come up with an excuse. He stares at me blankly, so I say, “It’s really new.”
“Since when?”
“Since…a few days ago,” I answer, waving desperately at Leonard.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” my mother asks, but before I need to answer, my savior shouts right next to my ear.
“Eloise! I need you!”
I jerk away from Leonard, rubbing at my ringing ear. “Sorry, gotta go, Mom. Talk later.”
“You—”
“Bye!” I pocket my cell phone and face Leonard. “Next time, not so close.” I stick my finger into my ear. “I think you popped my eardrum.”
“Go get some first aid,” he says, motioning to the door, and I hug him.
“You’re the best.”
He grunts, patting my back. “No, but I know meddlesome mothers. Go. When you come back, I’ll head out.”