Chapter 24
24
Kieran
“You’re sure you can handle this on your own?” Lila asked from her perch in the doorway of the tiny office. “It’s a big one.” She motioned behind her to the boxes readied for the large catering order for a corporate retreat the next day. We’d been so slammed during the day, there hadn’t been time for me to get some sleep, and it was going to be a long night.
“I got it. I don’t want you to miss the concert.”
“Yeah. It’s a lot of work, though—I could come back after the show.” She rested one shoulder against the peeling paint of the door frame. It used to be a stark white against the yellow walls, but over the years, the colors had morphed closer and closer together. The black of her top was a study in contrast. “I hate to leave you all alone to handle it.”
“I won’t be alone,” I said, closing the window I’d had open to review our sales numbers. “Sybil is coming over to help.” I’d been compiling our receipts from the festival and the last few days. We had done even better than I’d thought, and I pictured Sybil’s quick smile, the one she’d flashed over her shoulder at me a hundred times that day. I knew I had an “I told you so” coming, but she’d smile when she said it. The smile I’d started to anticipate and hope I’d get to see again. I tried not to give that away, though, and I studied the screen and keyboard to avoid my sister’s expression, one I knew would be two parts “well, well, well” and one part crass euphemism. I finally gave in after the moment of silence and looked at her.
“Sybil, huh?”
I corrected myself. It was three parts “well, well, well,” and I expected that the crass euphemism would just be vocalized.
“She offered to help, and it wouldn’t hurt for us to get used to being near each other and looking natural.” I nudged past her and out into the kitchen, the weight of her raised eyebrow on the back of my head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You like her,” she said in a singsong voice that made her sound much younger and sweeter than she actually was.
“She’s kind,” I admitted, checking on our baking supplies. “And less…annoying than I thought she might be.”
“And she makes you laugh.” Lila pushed away from the door frame and sauntered past me.
“I chuckle at most,” I said.
“And she’s hot,” Lila commented casually.
Hot was an understatement. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the way her thighs and hips took shape under her jeans and how distracting her chest had been under that tight shirt. And her smile…The wattage of her smile, the way it made my face relax and my heart beat faster, was the most persistent image in my head. I coughed into my fist and looked intently in a box. The way she looked was distracting, but I didn’t want to give it a voice. “She’s single, if you think so,” I said. “Shoot your shot.”
“She’s dating you, brother.” Lila bopped my nose with the tip of her finger, something she knew I hated. “Very publicly. And do you plan to spend time together in your original way? Just deciding how far I need to steer clear of the shop tonight.”
“We’re going to make donuts and talk. I’m having dinner with her family soon, so we need to prepare.” I motioned her toward the back exit. “That’s it. It’s strictly business. Go away.”
“Kieran and Sybil sitting in a tree, K-I-S—”
I interrupted her song with the creak of the back door as I held it open. I dug into my pocket and fished out three twenty-dollar bills. “If you’re done,” I said, “here. I wish it was more, but I appreciate you helping so much more lately on top of school.”
Lila’s expression softened, and she took the bills from my hand, looking from them to me. “You don’t have to thank me. I know the shop fell to you to run as the oldest, but he is my granddad, too,” she said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate everything you’re doing to save it.” She took a few steps toward her car, knowing I’d wait at the door until she climbed in. “And also for what it’s worth, I think Sybil likes you, too.”
I shook my head and waved again, wanting her gone before Sybil arrived so I didn’t need to consider her assessment. “I never said I liked her,” I added, too late.
“You didn’t have to. Have fun with your girlfriend,” Lila said, the teasing tone back before she closed the door and drove away. The sky was fading from the glow of the Des Moines skyline into the indigo of night, the stars beginning to appear over the old neon Travelers insurance sign.
“Hey!” A familiar voice carried through the alley behind the store, and Sybil rounded the corner. She wore a black puffy coat over jeans and a pink T-shirt cropped to reveal a sliver of her belly. I loved those shirts and that peek at her skin. “I wasn’t sure if I could park back here or not,” she said, walking across the uneven pavement.
“Just as well,” I said, motioning her inside and hanging her coat on a hook by the door. “The odds were decent that you’d crash your car through our back wall.”
“Funny,” she said, sliding past me through the open door. The tight fit of the T-shirt meant the entire side of her body grazed mine, and I stifled the urge to reach for the small of her back, realizing too late that that was exactly what we were meant to be getting used to doing. “You’re funny.”
She spun in a slow circle, and my vision snagged on the way her jeans tapered down her thighs, thighs I remembered more than was good for me. I was distracted enough to forget the door, and it slammed behind me, making us both jump.
“Sorry,” I said, shooting my eyes to her face. “One more thing that needs fixing.”
Sybil had changed her hair, and it was in two braids along the side of her head and tucked behind her ears. “You really don’t have to help,” I added, pulling an apron from a hook on the wall and sliding the strap over my head.
“Take full advantage of me,” she said, holding out her hand for the other apron, and the glint in her eyes made me think it was a challenge to take or ignore her double entendre.
I ignored it, knowing my brain would remind me of the shape of those words leaving her mouth later. “You’ll need to cover your hair,” I said, our fingers brushing when I handed over the apron. Her skin was so soft, which I knew from earlier, but that still seemed to surprise me every time.
“I came prepared,” she said, snatching a bandanna from her back pocket. “I know I look good in whatever I wear and that this is all fake, but I couldn’t do a hairnet on a first date, even if it’s for show.” Her fingers worked over her hairline as she spoke and tied the bright blue bandanna over her hair. “But don’t let me stop you from making it look good.” She smiled, her arms still raised as she tied a knot in the bandanna.
I pulled my hat from the hook and pulled it on over my hair, the bill facing backward. “No net for me, either.”
“Nice,” she said, guiding the apron over her head. It was a relief and a disappointment to lose the view of her body under her tight clothes but a friendly reminder to get my head back on straight.
“Okay,” I said, stepping around her and pointing to a whiteboard where I’d outlined what we needed for the next day. “They’ve ordered twenty-seven dozen for a conference happening in the morning, so objectives for the night are to prepare yeast, cake, and buttermilk donuts.”
“And to get you used to being around me.” Sybil’s hands were on my sides, her delicate fingers resting over my obliques.
“To get used to each other,” I corrected, gritting my teeth. Her hands on me, even in that simple way, felt so damn good.
Sybil didn’t move. She actually stepped closer behind me, the warmth of her presence and the swell of her curves against my back making me tense all over as her fingers wiggled at my sides. “Relax,” she said, her voice like a purr.
“Ordering me to relax doesn’t relax me,” I said, though I wasn’t tensing under her touch because I was uncomfortable. I was fighting the urge to pin her against a wall with that fervor and gusto she’d wanted so badly.
“Pretend to relax, then. Pretend you’ve known me for years and I’ve touched you like this a thousand times. Like it’s just what we do.” Her left palm slipped, and her fingers grazed the waist of my jeans, sending a shot of electricity through me. “Pretend I’ve touched you like this in the shower, or after you’ve explored every inch of my body, or when you’d been gone for a long time and I missed you.”
I closed my eyes against the sensation and the image forming in my head of her touching me in the shower, willing my body to calm down. “That’s better!” she exclaimed, and let her hands fall away. “But I promise not to surprise you again,” she said, a sheepish expression on her face that convinced me she’d read my reaction very wrong. “You should know I’m a toucher, but I’ll try to give you more warning next time.”
“It’s doubtful you’ll ever stop surprising me.” I pointed at the donut mixes and began explaining the different doughs and how we’d start with the yeast donuts. Do not think of Sybil in the shower. Do not think of Sybil in the shower.
“Lila and I made the first batch of dough already, and it’s in the proofer.” When I motioned to the expanding dough behind the glass, my gaze snagged on Sybil’s expression.
“Ooh! I used to love rolling out dough baking with my mom as a kid. Can I do that part?” She studied the equipment, her eyes lighting up with curiosity, and I bit back a grin. I had no intention of smiling like a lovesick puppy just because she was happy, just because her face lit up when she was interested, so I turned away and grunted a “sure” over my shoulder.
“You know,” she said, watching me haul the dough from the proofing oven to the counter, “direct and targeted marketing to local companies might increase your catering business. I bet you could scale back the late-night hours—there are so many local businesses that might be good customers.” She chuckled and walked toward me. “I should know—I’ve temped everywhere, and I started looking into it. I read a bunch of articles and then I found this YouTube channel and watched, like, twenty videos in a row on strategies.”
I sank my hands into the dough, the familiar burn in my forearms more pronounced with her eyes on me. “That’s actually a really good idea,” I replied, thinking through what she’d said.
“Yeah, and you could have a section on the website with deals for bulk orders.” She spoke faster as she got excited. “Oh my gosh! What if we took samples to places downtown and pitched to them in person?”
I grinned to myself, my back to her. “We?” I tried to ignore the way heat prickled on the back of my neck, and I tipped the dough onto the counter the way Granddad had taught me. The scent mingled with whatever Sybil was wearing, and it took all my energy to focus my attention on the dough rather than the way her voice seemed to wrap around my body as I separated the dough with the same blade we’d used for decades.
“Of course, we.” Sybil placed a palm on my back and leaned around me to watch me work. “You’re horrible at small talk, and we’re a team, remember?”
I paused my movements and glanced over my shoulder, and she held out her palm for a high five. “I guess we are.” I motioned to the roller behind Sybil. The long cylinder was heavy, and I watched the line of her biceps as she walked it over, examining the wood. “If your arms get tired, I can take over.” I guided her to take my place in front of the dough atop the counter.
“I have excellent upper-body strength.” Sybil met my gaze over her shoulder. “Have you seen me in this shirt?”
“That shirt shows off your excellent upper body,” I said without thinking. “Not sure about the strength.”
“I swear to God, Kieran, it’s like you can’t help but flirt with me despite your best efforts to put up this grumpy front.” She positioned her hands on the roller and rolled out the dough, her giggle fading away, and I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined her concentrating, focused on how the dough spread.
I ignored her comment about me flirting with her. “Start in the middle and roll out. You’ll want it evenly thick,” I said.
“Thickness is a personal interest,” she said without looking back at me and then paused her rolling. “See, jokes like that are how I get everyone besides you to like me.”
She rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers before beginning to roll the dough again, and I knew the burn she was feeling in her muscles. I kind of liked her having that in common with me, but I didn’t like how resigned she’d sounded in that last statement.
“Let me help,” I said, stepping behind her. I placed my hands next to hers on the roller, stepping into her space. “May I?”
She nodded and her fingers grazed mine. “I guess I was a little overconfident in my upper-body strength,” she said.
“Like this.” I guided her, our arms moving together, my chest against her back. “Let the roller do the work,” I added, lowering my voice since I was so close to her ear.
“Okay.” Sybil sounded breathless, probably from how much effort she’d put into rolling out the dough, but I wanted it to be something else, so much that I stayed there, helping her roll slowly, our bodies pressed close together.
“You know, you don’t always have to have a dirty joke at the ready. For the record, there are lots of reasons people like you.” I inhaled the scent of her hair product as we moved in tandem. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees that.”
“You like me?”
I grunted in the affirmative. There was no other sound to make, because I was putting all my energy into not getting an erection while rolling dough out with her. “Not the jokes,” I added. “But there are a lot of reasons to like you. You’re really creative and you think about possibilities. Like the direct marketing to local businesses—that’s a really good idea. You don’t always have to be the comic relief is what I mean.”
She was quiet, going back to her work. “You really think so?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I didn’t say anything, but studied the length of her arms and the side of her neck.
“How’s this?” she said, voice still breathless, and I stepped in to her to peer over her shoulder, regretting the movement right away because it put me against her ass.
“This is good,” I said, stepping back immediately. I motioned to the dough and handed her one of the donut cutters hanging on hooks above the counter. She turned the tool in her hands, eyes lighting as she examined it.
“A cookie cutter? Er, donut cutter?”
I grinned, grabbing the other cutter from over her shoulder. “You just thought we all shaped them by hand and kept them the same size?”
“I guess I never thought about it,” she said. “You’re such a precise guy. It’s not like it’s out of the realm of possibility. That’s probably why you liked medicine, huh? Science is precise.”
I showed her how close together to make the shapes and watched her work, positioning each piece of dough to get it just right. “What I really like is answering questions that will ultimately help people. There are so many unanswered questions about our bodies and minds,” I said, guiding her hand an inch to the right, really for the excuse to touch her. “I enjoy the precision of medicine.”
“Speaking of precision, check out these beautiful donuts!” Sybil pressed her palms together over her heart. “Even the holes are perfect!”
“They’re beautiful holes,” I said, pointing to her tray and ignoring her raised eyebrows. “And that one was for you.”
Her grin lit up her face—hell, it lit up the room, and I returned her smile this time before I could stop myself.
“Thank you,” she said. “It was an elegantly constructed joke.” She finished arranging the dough to fill the baking sheet.
“Not really a joke,” I added, beginning to gather the scraps together.
“Close enough,” she said, bopping me on the nose with her flour-covered finger.
“What was that for?” I wiped my nose, brushing the flour away with my forearm.
She touched my face again, this time dragging flour along my chin. “For ‘not really a joke.’?” She reached for my nose again, but I intercepted her, my fingers at her wrist.
“It wasn’t a joke, mostly just…wordplay.” With her wrist still in my hand, I returned her gesture, spattering her nose with flour.
“Hey!” She yelped and wriggled under my grasp, but I held her tight enough to get a long swipe along her cheek in. “No fair.”
“All’s fair in love and donuts.” I tried to get her once more, but she slid out of my grip. We’d have to change our gloves and rewash our hands, but I liked how she felt in my grip, and her energy was contagious somehow. How else to explain why I was in the shop kitchen circling with this woman, both of our faces sprinkled with flour? “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, Syb,” I taunted. “I’ll come out on top.”
“I don’t believe for a minute you’ve been acting a fool in a kitchen longer than me,” she said, reaching for me but missing entirely. “Next swipe wins, and you’re going down.”
The first thought was on the tip of my tongue. I’ve gone down before, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I swallowed that, though. “Wins what?”
“First warm donut,” she said, sliding her hands along the counter, picking up more flour.
“Deal.” I mirrored her action and stepped closer.
“You called me Syb,” she said, shifting from left to right with a bounce in her step that had my gaze slipping to her chest.
“Is that okay?”
She circled me, stepping forward and back as if we were boxing. “I like it. You’ve just never done that before. Does that mean you’re beginning to like me?”
I dropped my hands. “I never didn’t like you.” Lila’s taunting rang in my head. “I don’t want you to think—”
She moved fast before I could finish my sentence. “Victory!” Her finger slid the length of my cheek, ending at the corner of my lip.
Sybil stood so close, I could see the tiny freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose, and I let my hand fall, my fingertips skimming her arm. “You got me,” I said. “Was this a ploy to get me comfortable with you touching me?”
“No.” Sybil tapped my chin with her index finger. “I’m not that strategic. But did it work?” She slid her palm down my biceps, and goose bumps rose all along my skin.
“Yeah,” I said, resting my hand at her waist. “But, Syb?”
When I used the nickname, she got the same light in her eyes, like her face brightened. “Yeah?” She tipped her chin up, and it would have been so easy to kiss her, but I dragged my thumb across her dark red lower lip instead, smearing flour over it. “Rematch begins now.”