Chapter 6
6
FORD
P ulling into the space in front of the bakery, I look at myself in the rearview mirror. I took extra time picking out what to wear—loose dark wash jeans, fitted white designer T-shirt loose at the waist, white designer sneakers, and a pair of black-and-gold aviators.
I wait ten minutes after she walks in and flips the sign to Open before hopping out of the car.
I feel like I’m getting ready for my first date. My palms are sweaty, my stomach churns, and it isn’t because I’m hungry. I’m nervous for the first time since she got in my car four years ago. It was the only way I could talk to her with no one around, and she wouldn’t tell me to go fuck myself.
In part, it was my fault. I should have done something sooner before Summer and her friends made her a target. By the time Dulce Webster had my attention, it was too late. I had Summer’s attention and fell in line with the rest of my friends.
I kept telling myself it was for the best. That high school isn’t forever. I thought back then that if I showed Dulce any attention, I’d make it worse for her, but now I’m not so sure.
When I walk into the bakery, the smell of freshly baked pastries and coffee greets me. The large display in front of the counter is decorated in different shades of pinks, listing colorful cakes in assorted flavors, some with sprinkles and different colored frosting. It smells sweet, like her skin.
The door opens, and two ladies walk in, chatting. I walk up to the counter toward the coffee machine, ready to order breakfast, but the moment my eyes land on the young woman behind the counter, my anticipation is replaced by a nagging disappointment.
“Welcome to Sugar Coated Sweets. What can I get you?” Katie says in her best voice.
“Dulce.”
Her eyebrows rise, unsure how to respond. Then her eyes gleam. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Spanish.”
I remove my sunglasses. “I came to see Dulce,” I clarify even though I can tell from the sassy once-over she gives me that she knows exactly what I meant.
“How can I help you?” she asks defensively.
“You can help me by getting Dulce, please.”
“I mean, I can go ask her if she wants to see you. What’s your name?”
I quirk a brow.
Right.” She rolls her eyes. “One second. I’ll be right back.”
I give her my best fake smile. “Sure.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh, turns around, pushes the back door, and calls out, “Dulce!”
The whirring noise stops. “Yeah?”
My heart beats frantically in my chest, hearing her voice.
“Someone is here to see you.”
“Tell him his coffee is ready, and can you give him what I made this morning?”
Him?
“Sweetie, it’s not him. It’s…” She looks at me. “Can you come out here? He’s making me hot.”
My grin widens. Hopefully, Dulce appreciates her sense of humor.
There is a loud bang like something hit metal, then Dulce walks out, making my heart ache after beating so fast.
“Good morning, Dulce,” I say softly.
Her mouth pulls into a frown, and her eyes cut to Katie and then to me. “What do you need?” she says curtly.
If you only knew, sweetheart.
“I wanted?—”
The bell from the door cuts me off. She glances behind me, and her frown turns into a grin. “Oh, hi.”
“Good morning, beautiful.”
I turn around and come face-to-face with the dickhead cop who pulled me over. He just called her beautiful. What the fuck?
Looking back at Dulce, I see her wiping her hands on the pretty pink apron with Sugar Coated Sweets engraved on it around her waist with a blank expression.
“Excuse me,” she tells me dismissively, and then she flashes the dickhead a full smile. “How are you, Danny? I’ll be just a minute.”
She goes to the coffee machine without asking what he wants, so clearly, she knows. She grabs his fresh brew and prepares it with a familiarity that grates on my skin.
She is even more beautiful in the morning. Her face is free of makeup, but I spot a hint of lip gloss on her pouty lips. I can’t help noticing her form-fitting uniform and hate the fact that the dickhead cop has her attention.
The dickhead steps in front of me, blocking her from my view. He gives me a hard look. His eyes drop to the full sleeve of tattoos on both of my arms, comparing mine to his. Nothing can compare to the intricate detail of the track and the supercar from my first race, the skulls, and the shading from a celebrity tattoo artist. Then he zeros in on my Richard Mille timepiece on my wrist before reaching my eyes with a look of disdain.
I return his look, having zero fucks to give that he’s a cop. I’ll still kick his ass if he gives me even half a reason to.
“Here you go,” Dulce says in a soft voice, placing his coffee and food on the counter. A bagel with raisins, strawberry cream cheese, and a cream-filled pastry. I threw in some fresh macarons, too. If you don’t eat them while you’re out serving and protecting us today, put them in the fridge when you get home to keep them fresh.”
“Thank you,” he says. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble, but I appreciate it.”
I’m sure you do, asshole. Now pay and get the fuck out. But I’m stunned when I don’t see her pull out her iPad or him moving his hand toward his wallet. Fucking freeloader.
Digging my hand in my pocket, I pull out about five hundred bucks and move around him to slide it into the tip jar. “My donation to support those who ‘serve and protect.’ In case they can’t afford to feed themselves.”
“Damn,” Katie mutters. “It pays to race cars, huh?”
“Only if you win,” I reply with a flirtatious grin, “which I do.”
The two ladies in the back are drinking their morning coffee. One of them makes a tiny squeal and says to the other one, “I told you it was Ford Keller.”
I smile at them.
The blonde to the right says, “My friend thinks you’re hot.” Her friend elbows her in the ribs. “I’m sure you get that a lot, though.”
“I never get tired of it,” I say with a charming smile.
I turn my attention back to Danny the Dickhead as he grabs his food and coffee off the counter and tell him, “Enjoy your free breakfast.”
Danny flushes red, his throat turns purple, and he looks like he wants to say something but is biting his tongue. I’m sure he’s worried about saying something that will ruin his chances with Dulce.
His jaw tics as I stare him down. “Is that your Porsche outside?” He nods to the window. “It’s double parked.”
We both know it’s my car, and it isn’t double parked. He wants to do this outside. Alright, I’ll bite.
I turn to Dulce, who’s watching. “I’ll be right back, Dulce.” I drop my gaze to her lips. “Don’t go anywhere.” I open the door and give the Dickhead a fake smile. “After you, Officer.”
He walks out and stops in front of his cruiser, holding his stuff. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting breakfast,” I reply with a shrug.
“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.”
I smile. “No, not really. Just getting breakfast. I hear Dulce’s food is the best.”
I see the way his eyes flicker when I mention her name. He’s knee-deep crazy about her. I just hope the closest he’s come to her is thinking about her while he jerks off.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m from here. Unlike you.”
“Yeah, well, news flash. This is my town now, not yours. You might have some people here falling at your feet because you’re a celebrity, but I’m warning you. That woman in there? You leave her the fuck alone.”
“Is that a threat…Officer?” I say coldly.
He gives me a chilling smile. “You think I can’t make your time here difficult.” He opens his driver’s side door. “You have a lead foot, Mr. Keller. Be careful where you step. I’ve heard about how you and your friends treated her in high school. You made her life miserable for four years. Actually, eight years, but at least for the past four of them, I’ve been there for her while you were off doing nothing good for anyone except yourself. You don’t give a shit what happens to her.”
I don’t answer and watch him leave. I let him think whatever he wants before going back inside.
Dulce Webster is mine.