20. Alexandra
twenty
Between Christopher’s scent wrapping me in a daze of need, the sight of his hands working the dough when they could be working me, his clipped orders that are so far removed from his tone earlier, and his commanding eyes that see right through my clothes, I’m dying, and I think it shows.
I fumble the simple task of cutting the croissant dough into triangles. Christopher extends his hand to help me, then steps back. “Best for both of us if I leave you to it,” he growls.
I nod, words escaping me when I’m close to him.
My eyes follow his body as he retreats from me, and I fall into the best daydream.
“You okay, Alex?” Isaac asks, startling me.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. You?”
“You’ve been staring for five minutes,” he continues. “I kept track.” He comes closer to me. “Are you high?” he asks in a low tone.
Yeah, I’m high on our boss.“Wh-what? Are you crazy?” I scoff. I jump out of my daydreaming, and my gaze hones back on Christopher.
He’s talking on his cell phone, eyes shut, free hand running through his hair. “You need me to come jump-start your car…? Colton. Okay… How long’s he gonna be?” He glances at the clock on the wall, at the activity in the bakehouse. “Don’t worry about it, Grace. I got her,” he says. Then he hangs up and takes a deep breath and brushes his hand over his face.
“Want me to load these in the oven for you?” Isaac asks me. I eventually managed to cut, roll, and brush the croissants with egg wash without too much damage or waste.
“That’d be great, thanks,” I tell him while I make my way to Christopher. “D’you need my help with Skye?” I ask him.
He looks at me like he didn’t remember I was here at all. “Grace is going to be late. I—”
“I can take care of her,” I say. I avert my eyes from him, or I might jump him in front of everyone. His jaw clenches, and it takes all I have not to suck his bottom lip right now.
“You sure?” He looks around at the bakehouse, buzzing like a beehive at this time of day. Even though everyone knows what they need to do, Christopher’s presence is essential for everything to go smoothly.
Then, he locks eyes with me, and as his magnetism pulls me in, I teeter. “Of course,” I say, taking my apron off quickly. I need to put some distance between the two of us, at least for now.
“Can you make me a French braid like yours?” Skye asks when we’re in her bathroom.
“Sure.” I smile and get to work immediately, so she’s not late.
“Today is casting for the spring show,” she explains.
“Oh! Right.” With everything going on with Christopher, I forgot about that, and I feel guilty. That’s another reason why Christopher and I could hurt Skye. By getting wrapped into our own stuff. At least me. To the point of forgetting today is one important day for this little girl. “Are you nervous?”
“No. I’m wearing my good luck sweater.” It’s her bright orange sweater with small green turtles. It has a happy vibe and looks great with her complexion. It’s pilling along the sides, and I’m guessing Skye feels she needs good luck more often than not.
The sleeves are also getting short. Next year it won’t fit her. “It’s very pretty,” I say. Yeah, I’m not great with kids. In case anybody is still wondering, another reason not to have a serious relationship with a single dad. Seriously, what do I have to bring to the table?
Minutes later, we’re in the kitchen, and I’m going through the motions of making her a hot chocolate to even out the bowl of cold cereal she’s eating. It’s a short walk to school, but temperatures are in the single digits. She’ll need all the warmth she can get. I know, it’s a lot of milk, but I’m short on ideas. So, cereal and hot chocolate.
While she’s eating, I brew myself a strong coffee. Between the four a.m. start time and the hot makeout session with her father, my eyelids are fluttering already, and the sun is barely up.
I don’t know when or how it happens, but halfway into a quiet breakfast, I hear a squeal and a wail. Skye’s hot chocolate is splattered all over her sweater and onto her pants.
“Oh, nooooo!” she cries.
I wipe the mess off the table with paper towels, but that’s not what we’re concerned with here.
Skye pulls on her soiled sweater. “Whu-whu-whuddama gonna do?” she sobs.
That, I think I can help with. Been there myself more than once.
I bring her upstairs, and while she changes her pants, I run the sweater under water, pat it dry between two towels, then get to work on it with the hairdryer while Skye keeps sniffling. That does the trick.
“All right, Skye, look! No more crying.” I hand her the clean and dry sweater. She puts it on and hugs my legs.
Crisis averted without adding to Christopher’s load of stress. I’ll call it a win.
But it was a close call, so I crouch to her level and lift her chin. “Having good luck clothes or objects helps, but remember that you are the one who gets to decide what your good luck charm is. You can change it. It’s what you believe that gives the sweater its power. Understand?”
She frowns but nods, humoring me.
“You’re the wizard of your own life. Don’t you ever forget that. You have the power.”
Look at me, doling out lessons to a six-year-old I can’t even follow myself.
She wipes her tears and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says.
Minutes later, I take her tiny hand in mine as we walk outside. Our gloves make it hard to feel the connection, but it’s there. She doesn’t try to remove herself, and something deep and strong churns in me. She trusts me. Counts on me. Looks up to me.
It’s another bluebird day, with the sun shining low on the horizon, the snow glittering all around us, and the sky a pale blue this early, with promises of deepening during the day.
So gorgeous it hurts.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the gift that this moment is. A moment that won’t last. I take it all in and store it in my little bank of happy memories for later. For when I’ll need memories of happy times.
We get to school with a few minutes to spare. I crouch and Skye wraps her little arms around me to say goodbye. “Good luck with the casting, sweetie pie,” I whisper in her ear.
She surprises me by kissing my cheek before running into her classroom.
As I walk out of the school building, I wave at Emma helping Caroline out of her car. It’s a small town. I need to play nice with everyone, even if Emma is not my first choice for making friends.
I feel happy and light today.
Walking back toward The Green, I make a detour to buy some flowers. I want to bring my happy into the bakery, and a bright bouquet of flowers will do just that.
I know it makes Christopher happy.
On my way out of the shop, I bump into Emma again.
“Do you have time for coffee?” she asks me. She has perfectly coiffed hair despite the weather requiring hats. Her makeup is right on point, including lipstick the exact shade I remember too acutely being on Christopher’s shirt. She even has the kind of teeth described as pearly in kissing books.
She’s so perfect it’s intimidating.
Me? I got up at four and barely glanced at myself in the mirror. Granted, that hot make out session with Christopher did make me feel like a million bucks, and my morale is off the charts right now, but come on. I need to stretch that capital of self-confidence as far as I can.
So, coffee with Emma? Maybe not just yet. Plus, I’m getting a weird vibe from her.
Okay, I’m not totally over the Lipstick Incident. Yet.
“Maybe next time?” I smile as genuinely as I can. “Gotta rush.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she says, looping her arm in mine and dragging me to Easy Monday.
On our way in, we run into Autumn. Rather desperately, I latch onto her. “Have your coffee with us!”
I need a friendly presence.
Her eyes dart between Emma and me, and she looks a little panicked. “I-I’m on a job,” she says.
“A decorating job?” I’m so excited for her.
“Yeah.”
Why does she look anxious? “Ohmygod, Autumn! That’s fantastic. Take some before and after pictures, okay? For your social media. I’ll handle it.” People don’t realize it, but putting other people’s work in the spotlight actually brings me joy. Autumn probably thinks it’s a chore, but this is fun for me.
“Will do,” she says as she scampers away.
Even stressed out, Autumn’s sunny disposition, and the news that she’s finally starting her new business, just made my day better. “Sorry about that,” I say to Emma with a small smile, then place my order with Millie, who informs me that today I’m to graduate from the pot of drip coffee to a Sweet Surrender. “Trust me,” she whispers.
“Kay,” I whisper back.
“So, did you get a new position?” Emma asks once we’re seated.
“A new…? What?”
She takes a dainty lap from her green tea, giving my discomfort time to grow. “I heard about the baking disasters,” she says with a patronizing smile. “It figures Chris would move you to doing other things. I have to say though, trusting you with Skye is impressive. I never thought he’d make the leap.”
I stop with my own cup midair. “What—oh. Oh no, Grace had car issues. I just jumped in and took Skye to school, that’s all.” I’m going to let that little jab at my baking skills slide. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it. But I do need to set the record straight. “I’m still very much apprenticing with Chris.”
“I see. How long are you here for?”
Funny, I thought she knew. Thought she’d read my contract and all. Maybe she didn’t pay attention. “Until mid-June. Another few months until I go back to New York.”
“I bet you miss the city. Do you live in Manhattan?”
“Brooklyn,” I say and take a long sip of my coffee.
She rolls her eyes and manages to look really cute doing it. “You must find our little town so boring.”
“Not at all. It’s charming and peaceful. The people are lovely. I’ve been keeping super busy outside of the apprenticeship and making more friends here than I have in Brooklyn, actually. Matter of fact, I have started helping some businesses with their social media, on the side.” She witnessed my interaction with Autumn just now, and I saw her linger around my table during the community dinner. I already have ideas of what a CPA could do to get more clients through social media.
If she asks me, I’ll help her.
“And how are things with Christopher?” she asks instead, surprising me.
“Things? What things?” Does she know already? How could she?
Emma lets out a small laugh. “Work, darling. What other things could I possibly be talking about?”
I tame the flash of heat going through me. Right, work. “Work is good. It’s hard, though. Hard work.”
“Mmm. How about the boss?”
“Christopher?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Do you have another boss?”
What’s up with the interrogation? “He’s… he’s great.”
“Got you tongue-tied, doesn’t he? I bet he does.” She smiles at me like we’re both in on some secret. “He’s quite the package, isn’t he?”
I widen my eyes, not sure what I’m supposed to say to that.
“Oh, come on. You can tell me. Don’t tell me you don’t ogle that tight little ass.”
I feel myself blushing. Give me an hour, and I’ll have a ton of comebacks.
I don’t have an hour.
“Well, this has been nice,” I tell Emma, putting my coat on and grabbing the flowers. “I should get back while I still have a job.”
Emma laughs. “Oh well, if all else fails, he could definitely use a nanny.”
“Right,” I say.
The cold air snaps me back in shape. I was all out of sorts there for a bit.
When I get back to the bakery, all I need is one look at Chris and my mood is back on the upswing. His hands that were on me just two hours ago are shaping breads, molding rolls, flouring cookies. The tight ass that has Emma all turned on is flexing as he leans into ovens and carries loads of confections. I peel my gaze from him, put the flowers in a vase, and focus on my tasks for the next four hours.
When lunch time comes around, I’m beat. It’s just the two of us in the kitchen. The rest of the crew is either gone or helping in the store. He’s standing, as usual, eating a sandwich. I’m too tired to be hungry. “I’m going to take a quick break in my room,” I tell him.
“No,” he says. “Stay here. Get your feet up on the couch if you need to.”
I don’t move.
His sandwich finished, he licks his fingers and turns around to wash his hands at the sink. “I’m having some guys refinishing the steps to your room. You can’t go up there right now. They’re going to need a couple more hours at least.”
I’m exhausted. The couch sounds good, so I plop on it and close my eyes.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says, startling me.
I open my eyes. Did I fall asleep? I must have. I’m totally drowsy.
“Time to work on educating your palate. Everyone’s gone,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me up. When I’m standing flush against him, he dips his lips to mine, and his tongue trails lazily inside. I close my eyes. He’s such a good kisser. His full lips pull on mine just enough to increase my arousal. His tongue is now more aggressive, fucking my mouth.
God, I want him inside me.
Now.
I drop my hand to his erection, and he rocks against it. My fingers find his zipper, but he stops me, pulling my hand away.
“We still have some work to do, beautiful.”
“We do?” I breathe, my mouth tasting the saltiness on his neck.
“Mm-hm. Blind tastings. Should be fun.”