Chapter 6
6
Devon
THE BELL ON The Baking Rack’s door jingled softly as Devon tugged it open and stepped inside. The place was quiet in the afternoons—a stark contrast to how it looked in the mornings when all of Moss Creek fought over the cinnamon rolls and pastries crafted and baked in-house. By this time of day, the display cases were empty with only a few crumbs and empty trays behind the glass, leaving anyone who might stop in with no solution to their sugar cravings.
That wasn’t a problem for him. He wasn’t there for anything Dianna offered.
“I’ll be out in just a sec.” Janie’s voice sounded pleasant, but a little strained, as she called out from the back room.
He waited at the counter, ignoring the anticipation curling through his stomach. He was just there to make sure she was feeling better. That was all. Once he knew she was fine, he’d put any thoughts of tucking Janie into bed—and the way she moaned when hi s hands were on her—out of his mind forever.
Or at least until his girls were older and didn’t need him the way they did now.
Janie rushed out of the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. Her steps slowed when she saw it was him waiting for her and a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He took in her appearance, looking for any sign of how she was recovering from the night before. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with an apron tied across her front. The long length of her curly dark hair was piled on top of her head, giving him a look at the tiny butterfly tattooed just behind one ear.
He’d never really noticed tattoos before, but right now he was wondering what other hidden designs Janie might have inked into her skin.
Clearing his throat like it would also clear his mind, Devon dropped his eyes to the empty display cases. “Looks like you guys sold out.”
“We always sell out.” Janie’s steps were slow but steady as they continued carrying her closer. “Was there something specific you were hoping to get?”
“Actually…” He scratched at the rasp of hair growing along his jaw. He hadn’t had time to shave before beginning his shift thanks to Olivia’s urgent need to be dropped off at her friend’s house so they could practice homecoming hairstyles for the upcoming dance. “I came to see how you were feeling.”
Over the past few years, he’d witnessed just how fucking awful periods could be. It h ad given him a whole new respect for the women of the world. Especially when he knew they still had to go to work or school, powering through the pain and discomfort.
Over and over and over again.
Janie shrugged. “I’ve been worse.”
As she reached the other side of the counter, he could see the slight pinch of her expression. The lack of color in her cheeks. The barely hunched way she stood. It had him gritting his teeth to hold in the suggestion that she should have called in sick. Not just because he knew that wasn’t an option—calling in sick every month would likely make it hard to keep a job—but also because he knew she fucking hated it when he offered suggestions. No matter how well-intentioned.
For whatever reason, Janie didn’t understand he was just trying to help and she took his recommendations and advice as a personal offense.
But it wasn’t in his nature to walk away from someone who needed help, regardless of the feelings they had—or didn’t have—for him. Never had been. That’s how his life turned out the way it did. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Janie let out a huff of a laugh. "I’m pretty sure you've got way more important things to do than help me assemble cinnamon rolls."
A smile worked across his lips. He couldn't help it. "You might be surprised." He'd expected a snarky response and was prepared to go toe-to-toe with her, so this milder reaction had him relaxing a little. "I don't know if you've noticed this, but Mos s Creek isn't exactly a crime hot spot. Most of my job entails helping people stranded on the side of the road and running interference when a cow gets loose." He motioned to the white cotton wrapped around her midsection. "You got another one of those? Probably wouldn't be a good look if I walked back into the station covered in white powder. Everyone would think my shift was way more exciting than it really was."
This time Janie's laugh was a little louder. "That actually makes me want to give you an apron even less." Her eyes stayed on him for a few seconds as she pinched her lower lip between her teeth. Finally, she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But only because I feel like fucking shit and I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."
He followed Janie into the back room of The Baking Rack, getting his first look at the behind-the-scenes area of one of Moss Creek’s favorite establishments. Like Janie's home, the place was fucking immaculate, and he wondered who was responsible for that. Dianna was a great businesswoman, and definitely not afraid of hard work, but the perfectly aligned bins and gleaming floors would take something more neurotic than simple business sense.
Something that might border on OCD.
"This place is spotless, isn't it?" He scanned the large central island, taking in the perfectly organized system covering its surface, as Janie grabbed an apron from one of the hooks lining the wall. " It looks like you have this down to a science."
She handed him the crisp white cotton, a smile teasing her mouth. "Nobody wants to eat somewhere dirty." She waited as he tied on the covering, her eyes barely narrowing. "And I don't have a lot of time. Doing it in an assembly line style is what goes the fastest." There was a hint of her usual sharpness edging into her tone. Like she was just waiting for him to piss her off.
He held both hands up, hoping he wasn't already fucking up this truce they'd found their way into. "I wasn't passing judgment. I was just making an observation."
"Yeah? Well," Janie pointed at a large rectangle of dough spread across the counter, "observe less and spread filling more." Her admonishment lacked the snark she usually directed his way.
Not hiding his smile, Devon tipped his head. "Yes, ma'am."
He took his spot at the stainless-steel counter, listening carefully as Janie gave him directions. Once she'd shown him how much of the filling to scoop out, and where to stop the spread so the seam would close properly, she left him to his task and went to work rolling out the next rectangle.
His job was relatively simple and required only the most basic amount of focus, so he was able to watch her as she worked, taking in the skilled, precise movements she used to work the next lump of dough into a perfectly formed rectangle.
"Looks like you've done that a time or two." Devon scooped out the next portion of buttery, sugary filling, dropping it into the center of one rectangle as Janie moved down the row. "How many of these do you make every day?"
Janie didn't slow her motions as she continued squaring off another plot of pastry. "We usually sell about a dozen trays’ worth from the cases, and a dozen more full trays from the back. Each of these rectangles makes a dozen, which is one tray, so in total I make two hundred eighty-eight rolls." She finished up her current rectangle then grabbed another plastic-wrapped piece of dough from the giant bucket in the center of the counter and slapped it into the next available space. "I can fit six on the island at a time, so I do them in half-dozen groups, rolling all the dough out, then adding the filling, then rolling each one into a tube, then cutting." She adjusted the edges of the rectangle in front of her before continuing. "Then I do it twenty-three more times."
He stared at her for a second, stunned by the numbers. It was easy to see that The Baking Rack sold a shit-ton every day. The line was always out the door, even in the coldest and hottest weather. The few times he'd had enough wiggle room in his morning to sneak in for a treat before his shift, the special orders had been stacked high. "And that's just the cinnamon rolls?"
Janie finished up her current rectangle and glanced at where he stood, looking pointedly from the un-spread ball of filling to him. She angled a brow. "You know you actually have to do something to help, right?"
He s hot her a wink, undaunted now that he was starting to figure out a little more about the woman beside him. "Not all of us are as used to being as efficient as you are."
The more time he spent with Janie, the more he understood that her personality—and the abrasiveness it could bring—stemmed mainly from the fact that she didn't have time for bullshit. She said what she meant and she meant what she said because there was no time to clarify. No time to beat around the bush or soften any blows. She didn’t hide or hold back her feelings. No matter how ugly they might be.
And it was starting to make his undeniable interest in her make a little more sense.
Devon redoubled his efforts, following behind her with his spatula and managing to catch up, so that by the time she was finishing the last wad of dough that would fit on the counter, he was stepping in to fill it.
Janie looked down the line of rectangles, lifting her brows. "You're actually not doing too bad." She circled the island, going to the other end where the first plot of pastry sat. "Have you ever made cinnamon rolls before?"
"I have not." He carefully worked the sugary sweet paste to the edges. "But I can butter a mean piece of toast, and this is sort of in that same scope."
Janie laughed, the sound amused and lighter than he was used to hearing from her. "Not much of a cook?"
Devon finished up his task and followed the same path Janie had, taking his spot behind her and waiting for direction. "I do okay with the basics, but between work and running my daughters all ov er town, I have to keep things simple, so from-scratch breakfast pastries aren't really in my rotation."
Janie paused what she was doing, glancing at the rectangle of dough in front of her. "We should probably switch spots." She stepped behind him, grabbing his hips and urging him into her spot. "You roll. I'll slice."
Giving her a little bow he shot her a wink. "I am at your service, milady."
Janie rolled her eyes. "You're such a dork."
He gently worked the growing tube of dough into a tight roll. "That is actually not the first time I've heard that today."
"Not surprising." Janie reached in front of him, demonstrating how to pinch the seam down the log closed. "But to be fair, I'm guessing most kids think their parents are dorks, so mine is the first one that counts."
Devon finished watching her demonstration before moving to the next rectangle and beginning to roll. "How did you guess it was one of my daughters?"
Janie picked up a very long, very thin knife and a clean kitchen towel. "You have three teenage girls. It wasn't rocket science." She slid the knife down the center of the log, cutting it in half before wiping the blade clean and cutting each half into quarters. "Legally, teenagers are required to think their parents are dorks."
Devon finished rolling and went to work pinching. "That makes me feel a little better I guess."
Janie finished slicing her log and they each moved down a spot. "I didn't say they weren't right." She peeked his way, the corners of her m outh twitching. "I've seen you in your dad jeans."
"Ouch." Devon carefully pinched his way down the roll in front of him. "I didn't know you were so vicious."
Janie worked her way through the second cinnamon roll log. "Liar. You know exactly how vicious I am, and yet you still keep crossing my path."
He shrugged, finishing up and moving to the next rectangle. "I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."
Or, maybe he found her authenticity refreshing. The more he thought about it, the more likely that was the case. Janie didn't hold back, not to spare her feelings, and not to spare anyone else's.
Could it be a little abrasive? Sure. But it was better to know how someone felt rather than discovering years down the road things weren't what you thought they were.
After finishing another roll, he was starting to get the hang of things, and the rest went together easily. Once they were all sliced, Janie showed him how to line them into a pan, and he did that while she topped them with a layer of sliced peaches. The last thing they did was sprinkle on a crumbly concoction of what appeared to be brown sugar, cinnamon, and oats. She did that, while he covered each in a sheet of foil.
Then they started the whole process all over again.
"You do this every day?" He worked on spreading the filling over the dough. "By yourself?"
Janie lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "It's not bad. I get into a groove and it goes pretty quickly." She finished rolling out a rectangle and moved to the next. "I don't get many people stopping in to buy anything, since everyone knows we’re all sold out. So I only have to pass out the special orders and other than that, I just stay back here and crank these out."
"But still. This is a lot to do in an afternoon." He understood hard work. His job wasn't always as calm as he’d claimed and the hours were long. Then he still had to go home and manage an entire household. "Plus you work at The Inn in the mornings. That's a lot to do every day."
Janie finished up the last of the dough and circled the island. "It's not every day." She gave him a little grin. "I'm off on Sundays."
"Ohhh.” He nodded in mock understanding. “You get a whole day off every week. That's fine then." He circled the island and went to work rolling the first rectangle. "I was being sarcastic, in case you didn’t catch that. One day off every week isn't normal."
"I know, but you do what you have to do, right?" Janie went to work slicing through the log as soon as he finished. "And technically, you don't get any days off. So don't give me shit."
Devon worked down the line, thinking about what she said. Not about him not getting any days off—it was true—but about how you do what you have to do. "Why do you have to work six days a week?"
Janie was quiet for a minute, slicing as her jaw clenched. "Not all of us found our way into happy little marriages and happy little lives."
Her assumption chafed a wound he still carried. One he couldn't even begin to know how to heal. It almost felt selfish to try. What right did he have to be upset over the way things had gone? Probably none.
"And what else do I have to do?" She sliced through another roll, continuing to work at his side. "You've seen what happens when I try to go out."
"I've seen what happens when you try to go out under less than ideal circumstances." He corrected. "I would assume, under normal circumstances, you end up being the life of the party."
Janie laughed and it was just as genuine as the one she offered earlier. "If you think I am ever the life of a party, then you clearly have not been paying attention."
Now was his turn to laugh. "I don't know. I can imagine you’re pretty entertaining when you want to be." He finished up the last square of dough and circled the island again. "And I bet it’s funny as hell to watch those ranch hands try to hit on you."
Janie groaned. "Oh God." She shook her head. "They're all like, twenty-two, and they don't understand why I'm not flattered they want to crawl into my pants." She finished slicing the last roll and leaned against the counter, shooting him a look of disbelief. "Do you have any idea how bad most twenty-two-year-old guys are in bed?"
"I do not, and I don't know that I want to hear about it, because I feel like I'm going to retroactively get my feelings hurt." He started lining cinnamon rolls into a pan. "But I’ll take your word for it."
Jani e studied him a second before circling the island to begin adding peaches. "You know, you’re really starting to kind of annoy me."
He scoffed, adding more cinnamon rolls to a pan. "I'm glad to hear you're so grateful for my help."
Janie shot him a scowl. "Don't get your panties in a bunch." She added a layer of peaches to the next pan. "You're just turning out to not be as big of an asshole as I initially thought."
Devon snorted. “And you find that annoying?”
“Very.” Janie’s tone was dry, but her lips hinted at a smile.
He stared at the side of her face, taking in the delicate slope of her nose and the fullness of her mouth as she refused to look his way. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."
One of her dark brows angled as she continued dropping slices of peach into place, that twitch of a smile still teasing her lips. "You shouldn't." Her eyes finally came his way. "You were a pretty big asshole to me the first few times we met, so it didn't take a lot to slightly redeem yourself. "