Chapter 1 Candy
Candy
"Getting more of a presence on social media would be huge for business, Mrs. Katz, and I can make it happen for the bakery.
I'll show you all my ideas after we close today.
" I shouldn't be out of breath walking next to a woman in her seventies, but I swear Mrs. Katz stops me in my tracks because she's worried I’ll hyperventilate trying to keep up with her.
"Candy." Mrs. Katz grabs the bags of creamer I'm carrying for her and gives me a patient smile. "I'm sure you could do something wonderful. But I've run my business for almost fifty years. I'm ready to sell, dear."
"Right, of course." I attempt a smile, but I can’t hide the disappointment thick in my voice. "You deserve that."
Mrs. Katz clucks her tongue sympathetically and pats me on the shoulder. "Who knows? It might take a year to find a buyer."
Duhring Park has a robust tourist market, and the bakery is right off the main road. Somebody will buy the space in no time, but I nod enthusiastically.
"I'll keep you on as long as we're open. You're my best worker. Your energy keeps me young." Mrs. Katz smiles, then nods to the door beside us. "Now, go check on your car, and I'll see you in a few minutes."
I startle when I realize she’s walked me right where I need to be. "Thanks. I'll be as fast as I can."
Mrs. Katz waves and hurries away in her orthopedic sneakers like the little engine that could. Meanwhile, I use my hand to fan myself, hoping my profuse sweating will provide the dewy glow that compensates for my inconsistent skincare routine.
Checking my watch one more time, I take a deep breath before opening the glass door into Milo's Garage. The oily scent hits me, and I close my eyes for a moment. Having grown up with a mechanic for a father, it's not unpleasant in the least, but today it smells like doom.
My car died right outside the shop yesterday, so on the plus side, I didn't have to pay for a tow. The downside? I am beyond broke, and my old jalopy isn’t worth the cost of duct tape.
My job at the bakery is now in limbo, and my second job requires a car, leaving me between a rock and a hard place.
I'm hoping I can sweet-talk Milo into a payment plan... of about fifty years.
Standing on my tiptoes, I crane my neck, searching for the man of the hour.
Milo comes into Katz's Bakery every afternoon.
I'd guess he's about my age—early thirties—and a friendly guy, though he’s almost always stoned, hence the need for pie on a regular basis. Yesterday, he had his guys push my car directly into the garage and told me to come back today after he’d had a chance to look at it.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I peer into the back office, but I don't see Milo.
I check my watch again. I still have time to get to the bakery before my shift starts, and I do not want to wait for bad news after a long day on my feet making minimum wage.
Allowing myself a fleeting moment to curse fate and my terrible taste in men during my twenties that left me broke, I refocus on the present: car, work, plan.
"Can I help you?"
My nipples harden instantly in response to the deep, masculine timbre that comes from behind me. Yum. Now, that voice could persuade me to do almost anything.
I'm fluttering my eyelashes before I even turn around, and then my mouth drops open at the sight of the tall, sexy man in coveralls eyeing me like he's already annoyed.
"Hi," I chirp like a horny bird. Be cool, be cool, I plead with my body, mind, and soul. Apparently, my version of cool involves drooling while his bright blue eyes stare back at me with a look of gruff wariness.
His dark blond hair is a little long on top, and he's got a sexy stubble that looks like it would tickle in the best possible way.
The soft cotton sleeves of his uniform strain around his bulging biceps, and the name tag embroidered over his left pec reads, Slate.
Of course he has a name like that. A big, strong, sexy man like him needs a name to match.
By the time my eyes reach his face, his brow is furrowed, and I realize he's been talking to me the entire time I've been ogling him.
"Did you say something?" I ask with a big smile. I’m already doubting my ability to convince Milo to help me out. This sexy grump is a whole other ballpark.
Studly Slate eyes me, perhaps trying to decide if I'm in need of special assistance, and repeats his question slowly. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so." My eyes involuntarily drop to his mouth. So very sexy. But I'm on a mission. In another lifetime, I would be all over this man.
I sigh. "I'm looking for Milo. My car broke down yesterday, and he said he'd look at it. For free," I add quickly, even though he didn't actually say that.
Slate crosses his arms, and I try not to stare as it makes his gorgeous muscles pop.
"Are you the blue Saturn?"
"Yep, that's me." I smile brightly. "I love a classic car, don't you?"
Slate grunts, but I have no idea if it's in agreement or derision. He holds his hand out, motioning for me to walk ahead of him, and I oblige. As I carefully pick my way through the garage, I glance over my shoulder and notice him checking me out.
Gruff indifference, my ass.
My victory is short-lived when I see my baby ahead of us, still up on the lift. Slate lowers the car down, and I run my hand over the faded blue side.
"Okay, what's the damage?"
"$950."
"Well, shit. Don't sugarcoat it," I say, putting a hand to my chest as panic sets in.
Slate shrugs, the corner of his lip lifting ever so slightly at my dramatics. "I prefer to rip the band-aid off."
I nod, wanting to smile back at him, but I think I’m on the verge of a heart attack.
"How much?" I ask again, hoping I hallucinated the number due to drooling over the sexy man in front of me.
He grimaces slightly before squaring his jaw. "$950."
Ice water runs through my veins as I try to process the amount while my body heats from Slate's proximity. As much as I'd like to be turned off, this man has me ready to bend over and beg for it.
"Any chance I can pay it off with hand jobs?" I joke weakly, then let out an awkward laugh and wave a dismissive hand when his eyes widen. "Kidding, of course. Although, if I thought I could gain some fans, I might consider doing some cam girl stuff. They make bank."
Slate shifts uncomfortably and tugs at the back of his neck.
What? Oh God. I'm babbling like an idiot, but this is what I do when I'm upset: make inappropriate jokes and sexually harass men who give me bad news. This is why I have such bad juju in the love department.
Adonis narrows his eyes at me, which intensifies the throbbing between my legs. I love a growly man. It’s both my curse and my joy.
"Um, okay." I take a deep breath, not wanting to reveal to the man in front of me how utterly fucked I am—especially if he isn’t interested in making it the fun kind of fucking. "Can I have a few days to see if I can get the money together?"
I absolutely will not be able to scrape together that kind of money even if I had a month, but I need to get to work.
Sex God McGee eyes me like he knows I'm not good for the inspection he's already done, so I flash a smile that I hope makes me look capable of paying my bills. It's a smile filled with lies.
"Yes," he finally says.
I release a whoosh of air. "Thank you."
"You'd be better off putting that money into a new car, though."
Sexy Slate hasn't taken his eyes off me. If he knew what his attention was doing to my panties, he'd probably run for the hills.
Despite my better judgment, I glance at his hand. No ring. But that doesn't mean anything. Half the men in my life were mechanics who never wore rings. Good way to lose a finger in this business.
"It was my grandpa's car. I used to watch him work on it." I sigh again and gaze longingly at the hunk of junk. "It was a good run, Pops," I whisper as I run my hand over the roof, fighting back the tears that prick my eyes.
Slate clears his throat. "I'll look around the shop. We might have a few of the parts and save you some money," he finally says, not unkindly.
I nod, wiping tears from my eyes. Unless he can find $950 worth of parts lying around, it won't do any good, but I'm grateful all the same.
"Thank you." I lock eyes with him and suck in a sharp breath. Am I imagining the heat between us?
Yep. I most certainly am, because my luck is shit.
"I need to get to work," I say, shaking my head as I navigate past a stack of tires and carefully step around a hose on my way to the exit. "I'll stop by on Saturday?"
I'm vaguely aware of Slate nodding as I turn and rush out the door.
Screw hand jobs; I'd be that man's sex slave for life if he asked.
***