Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Maisie
Yesterday was a shit show of epic proportions. I cried and blubbered all over Hendrix. I couldn't remember the last time I cried. Maybe the last day I saw my brother? I remember crying because I would never see the one person who stuck with me through everything. But since then? Twelve years and no tears.
Until yesterday.
And I didn't just cry; I cried so hard that I passed out. In Hendrix's lap no less. I wish I could say it was simply because I was that exhausted, but I knew better. I fell asleep because Hendrix made me feel safe— a realization that scared the crap out of me.
I didn't want to feel safe around him.
Physically? Sure, that wasn't a problem.
But emotionally? There was no way in hell that was a good idea. The man consumed me in a way that wasn't healthy or normal. Not that I was the walking poster child for normal to begin with. I was pretty sure people looked at me and their first thought was “abnormal” or “unique.”
Okay, they probably called me worse names, but whatever. I never cared what people thought of me anyway.
I did judge myself though, and I was doing it hard after yesterday because crying wasn't the worst part of my day.
Nope, that award went to the thirty minutes I spent reading about my brother and everything he’s been doing since we separated. And then allowing a small part of me to believe those words.
The New Beginning and its fucking followers. Killing Atlas was supposed to be the end of its reign. The only thing that got me through our time apart was knowing we did something good. Now I find out that wasn't the case. I didn't know if I wanted to cry all over again, or scream and break things. I was leaning toward breaking shit. Anger was a feeling I was comfortable with.
Sadness? Not so much.
And to top it all off, I had a decision to make. One I refused to think much on last night when I crawled into bed super early, completely forgetting about baking the chocolate chip cookies I insisted Hendrix grab the ingredients for.
So now nearly sixteen hours later, after the longest sleep of my life, I was finally going to make the cookies I so desperately needed to bring my world back to proper order.
Or so I thought.
I dropped my head on the island and banged it off the granite when my phone pulled me away from adding the flour mixture to my wet ingredients.
If it weren't Janie, I would absolutely ignore the stupid electronic device, but considering she was the one person responsible for my livelihood, I figured it was best to see what she could possibly want during the busiest part of the day.
"Please tell me everything's okay?"
"Everything's . . ." Janie paused trying to find the right word. "Still standing."
Oh God. That didn't sound good.
"What the hell happened?"
I was already abandoning my current project in search of my shoes. I didn't need to hear the rest of what Janie had to say to know my presence at the bakery was a necessity.
"Hendrix came in while I was busy helping customers and mentioned he wanted to help. I thought he meant by taking orders at the counter."
I stopped what I was doing and let my chin fall to my chest with a groan. Nothing good could come from Hendrix in my bakery.
"Please, for the love of my bakery, tell me he didn't burn down my kitchen."
I hadn't heard any sirens despite the windows being open, but that didn't mean anything. I had a tendency to tune the world out when I was baking.
"Uh . . . nope, I didn't let him get that far, but maybe you should consider coming down here. I suggested he leave since I can handle things, but he's refusing."
Of course he was. The man was insufferable.
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Try to keep him away from . . . well . . . everything until I get there."
"I'll try but I'm a little busy at the moment."
I hung up with a groan and doubled my efforts. For the first time in my life, I regretted my decision to live in combat boots. If I had just been like every other female, I could've slipped on a pair of flip-flops or maybe some sneakers.
Instead I had to take the extra minute to lace up my boots before rushing out the door and then jogging to my shop because I also didn't have a car. Not that driving would've been much faster; Hendrix lived on the street behind the bakery. Two blocks over and one block down was all it took to see my dark sign calling my name.
Out of breath, because I was no runner, I hustled through the back door of the shop and came to a skidding halt. Standing in the middle of my industrial kitchen was Hendrix. But it was the flour bomb covering nearly every surface, including him, that gave me pause.
I looked straight at the industrial-sized mixer and put two and two together.
"You forgot to add the wet ingredients first, didn't you?"
In relatively slow motion, Hendrix turned on his heel.
I quickly covered my mouth to try and hide my smirk, but I was sure my amusement was written all over my face. Especially in my eyes.
"Go ahead and laugh it up."
White powder covered Hendrix's face and hair. The normally dark tendrils and scruff with silver running throughout was now nothing but white. Even his dark eyebrows were covered, giving him the look of a naughty Santa Claus with tattoos covering both arms.
I snickered. "I think it's safe to say the flour won the battle."
"Isn't this"—Hendrix waved at the big mixer bolted to the tile floor—“supposed to make life easier?"
"It does. If used properly." There was no hiding the laughter in my voice. I wasn't even trying anymore.
"I was following the damn recipe," he grumbled, pointing to the now flour-covered recipe book on the stainless steel table. "That bucket has the first few steps being whipped together and I was mixing the next step in this one."
Now it all made sense. Well, I had to give him credit for trying to follow the recipe, even if he was calling my mixer a bucket.
"Those are called mixers, not buckets, and you weren't completely wrong, just not one hundred percent right either."
Hendrix huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Clearly."
"Give me a few minutes to get this cleaned up and then I can show you where you went wrong."
I moved straight to the closet to grab the broom but Hendrix was right on my heels grabbing it out of my hand before I could protest. "It's my mess, I'll clean it up."
I didn't bother arguing. Instead I went to the sink and grabbed a towel to wipe down the table. We worked in comfortable silence to get my kitchen cleaned up, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that bad. The flour mixture was dry, so it cleaned up easily. We were done within minutes and I checked on the other mixer to see how Hendrix fared with the wet ingredients.
Slightly overwhipped but we could make do. I slid the lever to the off position and turned back to what I was now considering my student.
"Okay, so this looks good. Bring those two containers over here and I'll show you what it means when it says to mix these three ingredients together."
"The baking powder and soda?"
"Yup."
Hendrix slid both containers over to where I stood with a large stainless steel bowl in front of me.
"Why do you keep the flour in a large plastic bin?" he questioned, referring to the large container on wheels underneath the industrial table in the middle of the kitchen.
"A, it's more sanitary." I scooped cups of flour out of the bin and gradually dropped them into the bowl before moving on to the baking powder and baking soda. "B, it keeps the kitchen clean. Opening and closing the sack would leave a mess."
Hendrix watched me intently and nodded his head. "That makes sense."
Using a large wooden spoon, I slowly mixed everything together. "So what made you decide to come in today and make cookies?"
I'd been trying to figure it out since Janie called. As far as I knew, Hendrix didn't bake. He barely had food in his house to cook and there was certainly nothing to bake with.
"I didn't like how sad you looked yesterday and I thought maybe if you had some help, it would make you feel better. Obviously, I didn't think my plan fully through."
No, he didn't, but the thought behind it was sweet. I looked over to where he stood with one leg crossed over the other and his biceps bulging from his one arm being tucked over the other. Hendrix was a walking contradiction to the rest of his co-workers. Leather bands covered his wrists in an intricate design. A big skull ring adorned his finger, and sure, he wore cargo pants and boots like his friends, but somehow they looked different on him. His co-workers reminded me of protectors but Hendrix was the dark angel.
"It's the thought that counts." I gave him a lopsided smile before going back to mixing. I should've stopped a good minute ago, but I was enjoying the rhythmic familiarity.
"Maybe, but you had to come rescue me. That's not help, it's a hinderance. And the opposite of making you feel better."
I put the spoon down and looked up at Hendrix. "Why do you think I bake?"
Hendrix lifted the shoulder closest to me in a shrug. "Because you're good at it and you like to keep busy."
I snickered. "Not completely wrong but certainly not the main reasons. I started baking because it allowed me to get lost in something and forget about what was going on around me. I needed that more than anything today, so really, when you think about it, you did make me feel better."
Hendrix gave me his signature half smile and my belly flip-flopped. This was as close to personal as we ever got, besides my crying fit yesterday, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. So I used what I knew best to distract him.
"Let's finish this recipe so I can check on Janie."
Hendrix looked over my shoulder and listened intently as I explained each step.
I’d just put the second batch of dough in the fridge when Nolen busted through the back door and put me on high alert.
"I've been looking for you two. I need you to come to the office so we can discuss a few things."
So much for relaxing.