Chapter 5
Roman
The following week, I feel like I’ve found my rhythm here.
I’ve had a steady stream of customers, all of them dropping in or calling because I come highly recommended.
Sometimes it pays to be a member a big family.
Especially when those family members have access to people with big mouths.
Including a couple who stopped in days ago to introduce themselves, although Marianne didn’t need to.
I remembered the pretty Black woman as Taryn’s childhood best friend, who is now married to a firecracker of a woman named Clara.
Not that I’m much of a talker to begin with, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise as she tossed her blond hair behind her shoulder, giving me the lowdown on everyone in town.
Since then, the marketing sort of took care of itself, and I’ve been working long hours, attempting to cement my role in the community and to have money for the life Mazie deserves.
Books at Nicole’s store, so many treats from Sweet Cheeks that I think I’m solely keeping that place in business, as well as the dance lessons she wanted me to sign her up for.
While I’m still working on repairing my relationships with my siblings, life here has been going pretty well.
So, it’s funny when I pull up to the back of Stone Ink to find everything going wrong for a woman as she struggles to maneuver through the open door of Sweet Cheeks.
I step out of my SUV just as she drops a huge bag of flour on the ground, causing it to split open, sending a cloud of white powder into the air and all over her.
Her surprised yelp melts into a bubbly laugh that sounds vaguely familiar, and I cross the space between us to make sure she’s all right.
“Of course this would happen to me,” she mutters, wiping flour out of her eyes before blinking them open to me, particles still clinging to her eyelashes, and I know those green eyes.
“Oh, hello. This isn’t embarrassing at all.
” She slaps at her clothes, trying to remove the powder, but in the process, yanks the collar of her T-shirt down to reveal her light pink bra and huge tits.
It’s her.
The woman from Wawa. The first person I met in West Chester. The image I’ve been using to rub one out in the shower every day.
The twitch of my lips is unexpected yet not unwelcome. “Nope.”
She stops when she recognizes me too. “It’s you.”
I nod, and she smiles. The same one that punched me in the face when I saw it. “The daddy.”
But, really. No red-blooded straight man would blame me. That sugar-and-spice voice calling me daddy?
Straight up spank-bank material.
And I’m positive I know who she is. The famous Eloise.
“Can I help you?” I ask, gesturing to the fifty-pound bag.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
I make sure to hold the split end together as I haul it up into my arms, and she sighs. I glance over my shoulder to find her hands on her hips, her head bobbing as she deliberately looks me up and down. “Being as big as a refrigerator has its upsides, huh?”
“I guess.”
She motions for me to follow her inside. “You can set it down on the counter.”
The kitchen is entirely stainless steel, while the walls are plastered with laminated recipes and stickers, like the one of Strawberry Shortcake and another that could either be a smiling mushroom or a penis.
It’s hard to tell. After examining it all for a few moments, enjoying the delicious scents coming from the ovens, I pivot to find her wiping her face with a wet cloth at the sink.
When she finishes, she turns to me, and I can finally see her clearly.
Her blond hair is pulled up into a ponytail with a stretchy headband, keeping loose strands back from her temples and the nape of her neck.
Her cheeks are round and, with a slight turn-up of her nose, she’s like something out of a storybook.
A princess from a children’s fairy tale, and I rock back on my heels, absently catching myself with a hand on the cool metal counter.
She steps toward me, all golden skin and sunshine wrapped in a cute-as-pie package even as her body screams fuck me.
“I’m Eloise, by the way,” she says, extending her hand.
“Roman.” My hand engulfs hers when I shake it, our fingers lingering for a long time. I don’t feel like pulling away.
I guess she doesn’t either.
She cocks her head in this flirtatious way that I don’t think is on purpose, her pink lips pursing in a secretive smile. “Roman Stone. I’ve heard about you.”
I want to tell her that I’ve heard of her too, and now that she’s in front of me, my interest has only piqued.
Her eyes flick over me once again, and I fucking love how she steps closer to me, her head tipping back to meet my gaze. I wouldn’t be able to stop looking at her even if horses dragged me away. “What have you heard?”
“You’re the prodigal brother returned.”
I can’t deny it and wag my head side to side.
“You’re the mechanic who’s eighteen feet tall with the little girl who can’t stop cursing but everyone loves.”
I draw an imaginary line from the top of my head, measuring myself. “Not quite eighteen feet.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six five.”
Her eyes brighten at that. “And the little girl?”
“Mazie. She’s six, curses like a motherfucker, and everyone loves her more than me. As they should.”
Eloise’s flirty, closed lips open, revealing a smile that’s all teeth and crinkles her nose. It’s fucking cute.
She’s fucking cute.
And she probably has things to do, but she’s not moving. Doesn’t care about the destroyed bag of flour sitting two feet away from us.
“I’ve been in here,” I tell her. “But I’ve never seen you.”
She gestures, as if to encompass the room. “I’m usually in the kitchen. I get super focused when I bake.”
“My daughter loves your cinnamon rolls.”
Eloise crosses her arms, pushing her tits up, practically offering them on a platter for my ogling.
I try not to. “Yeah, they’re my thing. I make a lot of other pastries, but the buns are what keep the lights on.
I had a few videos blow up on social media two years ago, and a regional magazine did an article on me, so people come from all over to buy them.
Before that, it was kind of a struggle to survive.
But the community’s really supportive, you know?
We all help each other out. I’m sure you know that.
You grew up here. And your family is amazing.
I’m always popping in next door. I love Ian and all the guys.
Sloane said your kids are going to hang out together, and that’s really nice because—I’m sorry. ”
I lean down, shrinking a bit. “What?”
She flails her hands as if wiping down a whiteboard. “You were smiling…weirdly. I’m sorry, that’s really rude of me to say. But it was like you wanted me to stop talking, and I have a tendency to ramble on, sometimes about things people don’t care about and—”
“I’m out of practice.”
“What?”
“Smiling.” I motion to my face. “I don’t do it a lot. Maybe that’s why it looked weird.”
“Oh.”
I feel my mouth forming into a semblance of a smile. It probably does look weird. Doesn’t feel weird, though. “You can ramble. It’s okay.”
She releases a loud breath that relaxes her shoulders, and I don’t like that she was so tense about it. Like maybe not everyone in her life lets her be herself.
Fuckers.
“Ramble all you want.” I shrug. “I’ll listen.”
She grins, and I have that feeling again. Like the Hulk smashed me.
“What are you doing on October 16th?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not.
“Uh, I don’t know. Do…you…need something?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and waves her hands around by her ears. “No. No. Never mind. Only me being silly. So, uh…” She whacks my left bicep and then sort of pats it, which leads to squeezing. I clear my throat, and she snaps out of her trancelike state.
“Welcome to the neighborhood and all that,” she says, overly brightly, and warmth spreads through the hole the Hulk smashed in me. I like her. I like her bubbly yet slightly odd and chaotic energy. Especially when she blushes. “And thanks for helping me with the flour.”
“No problem.” There’s something about this woman that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I want to know her better. I should since I’ve been fucking her every day in my mind.
“Hey, Elle, are you going to make any more fruit tarts this week? Someone’s asking about them.”
Eloise and I both turn to the interruption. “Oh, um…sure.” When the employee’s eyes flicker to me, Eloise glances at me like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “This is Roman. Roman, this is Morgan.”
I tip my chin in greeting as I take in Morgan’s purple hair, septum piercing, and the name tag like the one I’d seen of Mio’s. Morgan’s reads they/them below their name.
“Hey.” Morgan nods at me before looking back to Eloise for her answer.
“Morgan keeps my shop running,” she tells me, which earns a vivid red blush from her employee.
Then she motions to them. “I’ll make the tarts as soon as I can get an order of fruits in.
I only have strawberries and blueberries right now.
Or, I guess I can always make a berry tart,” she muses and looks up to me as if my opinion matters. “People would like that, right?”
I lift a shoulder. “I like berries.”
Her answering smile lets me know it was the right answer. She gestures to Morgan. “I’ll have berry tarts made tomorrow.”
“Got it.” They slip back through the curtain, leaving Eloise and me alone once again.
“I should let you go,” I say at the same time she says, “You probably have things to do.”
She giggles, low and sweet, and I don’t want to leave but I do have to pick Mazie up.
“Come with me,” she instructs, placing her hand on my arm, steering me through the black curtain toward the front of the bakery.
I feel out of place traipsing through the delicate pink-and-white interior in my heavy boots, torn jeans, and faded Linkin Park T-shirt, but Eloise grins up at me like I’m made of fucking rainbows and glitter, and I think I’d do just about anything to have her always look at me like that.
I don’t know her well. Hell, I don’t know her at all. Only that she has a sense of humor about herself, tends to ramble, and can pull a smile out of me.
But I have the feeling she can make anyone smile.
Make anyone fall in love with her.
We stop by the front counter, where she waves to a woman with a toddler seated at a table. “Heya, Tabby.” She lowers her voice like a monster. “Hello, George.”
George, the toddler, shrieks in laughter, waving a piece of a muffin in his chubby hand while his mother attempts to make him sit.
Smiling to herself, Eloise packs up the last cinnamon roll and hands it to me. “For your help earlier.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” She takes my hand in hers, flipping my palm up to put the box in it. “But I want to. And I hope I’ll see you around, Roman.”
My name sounds nice coming from her lips. I nod. “You will. Have a good rest of your day, Eloise.”
She offers me a wave before disappearing back toward the kitchen, and I stalk out the door, the bell tinkling overhead.
Out on the sidewalk, I study the bakery’s pretty storefront, a small smile tugging at my mouth.
In the reflection of the window, I note that it does indeed look weird, so I immediately drop it.
Then I turn and head next door to the tattoo shop, greeted by my daughter, coloring on a big pad of paper in between Juniper and Riley.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says, which garners the attention of everyone in the shop.
It’s Sloane who eyes the pink box in my hand. “Finally met Eloise.”
“Yeah.”
She stares at me as if waiting for more information. I don’t know what else to tell her, so I shrug. “Helped her carry a big bag of flour into her kitchen.”
Jay strips off his gloves and tosses them in the garbage can. “That’s what they’re calling it nowadays? ‘Carrying a big bag of flour.’”
“Exactly how big was it?” Ian asks, a teasing smirk underneath his gray beard.
“Big enough,” I say, handing the roll over to Mazie, who tears into it.
“Well,” Sloane says, her voice filled with amusement. “Elle does like ’em big.”
I really didn’t need to know that. My adrenaline’s already coursing thick through my veins, simply from talking to the woman. Now I get to think about how true Sloane’s statement is?
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“All right, Maze, say goodbye. We gotta get going for your dance class.”
My daughter hugs both Riley and June, then hops down from her stool to do the same to the rest of the family, but I stop listening or paying attention when I spot Eloise through the window.
She steps out of Sweet Cheeks, a crossbody bag on, hair up in a messy knot now, and her headband gone, so a few light strands get trapped in the corner of her mouth with the breeze.
She tucks them behind her ear before bending to unlock a retro-looking bicycle with a speckled paint job.
Though as I step closer to the window, my nose almost right up on the glass, I can tell it’s not the paint.
It’s rust. And I wonder if it’s retro-looking or just fucking old.
Like the thing could fall apart at any moment.
She backs the bike away from the rack and glances over to me.
A wide smile spreads across her face as she waves. I lift a hand in response, like a trained dog. And damn, how I would follow at her feet if she allowed.
She hops onto her bike, pedaling away with practiced grace, and I watch until she’s completely out of sight. Only then do I pivot to Mazie, holding out my hand for her to take. But I can’t shake the image of Eloise from my head, her laughter ringing in my ears, her smile burned into my memory.
I’m in trouble.
But for the first time in a long time, it’s the kind of trouble I don’t mind finding myself in.