Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Missy
The bakery was too quiet tonight. I’d closed the doors almost two hours ago and was focusing on my special orders.
Most people found quiet to be peaceful. I found it, oddly, too loud. Loud with the tick-tick-tick of the cooling ovens, loud with the hum of the refrigerators, loud with the thoughts I avoided all day by keeping myself busy.
Tonight, all that noise pressed heavily on me while I balanced the top tier of the three-tier wedding cake on my turntable.
Vanilla chiffon with lavender buttercream—light, romantic, elegant.
The bride wanted pressed flowers cascading down one side, and I’d spent the last hour carefully laying them in a pattern that looked artsy instead of crooked.
The floor smelled faintly of lemon cleaner thanks to Meredith’s cleaning spree before leaving, and the scent mixed with that of sugar and flour. My feet and back ached. My hair was in a bun that leaned too far to the left. My back cracked every time I bent even slightly.
But I loved this.
I loved it in a way I could never explain to my parents without them looking at me like I’d just said I wanted to join the circus.
I had just stepped back to squint at the cake when I heard it.
Drip. Drip.
I froze and listened.
There it was again.
Drip. Drip.
“No, no, no,” I muttered and glanced around and gasped when I saw the water on the floor. Moving fast around the prep table, I headed toward the sink.
Sure enough, a faint stream of water slid over the cabinet edge beneath the main sink, splashing onto the floor in a thin line.
Perfect. Just what I needed.
I yanked open the cabinet and was hit with a cold spray of water straight in the face.
“No!” I sputtered. Okay, I may have used a few choice curse words too as I slammed the door shut and wiped the water from my face. When I could see clearly, I patted my pockets for my phone.
There was only one person I could call.
He answered on the second ring, his voice thick like he’d been asleep.
“Missy? Everything okay?”
I ignored the flutter in my stomach at the sound of his low, sleepy, sexy voice. “The bakery sink is… um… aggressively leaking.”
A beat of silence. “On my way.”
Ten minutes later, Cade strode through the front door like some blue-collar superhero with his tool bag in one hand. His hair was messed from sleep. His white T-shirt was stretched across muscles I didn’t remember him having.
I had piled all the towels I had on the floor to mop up what water I could.
He walked over to the sink and crouched down. The second he opened the cabinet, I blurted out, “Careful!”
Too late.
The water sprayed directly into Cade’s chest.
When it had happened to me, I’d been agitated, but seeing Cade’s soaked shirt and him blinking water out of his face, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. Hard and a lot.
Wrapping my arms around my side, I bent over with it. That kind of laughter.
He jerked back with a grunt as the water soaked the cotton and plastered it to his skin.
The laughter died in my throat.
Holy wow!
His shirt clung to every line of his chest. Hard shoulders. Defined pecs. Abs I had no business staring at. I swear the universe dimmed the overhead lights and put a spotlight over him.
“I, uh, are you okay?” I stammered.
He wiped his face with his forearm as water continued dripping down his face and neck.
He reached over and, fighting the stream of water, turned a valve until the spray stopped.
“Yeah, it’s just water.” He glanced up and smirked at me. “I’m glad you got to enjoy the show,” he said, shifting to look at the pipes.
Thankfully, he was too busy to see that my cheeks went up in flames. “I did try and warn you,” I pointed out.
“Mmm. Sure,” he said without glancing in my direction.
I hovered awkwardly as he worked, muscles flexing beneath that wet shirt. Every time he leaned forward, my traitor eyes followed the movement like they’d been trained.
“Hand me that adjustable wrench?” he asked without looking up.
I handed him a whisk.
He snorted, turning slightly to look up at me. He rolled his eyes, and I smiled mischievously.
“Right. Tools. Your type of tools.” I scrambled over to his toolbox and passed him the first thing I could grab.
He snorted again, turning just enough to glance up at me from where he was half-curled under the sink. “Missy.” The way he said my name was half warning, half exasperation, all older brother, and definitely half-amused man trying not to laugh at me.
“Yes?” I asked sweetly.
He rolled his eyes so hard his whole head followed. “That is not a wrench.”
“It looks wrench-ish.”
“It’s a screwdriver.”
“Well,” I sniffed, “in my defense, it was the closest thing within my reach.”
“You called me here, remember? Either you want me to fix this or I can go…” He started to get up but I stopped him.
“Fine, I’ll get you the right tools. I promise.” I bent down and picked up the wrench.
He opened his mouth, probably to say something annoyingly logical, but I held out the tool.
“Here,” I said, handing it to him with a flourish. “Your wrench.”
He bit back a laugh and then lost the battle with it. His shoulders shook as he reached for it. “Thank you.”
“I’m useful,” I said, leaning one shoulder against the counter, as if I wasn’t internally melting over the fact that his forearm flexed impressively when he lifted the tool.
“Don’t you have a cake or something to bake?” he said as he slid the wrench into place and tightened something with a quiet grunt that did not need to be as attractive as it was. Water dripped down the pipe and splashed onto his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“Icing,” I corrected. “It’s all baked. I only have a few more flowers.” I glanced over at the cake in question. Honestly, it was done. I was still contemplating putting a few more small flowers on the sides. No, it was done. I should leave it the way it was.
“This should hold it for the night. I’ll bring a new part in the morning,” he said.
“Should?” I echoed. “Like… eighty percent should? Fifty? Please tell me we’re above thirty.”
He smirked up at me as he sat up. “Ninety-eight percent.” He shifted.
“I can live with ninety-eight.” I peered under the sink, pretending to inspect his work, even though all I saw were pipes and more pipes. “Well done. You may continue being smug.”
“Oh, good,” he said dryly. “I was worried you’d revoke my privileges.”
“Remember, smugness privileges can be revoked at any time,” I told him. “Especially if more water ends up on my floor.”
He stood up and I noticed just how wet his T-shirt was. The fabric was practically translucent over his chest.
Dear God…
I forgot how to breathe.
He glanced down at himself, then up at me, then dragged a sopping hand back through his soaked dark hair, slicking it back. Dear God!
“Do you have a towel I can use,” he asked, “to dry off?”
“Dry off?” I croaked. “Why? You’re… fine.”
He raised a brow. “Fine?”
“Fine as in good,” I sputtered. “As in, your shirt, uh, still exists. So. Fine.”
His lips pulled to the side as he chuckled. “You’re staring.”
I jerked my eyes away from his chest and zoned in on his eyes. Big mistake. They were as mesmerizing as his soaking-wet chiseled chest.
“I wasn’t staring,” I squeaked oddly.
“Mm-hm.”
“Just admiring your, your technique.” I lifted my chin slightly, a move I always did when I was lying. I should have known Cade knew all my moves.
“My plumbing technique,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.
“Exactly!” I pointed at him.
His eyes narrowed, proving to me that he knew exactly what I was doing, “Right,” he said slowly.
The man knew everything about me. Hell, he probably knew what I was thinking.
Something in the air shifted. Thickened.
Screw it. For once, I wanted to shock him. To do something so crazy that he didn’t see it coming. Something I didn’t even see coming.
Before I knew I was doing it, before my brain even caught up, I leaned forward and kissed him.
Soft. Fast. Warm.
Like lightning in reverse, building silently, quietly, trembling underneath the surface, then striking in one single flash.
His lips were still parted when I jerked back.
“Oh my God.” My heart hammered. “Oh, I, I didn’t mean, I wasn’t thinking… I’m so sorry.”
He blinked, stunned. Then slowly, too slowly, he started gathering his tools.
“It’s fine.” His voice was lower. Rougher. “Really.”
He didn’t meet my eyes.
That hurt worse than the embarrassment.
“I should get home,” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
“Right. Of course.”
He hesitated like he wanted to say something else, then didn’t. Just gave a short nod and walked out.
The sound of the door shutting echoed.
I stood in the middle of the bakery, hands on my head, groaning into the stillness.
“What is wrong with you?” I whispered to myself. “You kissed him? You just launched at him like some hormonal animal?”
I paced around the kitchen.
I argued with myself.
I replayed the scene until I wanted to rewind my entire existence.
Then, exhausted, I put the cake in the fridge, locked up, and headed home as a light spring rain started falling.
The next morning, the bakery hummed with morning traffic.
Cade didn’t show.
Not for his coffee. Not for his breakfast.
By 10 a.m., I was convinced that I’d ruined everything—our friendship, the easy bond we had through all our twenty-four years together, all of it.
Suddenly pissed that something so small as a kiss could ruin the strong bond we had, I grabbed my phone and typed:
“The kiss meant nothing. Just impulse. Don’t make it weird.”
My thumb hovered before I hit send.
He didn’t respond.
Not a single bubble appeared.
Nothing.
By noon, my stomach had dropped so low I wasn’t sure it existed anymore. One moment I was pissed, the next I was in full panic mode.
What had I done?
I was serving a customer when the front bell chimed. I didn’t even bother looking up. I knew he was here. I could sense him.
I turned my head and slowly laid my eyes on him.