14. Colt
COLT
Alice is buoyant as we stroll down Main Street, her steps light, arms swinging.
It’s a beautiful day. I’ll admit as much.
The air smells crisp and clean without a stitch of humidity, and the sun warms our skin, not a cloud in the sky to inhibit it.
I might even feel happy if we hadn’t spent two weeks waiting for our building permits to get approved.
Mid-September already, and we still can’t move forward.
Alice is distracted by a group of elementary school kids dancing around the gazebo as their teacher calls out instructions.
As music plays from a portable speaker, the kids grip a fake vine of orange, red, and yellow leaves.
All at once, they spin to the left, entangling themselves, and then to the right.
They shuffle backward and then forward before forming a tidy circle and skipping in the same direction.
“And now, the finale!” the teacher trumpets, throwing her hands in the air.
Each kid plucks a leaf from the vine and they toss them over their heads. The leaves rain down and Alice claps. The teacher turns, grins, and waves.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do before November,” the woman says.
“Looks great already!” Alice responds cheerfully.
As Alice’s sparkling eyes travel from an artist offering caricature drawings to a rolling ice cream cart, I think about what I told Alice about needing something.
In the river, I’d explained wanting to leave Holly River, and that’s still the truth.
Because in the Marines, I became someone respectable, someone with value.
But I’m no longer enlisted, and though I swiftly jumped into learning carpentry as a trade, returning here has reminded me of the helpless person I once was. A person people felt sorry for.
In her letters, Alice wrote what she thought I needed to hear to lift my spirits and help me.
And so I’m trying to repay the favor. But maybe I’m doing myself a favor too.
Because this bookshop has provided me with a new, concise mission.
And the funny thing is, every day I spend working beside Alice feels a little less like hurting, and a little more like healing.
Of course, the sight of Alice’s ass in those jeans could be clouding my thinking.
I picture wrapping my arm around that slim waist and tugging her backward against my chest, my lips coming down on her neck.
In my imagination, she’d giggle, and man, how I’d relish the sound.
I’d whisper against her skin that we should forget the bakery.
Forget the permits. Go home instead and—
“It’s right here,” Alice chirps.
“Hmm?” My eyes snap up to her face.
We reach June’s Bakery just in time, because I need a distraction from these unremitting fantasies I’m having about someone who is entirely off-limits.
The moment I push open the glass door, I’m hit with the scent of brown sugar, cinnamon, and baked bread.
And in every corner of the shop are Halloween decorations.
Glossy paper bats are pasted to the walls, a witch’s cauldron billows dry ice, glowing ghosts squat on tables, and plastic jack-o’-lanterns dangle from the chandelier.
“She likes Halloween,” Alice whispers over her shoulder.
No kidding.
“There you are!” Maggie waves frantically from a corner table, already halfway through a cup of coffee. She tips her plate to show off a pumpkin cinnamon roll the size of a hubcap. "You're going to thank me for calling you. They just came out of the oven."
"Oh, my god. Gimme!" Alice rushes toward the counter, her face lighting up.
I follow Alice, old hardwood floors creaking beneath my boots. Behind the display case, June is balancing a tray of cranberry muffins while reaching for a rolling pin. The muffins are dangerously close to nose-diving toward the floor.
"Morning, June.” I reach over the counter to hand her the rolling pin.
"Oh, Colt! Thank you.” June spins toward the dishes, nailing the rolling pin against a stray pot.
“Alice, I’ve got y’alls rolls right here.
I saved you one with pecans.” June starts plating them, and I watch her movements carefully, ready to intervene if she accidentally launches one into the cauldron.
Alice reaches for her purse to pay, but I’ve already got my wallet out. I slide a twenty across the counter.
"Colt, I told you I’d get these." Alice pouts slightly, and goddammit if I don’t want to kiss that pout right off her face.
"You can get the next round of whatever," I lie.
Alice slides into the chair across from Maggie, her expression shifting from thrilled to concerned in a matter of seconds.
"So?" Maggie senses Alice’s mood change the same way I do. "How’s the progress on my dirty mags?"
Alice sighs. "We’re still waiting on the building permits to get approved. It’s been two weeks since we submitted the request."
I grip the back of Alice’s chair, my jaw tightening.
I can hear the anxiety in her voice, the kind that comes from watching your dreams sit forgotten on someone else’s desk.
Every day we aren't swinging hammers is a day she’s losing her window of opportunity, and she was on a tight deadline to begin with.
I keep worrying that I messed something up, but I checked those forms three times before submitting them. Every square inch of the floor plan, the fire egress map, the ADA compliance for the ramp... It was all there.
Alice lifts her fork, poising it over the roll. "We’re headed to the city office after this to check on them. If I call them one more time, I’m afraid they’ll block my number. I’ve tried using charm, but I’m about five minutes away from throwing a brick through a window."
"Alice Sinclair." Maggie leans back, feigning shock. “I’ve never known you to be the violent type.” She grins. “Do go on.”
Across the room, June is working on another dish, singing to herself as she tosses sliced fruit into a cast-iron skillet. Suddenly, a blue flame leaps up from the back of her stove, licking at a pile of dish towels.
"Fire!" I bark. When June doesn’t react, I vault the counter, grabbing a lid from a nearby pot and slamming it over the flaming skillet. Then I toss the smoking towels into the sink, dousing them with the sprayer.
"Uh, excuse you.” June casually wipes a smudge of flour off her cheek. "We do not simply leap into a woman’s kitchen."
Maggie and Alice are still sitting at the table, unmoved. In fact, Alice is mid-bite into her cinnamon roll.
"You good, Colt?" Alice’s voice is muffled.
"Good?" I widen my eyes at her, then look at June, then back at the scorched towels. "The stove caught fire. The towels were on fire. This entire kitchen was ten seconds away from becoming a bonfire."
"It’s just the pilot light.” June shrugs before glancing at Alice. "Is he always this dramatic?"
I turn to the wall, inspecting the tangle of greasy wires behind the stove. "June, this wiring is ancient. And frayed. You need to get this checked."
"I have a system." The woman shoos me away with a wooden spoon.
"June, I'm serious. This entire place could burn down.” My voice drops into the authoritative register that used to make privates jump.
But June has already returned to cooking.
I look at Alice and Maggie for backup, but Maggie is grinning now. “Oh, my god. He just used Dad Voice on June.” She spins toward Alice. “Has he used that voice on you? Alice, is this guy a Marine or a fireman? Or is he both? Surely that would be too much shirtless calendar potential for one man."
Alice actually pretends to consider this, looking me up and down while I’m standing there with soot on my palms. "Surely it would," she agrees. "Holly River couldn't handle that much testosterone."
Heat crawls up my neck as the three women ogle me. "I’m not a fireman," I say, glancing back at the wires. "My brother is, though. And he’d label this a death trap."
Maggie’s face lights up. "Say more immediately. Is he hot? Colt, is your brother a hot fireman? Explain him to me in inappropriately graphic detail."
I bark a laugh, moving a heavy prep table to get a better look at the outlet. "I don’t know if he’s hot, Maggie. He’s my brother."
"God, I love me a firefighter.” Maggie sighs dramatically and lifts her coffee. "Just out there fighting a literal wall of fire, saving my babies from an untimely death."
I crane my neck, glancing over my shoulder at her. "I didn't know you had kids, Maggie."
"I don't," she responds. "I’m talking about my wildflowers. The heat last year nearly toasted my bluebonnets. I need a man who can wield a hose."
I steal a glance at Alice to see if she’s agreeing with Maggie’s assessment on firefighters, but she’s looking directly at me, those pretty blue eyes doing more damage to my nerves than any fire would. I smile, and she returns it.
June moves to their table, bringing Alice a cup of coffee. "Are y'all coming to the Hall the Saturday after next? There’s a band coming up from Austin. Dalton says they’re the best he’s booked all year."
She says Dalton’s name with a certain emphasis, a little lilt in her voice I pick up on. She mentions him again ten seconds later while talking about the drink specials. I catch Alice’s eye and we share a knowing smile.
"I’ll try to make it." Alice stands and walks her plate back to the counter. "As always, the food was orgasmic."
Fuuucking hell. My mind immediately snaps to me giving Alice an orgasm. To giving her one after the other as she moans my name. For once, I cut myself a break. Because really, those jeans she’s wearing are criminal.
June beams. "You kids have fun. Don't let those bureaucrats get you down! Here, take Colt’s for the road since he was too busy playing unnecessary hero."
"I think I managed to bypass the short for now," I tell June, taking the boxed cinnamon roll from Alice. "But please, call an electrician."
"Yeah, yeah, I will.” She waves me away and turns back to her stove.