Chapter 12
“There’s no place like home. Unless someone’s eaten your tree.” ~ Parker
Parker
I listen to Jeremy’s side of the conversation as I try to catch my breath. Great glistening krakens! What a kiss! If his phone hadn’t rung, I’d be naked and enjoying some sexy times right now.
“I can fly up to New York City in my private jet if you need me,” Jeremy says into his phone.
New York City? Private jet?
I scowl. How did I forget he’s a billionaire?
One touch of his lips against mine and I forgot everything – his money, how a man with money tried to destroy me in the past, how men with money can’t be trusted.
I scowl. I am not letting this man ruin me. No way. No how. Been there. Done that. Couldn’t afford to buy the t-shirt to commemorate the occasion.
Jeremy glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. One more minute, he mouths to me. My legs tremble and my panties dampen at the intention in his light brown eyes.
Oh boy. I need to get out of here before I forget all sense and let this man strip me naked and touch me all over. I nearly moan as visions of him doing exactly that flitter through my mind.
Knock it off, Parker. You know better.
There’s only one way to handle this. I scurry toward the door and rush outside.
The kitchen is a mess and I’ll probably curse Jeremy to hell and back tomorrow morning when I end up spending way too much time cleaning my baking utensils. But I don’t have a choice.
Jeremy Holland is entirely too tempting. Especially since I know how soft his lips feel, how expertly he uses his tongue, how sparks ignite when his hard length presses against my stomach.
“I need to think of something else. Anything else,” I mutter to myself as I march toward my apartment.
“What did you say, dear?” Lily asks and I startle with such force I nearly fall over.
She’s standing next to me on the sidewalk and I didn’t notice her. Huge mistake. Lily prides herself on knowing everything going on with everyone’s love lives on the island. I never should have befriended her daughter, Sophia.
I force a smile. “I was wondering what you thought of the Thanksgiving pies.”
She moans. “They were delicious as always. I’m already salivating over having another pie for Christmas.”
My smile is definitely strained now. Christmas is even busier than Thanksgiving.
I love this season – decorating the tree, the hope of snow, caroling, mistletoe, spiked cider, and the general feel of the holiday magic – but it’s also the busiest time of the year for Pirate’s Pastries.
If only I could afford to hire another baker to help me out.
“Make sure to get your order in on time.” I wink.
“It’s on my to-do list.” Her eyes narrow. “Must run. I need to speak to Sophia about her wedding.”
“How are the preparations going?” And does she want me to provide the cake?
Lily rolls her eyes. “Apparently, I’m taking over.”
I bite my tongue before I laugh. She’s definitely taking over. Lily doesn’t hesitate to go after what she wants. Her daughter is the same. Just ask me sometime how she got her brother’s best friend to fall in love with her when he was determined to resist her.
“She better not be buying a dress there,” Lily mutters before racing down the sidewalk.
I contemplate messaging her daughter to warn her Lily’s on the way but then I notice the back door of the hardware store open and Sophia tiptoe out.
She notices me and places a finger over her lips.
I chuckle. Sophia and her friends were always trouble in school.
I can’t believe they own a successful brewery and somehow haven’t managed to burn it down during a prank gone wrong.
I wave before continuing on my way to my apartment. I shiver as the cold seeps in through my light jacket. I hope it snows. There’s nothing quite like Christmas with snow.
Except last year, we actually had a storm and lost electricity. I didn’t manage to bake any of my pies. My stomach drops. Please, for the love of mermaids, no snowstorm this year.
Jade waves from across the street. “Parker, how are you?”
“Hi, Jade.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “How is the sexy man living in your loft?”
At the reminder of Jeremy, a vision of what we did in my kitchen pops into my mind. My cheeks start to heat. I try to fight the blush from forming but it’s hopeless. I have no control over the heat I feel when I think of our kiss. At least Jade is across the street and can’t see my red cheeks.
“Rumor has it he helped you with your gingerbread house. Has he helped you with anything else?”
It’s official. I should have used the alleyways to walk home. Beginner mistake. I forgot how each and every person on Smuggler’s Hideaway – including the local realtor – feels a need to broadcast your business to the rest of the island’s inhabitants.
In my defense, I don’t usually walk around the streets of the town of Smuggler’s Rest during the day. I’m entirely too busy. Besides, I don’t even have enough money to window shop.
I dig my phone out of my pocket. “Sorry!” I shout. “I need to take this.”
I keep my phone to my ear and pretend I’m in the middle of a conversation for the rest of my walk home. I don’t want to chance anyone else asking questions and me blurting out how I just kissed the billionaire and it was the best kiss of my life.
The best kiss of my life? I scowl. I refuse to believe it. Too bad I suck at lying to myself.
I arrive at my apartment building. The paint is peeling, there are parts of bicycles and cars in the front lawn, and the sidewalk is cracked. Home sweet home.
This is not the life I imagined for myself while I was in culinary school, working my ass off.
I had big dreams. Dreams of an apprenticeship in a patisserie in Paris.
Dreams of opening my own patisserie in New York City that specializes in French bonbons.
Dreams of being far, far away from my parents.
I trudge up the broken sidewalk littered with trash to the front door. It’s hanging open. Granted, there isn’t much crime in Smuggler’s Rest – the town is the biggest on the island but it’s still a small town – but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.
I don’t bother with the elevator. It’s been out of order since I moved here. I make my way up the stairs to the third floor. Despite walking these stairs every day and working on my feet all day, I’m winded when I reach the top floor. What I wouldn’t do for a working elevator.
“Annie!” I shout as I enter the apartment.
“Why are you shouting? I’m right here.”
I sigh when I notice my roommate laying on the sofa in her pajamas while eating a sugar cookie. My brow wrinkles.
“Where did you get the cookie?”
Annie doesn’t buy food. She steals mine instead. I tried labeling my food. She didn’t care. I tried hiding my food in my room. She rummaged through my things to find it. Now I keep my food in the kitchen at the bakery. I’m there more than I’m at home anyway.
“From the cookie tree.”
“The cookie tree?” What in the name of pirates is a cookie tree?
She motions to the Christmas tree. The Christmas tree I spent an afternoon last week painstakingly decorating with sugar cookies I spent the morning baking and decorating. The Christmas tree that is now devoid of cookies.
“Did you eat all the cookies on the Christmas tree?”
“They were just hanging there.”
“Hanging there? The cookies are the decoration on the tree.” Because I can’t afford to buy garland and tinsel, and ornaments. Not yet.
“You didn’t say they were decorations.”
As if it would have mattered if I had. I should have put rat poison in those cookies.
“It’s a Christmas tree. It should have been obvious.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Is this one of your weird things?”
“Weird things?”
“You know. Don’t eat my food in the fridge. Don’t go through my things in my room. Don’t wear my clothes.”
At the mention of clothes, I realize Annie is wearing my pajamas.
“Why are you wearing my pajamas?”
She shrugs. “Mine were dirty.”
“You could have washed them.”
“Why would I wash them when I can wear yours?”
“Because they’re mine and don’t belong to you.”
She scowls. “You are so materialistic.”
I’m materialistic because I don’t want her wearing my clothes or eating my food? My nostrils flare and I open my mouth to shout at her. But this isn’t me. I don’t shout at people. I angry-bake when I’m upset.
“Whatever,” I mutter and leave her to finish her cookie.
The door to my bedroom is hanging open. I count to ten before I lay into Annie for rummaging in my room again. Obviously, she was in my room. She stole my pajamas from here.
I shut the door behind me and flop down on the bed.
I sigh at how comfortable it is. I stole the bed and mattress from my parents’ house.
It’s the only thing I own worth its weight in gold.
It’s a good thing it’s heavy or Annie would have stolen it from me already.
As it is, I suspect she sleeps in here when I’m gone.
I stare at the ceiling. It’s cracked and peeling. As are the walls. I’ve tried painting the room but I’ve given up. The cracks just reappear weeks later anyway.
What I wouldn’t do to sleep in the loft above the bakery. It would be the perfect little setup. Live upstairs in my cute loft and work downstairs in my beloved bakery.
I sigh. Another dream that hasn’t come anywhere near to true.
Life really is what happens when you’re dreaming about your future.