Chapter 4
4
Kieran
Tom pushed back from the ancient counter, patting the surface of the aging orange linoleum three times like he always did. “?’Bout time I hit the road, kid.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and downed the last of his coffee. My plan to keep the shop open late to attract people after they left parties and local bars was a bust. The only person who’d stopped by late was Tom, and his one donut and two cups of coffee wouldn’t save this place.
“Your granddad is proud of you,” he said, adjusting his belt and pulling his worn ball cap from his back pocket. “Bored out of his mind and annoyed you won’t let him disobey doctor’s orders, but proud.”
Someone peeked in the door, looked around, and then ducked back out onto the street, leaving us alone in the shop again.
Tom scratched his jaw, covered in white whiskers, and looked over his shoulder at the empty shop. “Things’ll pick up.”
“Sure about that?”
He laughed. It was the same slightly guttural old man laugh Granddad had, and that was something I loved about Tom hanging around. Then I felt the familiar grab of panic with the reminder of how Granddad had looked right after his stroke. He’d improved bit by bit, but he wasn’t ready to spend all day in the shop, and while he was sure he’d be back at work, I had my doubts. I took another glance around the empty space, and I couldn’t shake the worry I was letting him down despite good intentions. “I gave up on being sure about anything years ago.” He patted his pocket, pulling a Powerball ticket out and shaking it next to his face. “But sometimes you get lucky, and you have the look of someone whose luck is about to change.” He gave a wave over his shoulder as he walked toward the door, slowing as he tucked the lottery ticket back in his pocket.
“Waste of money,” I mumbled to myself, watching him go before glancing around my own empty shop. Tom and Granddad split a ticket every week—it was their thing, their optimism in play after working long days, Granddad in the shop and Tom at the tire plant. My reflection in the security mirror was distorted, but one thing was painfully clear. I looked nothing like someone whose luck was about to change. I looked like someone who had fucked it all up—and I wasn’t a person who fucked things up. At least, I never had been. I was the person who put things in order. I’d never had any other choice. Ironically, that Frank Sinatra song had been stuck in my head all day, like a catchy, cruel joke, and I sang to myself as I prepared to close.
The bell over the door chimed as three people walked in. One of them was laughing as they entered, her wild curls obscuring her face. She called out, her voice echoing through the empty shop. “Are you still open?”
“We’re open,” I said, wiping the already spotless counter. “What can I get you?”
She strode farther into the shop, pushing her hair off her forehead, revealing a face that made it hard to look away because each new feature I noticed—her full lips; her wide, dark eyes; the dimples in her cheeks—made me want to keep looking at her. My gaze dipped, and I took in her tight jeans, reminding me how long it had been since I was near enough to a woman to feel the way denim stretched over their thighs. The hours I kept with the shop and taking care of Granddad made dating kind of impossible, and Tom wasn’t my type.
When she reached the counter, her short red nails clicked against the smooth surface as she eyed the display case. “Hi,” she said with a wide smile.
Mine. The voice in my head was startling. I didn’t think about possessing women, let alone strangers, and I wasn’t someone who was taken in by a pretty smile and a tempting body, but the voice persisted. I want her.
The two people who trailed behind her eyed the case with less interest. “Hey. Can we get…” The two exchanged a look, then back to me. “An apple fritter and a glazed cake donut?” The man reached for his wallet. “Sybil, what do you want?”
I glanced at the woman again, taking in her curvy body and the way her lips pursed as she considered her options. She had really great lips, and my attention kept landing on them, imagining how they’d look kiss-swollen.
“Give me a minute. This is a big decision.” Her words were a reminder she was a customer here to get donuts, not to be objectified by someone like me.
“Take your time,” I said, intentionally looking away from her and denying my desire to glance at her lips again.
The two others exchanged a wary glance, and the woman chimed in. “It’s just a donut, Syb.”
She held up a hand. “No, this is the donut.”
I followed the tip of her finger as she slid it over the glass when she looked away to say something to her friends before returning the intensity of her focus to me.
“I’m replacing men and a dream job with two hundred and fifty million dollars and a donut, and since winning the lottery is a long shot, it has to be a really good donut just in case that’s all I get.” She didn’t look up from the display, and I glanced at the two people behind her, who rolled their eyes good-naturedly.
“C’mon, girl. Decide so we can get going.” The woman tapped Sybil’s arm as a loud group of couples pushed through the door, their voices echoing off the walls. “Remember? Cocktails at our place?”
I’d normally be overjoyed at having a large group of customers, all ordering the Sober-Up Special: water, two donuts, and a single dose of Advil, all for sixteen dollars plus tax. I felt guilty charging that much but got over it once the group started talking, with one woman exclaiming, “Ooh! Let’s take a selfie with the donut guy! If he had money, I’d totally enjoy some glazed holes with him!” All the while, I monitored the strangely captivating woman still looking between the display case and her friends. She motioned for the group to go ahead of her, but I caught the tail end of their conversation as I handed a credit card back to a customer.
“Go ahead; I’ll hang here for a while and then grab a ride back to my sister’s place. I have a standing invite to their guest room.”
My ears perked up listening to her shoo away her friends, and I wondered about their story. “Go home,” she said. “I know it’s past both your bedtimes. You wouldn’t last through cocktails, anyway.”
“We can wait with you,” the guy offered, covering a yawn.
I wanted to get a jump on prep so my little sister didn’t have as much to do when she came in to help, but I also kind of hoped this woman would stay. She seemed different from the customers I usually interacted with, and my days had become so similar it was hard to tell one apart from another.
She gave her friend a pointed look with her hip cocked and her arms folded. “You both have work early in the morning. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I haven’t been here before.”
I stole another surreptitious glance, wondering why I didn’t recognize her if she’d been in the shop before.
“Fine. You’re right.” The woman covered her own yawn and leaned to hug Sybil. “Text me when you get home?”
When the two of them headed for the door, Sybil turned back to me. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I said, leaning forward on the counter and noticing how she glanced at my arms. I wondered when she’d been in before, because I was shocked I didn’t remember her. Interesting. “Decide on something?”
She mirrored my pose, and I caught a whiff of something sweet like vanilla as she shifted positions. I took another quick breath to get more of the intoxicating scent. “Which one is best?”
“Which donut is worth millions of dollars?” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Not sure we’ve got anything like that.”
“No. Which donut, when paired with two hundred and fifty million dollars, will help me avoid finding a meaningful career and forget all about men? Bonus points if that donut could also go to my sister’s wedding with me.” Her eyes flashed while she awaited my answer, and it felt like a challenge and an invitation.
She made me want to flirt back, except my flirting skills were beyond rusty, and I mentally prepared myself to loosen up. And who knew? Maybe Tom was right about something. If I was going to be broke, exhausted, and stuck in my hometown, maybe my luck would change for a few hours with this woman. “Well, that depends on what you like.”
She arched an eyebrow and brought one manicured finger to her plump lower lip. “Do you really want to know?”
“Definitely.” I nodded, glancing left and right. The other group were happily chatting at the tables, ignoring us, but it was kind of hard to remember there were other customers with the woman in front of me capturing all of my attention. “Let me guess. Chocolate?”
“Mm…yes. Or glazed.”
I swallowed and leaned forward on the counter. “Filled?” The blatant euphemism was clumsy, but she kept tapping her lip with that red fingernail, and fighting how much I wanted her was a losing battle.
“Filled is good,” she said. “Filled to overflowing with…” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, the words raspy, just above a whisper, and so fucking sexy that it took my brain a moment to register she was saying something else. “Lemon curd.”
I paused, unsure what was happening until her serious expression cracked into a giggle. Actually, she kind of snorted. “I’m sorry, that’s the one I want and I was trying to sound sexy, but it just isn’t a sexy flavor.”
Her face lit up when she laughed, her smile wide and genuine, and I couldn’t help sharing her laughter. “No, it’s the least sexy filling, but it’s good.” I stepped to the side to get the filled donut dusted with powdered sugar. I handed it to her in waxed paper. “This one has blueberry, too.”
“Thanks,” she said, eyes growing wide in a way that had me guessing she was a woman who never hid her joy. “But sexy or not, this is amazing.”
“On the house.” I scrubbed my hand over the back of my neck, hoping I didn’t smear powdered sugar over my skin. Not that it would matter. I spent so much time in the shop, the smell of the dough and the fryer seemed to take up residence in my pores. “And, for the record, it was still very sexy.”
“I didn’t peg you for a curdy talk guy.” She bit into the donut, powered sugar falling onto her black shirt and dusting the tops of her breasts, followed by a blob of lemon filling, which landed just above her neckline, my gaze tripping on its slow progression over her smooth skin. “Because—” She stopped mid-sentence, drawing my eyes back to her face, her expression annoyed.
“Seriously? You couldn’t keep your eyes on my face while I finished my sentence? What is wrong with me? I pick these guys who suck. This is why I needed the donut.” She huffed, blowing a curl off her face, her eyes narrowed.
I stammered a reply, floundering with how to backtrack. The other group of customers interrupted me, stumbling toward the counter. “Sorry, but can I get a box of assorted donuts before we go?” The woman’s voice, grating and loud, hung between Sybil and me. I wanted to tell her I was busy helping another customer, though said customer thought I was a lecherous asshole.
“Cute top,” she said. “You spilled stuff all over your boobs, though.” She checked out Sybil’s chest, as I had, before handing me cash and taking the box.
“That’s what I was, um, looking at,” I said. “But I’m sorry.”
The click of the door closing as the crowd left, followed by sudden silence, punctuated my sentence.
Her expression softened and she looked down, seeing the mess. “Oops,” she said, grabbing a napkin from the counter. It didn’t clear the mess so much as spread it across the swell of her breasts. “I might have overreacted.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just handed her another napkin. “Nah.”
She laughed, dabbing at the lemon. “I didn’t think I was drunk, but clearly I’m making a mess. Should get your Sober-Up Special. Does it work?”
I shook my head. “Your body metabolizes roughly one drink per hour, and alcohol causes an increase in insulin so you crave carbs and sugar with the low blood sugar. It doesn’t actually sober you up.”
She looked at me critically, mouth slightly agape, and I glanced away.
“I was premed in college,” I added in explanation, not mentioning the two years of medical school and mountain of student loan debt I hadn’t begun to make sense of yet.
“I think you’re kind of interesting, Joe.” She took another bite of her donut.
“It’s actually Kieran.” I felt buoyed until I remembered she was drunk. Though her pupils looked normal, and her eye movements were smooth.
She held out her hand. “Sybil.” She scanned the shop. “I will try not to snap at you for looking at my boobs.”
We shook and she smiled, putting my mind at ease further. Her hands were soft. “I’ll try not to look.”
She winked. “Well, I didn’t say that. Just wait until I finish my sentence before looking?”
“Feels wrong to admire your curves while you’re drunk,” I said, instead letting my gaze fall on her lips.
“I was playing it up a little earlier. I actually only had two drinks.” She touched her index fingers to her nose. “So I’m sober enough to give you consent to look once my sentence is done.”
I let my eyes drop cautiously. “So I should stare at your body while I respond?” I flicked my gaze back to her face, taking in the way her dimples popped on her cheeks when she smiled. “Then I’d never know if what I said made you smile.”
Sybil grinned wider, and I held her gaze for a moment longer before she slid a fingertip along her lower lip, catching a drop of the lemon curd, and unlocked a turn-on I didn’t know I had. “Okay, Donut Man has some good lines.”
I coughed into my hand. “And the Donut Man is my Granddad. You can just call me Kieran.”
“His name is Joe?” she said, finishing the donut, and I definitely didn’t notice the smattering of powdered sugar dusting her soft-looking skin.
I nodded. “He’s in poor health, so I’m just trying to keep things afloat.” That was so much simpler than it seemed. I had given up on “afloat” a year earlier, and now I was just shooting for drowning with dignity. I couldn’t give up, though. This place was Granddad’s pride and joy. He’d built it from the ground up, and if I could just get things back to even ground before going back to school, then it might be okay.
“Sorry to hear that.” Her smile faded. “Premed to a donut shop must have been a change.”
“Medical school, actually. I’d just finished my second year.”
She whistled, a long, drawn-out twee sound. “Medical school. Damn. That’s impressive. Too bad I can’t date you.” She dabbed at the spot where she’d spilled the lemon curd, studying her chest. “But I’ve already decided on two hundred and fifty million dollars and the donut.”
A silence fell between us, and I glanced at the clock. “This is normally the time I lock up.”
“Oh God. Sorry. I’ll order a ride and get out of here so you can close.” She wiped her hands on her thighs, and my brain tripped.
“You could stay,” I said in a rush. I’d been fine being alone my whole life, but I didn’t want to be alone right then. I’d hoped she’d give me more of her smiles and stories and make me forget how much of my life felt full of frowns and grim prognoses. “I’ll just be cleaning.”
She eyed me, biting her full lower lip. “Okay,” she said with a slow smile. “Think you could manage more curdy talk while you do it?”
I tipped my hat backward, leaning forward to get cleaning supplies. I was already in over my head with this woman, but so what? Maybe for one night I could be a different person with a different life. “Yeah, I think curdy talk can be on the menu.”