Chapter 5. Pancakes and Glasses Are Essentially Lethal Weapons
CHAPTER 5
Pancakes and Glasses Are Essentially Lethal Weapons
A tall, dark-haired woman was standing in front of the neighboring yarn store, looking curious as I walked back toward the shop after Alec had left.
“Hey there,” she called out. “I saw you going in earlier. Are you the new tenant?”
“I am.” I smiled and introduced myself.
“Oh, awesome.” She offered her hand. “I’m Kimiko Halim. You look so much friendlier than the grouchy old man who was here last. All the tenants in the neighborhood didn’t like him, and we were all so glad when he finally decided to retire.”
I grinned at the woman, instantly liking her. “Lovely to meet you, Kimiko.” I tilted my head at her. “Halim? Is that an Indonesian surname?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yeah. How do you know? It’s from my father’s side of the family. And please, call me Kim.”
“My parents are Chinese Indonesian,” I said. “They were born in Jakarta but moved to the States.”
My new friend clapped her hands in delight. “My grandpa is going to be so happy to hear about this.” She gestured to the yarn shop next door, its window display full of colorfully knitted sweaters, bright scarves and beanies, and cute crocheted animals. “That’s mine. Well, technically it still belongs to my grandparents, but I’m running it now. Are you a knitter?”
“Afraid not.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay, I won’t hold it against you.” She shot a curious look toward my store. “What are you planning to do here?”
“A bakery. Specializing in low-carb, sugar-free desserts. The usual things like brownies, donuts, cupcakes, and cookies, but we’ll be using natural plant-based sweeteners.” My confidence took a sharp nosedive when a slight crease appeared on her forehead. I struck a pose, like a 1980s game show model showcasing a product, trying to cover my awkwardness. “We offer healthier choices, but with the same great taste!”
When I said it out loud like that, the idea seemed silly, not worth the huge gamble of uprooting my life and investing all my savings into it.
“That sounds great.” Kim gave me an approving nod. “I promise I’ll be one of your most loyal customers. We small business owners must stick together.”
“Thanks. I don’t know when we’ll be able to open, though.” I pointed at the store, gesturing for her to peek inside. Her eyes went wide at the sight.
“That’s an enormous piece of tree.”
“And the best part is, it comes with its own squirrels.”
“Gosh.” She let out a low whistle. “You really have your work cut out for you.”
“Yeah. But a supposed expert in the building industry said I should consider myself lucky, because the location is excellent, and he thought I won’t need any other major repairs.”
“Better get that so-called expert to help you with the work, then. But he’s right, the location is excellent. Anyway, good luck, and let me know if you need any help.” She tilted her head, her brows drawing closer. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Damn YouTube video. “Don’t think so. I’m from out of town. It’s my first day in Port Benedict.”
Kim beamed at me. “Right. Must’ve mistaken you for someone else. Well, good to meet you, Ellie. I should get back to my store, but we should get together for dinner sometime.”
I returned her smile. “That would be lovely.” It was nice to meet a friendly new face in the middle of this debacle of a day.
Hopefully that was a sign that things were looking up.
Back home, my usual morning routine was to wake up at six, go for a forty-five-minute run, then take a quick shower before breakfast. The exercise helped me start the day energized and focused, while keeping my glucose levels under control.
But of course, I wasn’t home right now. I was in a new place, in a different time zone, three hours behind my hometown. And without my approval, my body clock had decided to forge ahead and take charge, stirring me at three in the morning because, hey, who needs an alarm clock? It insisted I open my eyelids, although the pitch-black darkness outside wisely recommended that I snuggle back under my comfortable blanket.
Heeding its advice, I tried to go back to sleep. Until images of gigantic tree limbs, hailstorms of chipped roof tiles, and squirrels as big as my arms innocently waltzed into my brain, finally catapulting my eyes wide open.
It wasn’t a nightmare. I really was thousands of miles away from home, the proud new tenant of a severely damaged store, and sleeping under the same roof as Alec McGrumpyface.
Cue loud groan.
Fully awake now, I padded out to the guest bathroom and jumped in the shower, relishing the wonderful feel of hot water drumming on my back. I shuddered a little, because less than twenty-four hours ago, I was actually desperate enough to even consider a very different, way more ridiculous scenario, where I’d wake up freezing my ass off, with a scurry of squirrels masquerading as my blanket.
Sir McGrumpyface might be the most infuriating person in the universe, but I’d be forever grateful for his offer. His home was a renovated, two-story townhouse nestled at the top of a hilly street, with a clear, gorgeous view of Port Benedict Bay in the distance. The spare guest room that I was staying in was on the second floor, with a view of the neatly kept backyard, and tastefully furnished with a beige queen-size wrought iron bed, teak bedside tables, and a beautiful mahogany chest of drawers. The room was across the hall from the guest bath and his bedroom, separated by a cozy rumpus area.
A million things ran through my mind as I got dressed. I needed to check off as many things as possible from my To-Buy List, starting with some cleaning items and basic handyman tools. Rolls of duct tape, a ladder, a large piece of heavy-duty tarp. A chainsaw to cut up the broken tree limb into smaller pieces, because that would be faster than a regular handsaw. If I could start the cleanup so the place was ready for the contractor to start the repairs, it would save me some time and money.
The soft clanking of pots and pans echoed throughout the house, interrupting my thoughts. I trotted downstairs, where a shirtless Alec puttered around the kitchen, displaying a prize-winning torso. My traitorous brain whistled in appreciation, be cause the Alec I remembered from our younger years definitely hadn’t been this buff. He wore a pair of gray shorts, with his hair messy and sticking out every which way.
Holy abs, Batman. This wasn’t such a terrible view to start the day.
Then I realized he had a pair of tortoiseshell glasses on.
My heart pounded quicker. This was not good. At all. I didn’t know what it was about men wearing glasses, but I’d always had a bizarre infatuation with them. Seeing Alec with a pair right now sent a battalion of butterflies crashing through my stomach. And for the love of all that is holy, who knew that shoulder blades could be so… interesting?
Stop staring. He’s annoying, and you don’t like him.
“Heard your shower running. Coffee?” He didn’t look up from the stove. “Mugs are in the top right corner.”
“Put a shirt on. My eyes are hurting me.” I opened the cupboard and took out a mug, careful to maneuver my way around him. The last thing I needed at five in the morning was to have that smooth, solid skin touching mine. Ugh. “Got any teas?”
He glanced at me over his shoulder, blinking twice. “You don’t drink coffee? What’s wrong with you?”
I was about to retort with a snarky response, but a voice at the back of my brain reminded me: he was helping me with the repairs. He gave me a place to stay. The least I could do was be friendly and polite, no matter how challenging it would be.
“Coffee and I don’t get along. One cup, and my heart thumps like it’s about to run a marathon.”
“You sure you’re related to Eric? The man has coffee flowing in his veins.”
“Eric, my mother, and my father. I’m the black sheep of the family.” I pulled out a box of Lipton green tea from his pantry, placed a tea bag in my mug, then poured hot water and left it to brew for a few minutes. “When did you start wearing glasses?”
Instead of answering, he turned around and slid a plate in front of me. “Whole grain buttermilk pancake, with my mother’s homemade strawberry compote.”
Okay, glasses + pancakes = a dangerous combination. Must tread carefully.
“Thank you.” Raising my eyebrows, I sat on a kitchen stool. “Are they edible?”
“Totally not bragging, but I’ve received multiple five-star reviews for those.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, presenting me with a close-up view of his chest. “Some girls have been known to profess their undying love for me after tasting them. Just saying.”
“Count me out.” I gestured in the general direction of his body. “Ew. I said, shirt on.”
He smirked and put the spatula down, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned wearing an old T-shirt. Plating a second pile for himself, he sat across from me and lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to a few weeks of coexisting under the same roof in peace.”
“Without maiming each other. Temporary truce.” I took out my insulin pump to bolus for the pancake. “Did you say this was whole grain?”
At his nod, I did some quick mental math to estimate the amount of carbs in the meal, then entered the number into my pump, which gave me the amount of insulin I should be taking based on my current glucose level. I pressed the blue tick mark to confirm the bolus, then slipped the pump back in my pocket. When I glanced at him, he was watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.
I lifted my chin at him. “What? Have I got strawberry jam on my face or something?”
I’d had countless curious, pitying, and sometimes even disbelieving looks from friends and strangers when they learned I had type 1 diabetes. Some even made the obnoxiously ignorant comments that I’d been “eating too much sweet stuff” (I hadn’t), and “you’ll grow out of it when you’re older” (I wouldn’t), or “don’t worry, it’s not life-threatening” (it could be). At first, I used to get really worked up when people said those things, but after a lifetime of hearing them, I’d grown accustomed to it. A tiny part of me still got fired up sometimes, but I’d learned to not let it bother me.
But him —I didn’t want him to look at me that way. Nor did I need his sympathy or pity, or worse, treating me like I was fragile. I was poised for battle, ready to defend myself, if he even so much as grazed anything along those lines.
“Nothing on your face. I started wearing glasses last year. Getting old, I guess.”
Huh. Not what I had expected.
Alec dug into his food, so I bit down my reply and started on mine. When the heavenly combination of sweet strawberries and gooey, fluffy pancakes exploded in my mouth, I let out a low, throaty moan that wasn’t suitable for the breakfast table.
Those girls he was talking about? Yeah, they knew what was up, because honestly, who wouldn’t want to be eating these for the rest of their lives? Just for the pancakes alone, I’d marry him in a heartbeat . Men who can cook are hot AF. He was an excellent cook.
Perhaps that first bite was a fluke. I was starving, so my tastebuds were probably warped. But when the second and third bites were followed by the second and third moans, it became obvious that his pancakes were making me experience something orgasmic.
In fact, the closest thing I’d had to a non-battery-operated orgasm in a while.
“Who are you?” I looked up to see him staring at me, his eyes darkening, and his fork suspended midair. “Eric never mentioned his friend being a culinary genius.”
He slowly lowered the fork, his eyes still on mine. “Told you so.”
“Relax. I won’t leap over this countertop and profess my undying love to you, or, God forbid, jump your bones.” I speared the last piece, then wiped the remaining strawberry jam with it, making sure not to miss a single morsel. “Not even your pancake can make me like you.”
“Maybe my homemade waffles could change your mind.”
Glasses + pancakes + waffles ? I could be in huge trouble.
“Anyway, I spoke to a few of our regular contractors,” Alec said, his attention already back on his food. “Most of them are in the middle of other projects, so the earliest someone could start on your shop is in four weeks.”
Relief whooshed through me. I would have liked someone to start as soon as possible, but that was still much better than the nine weeks I was told yesterday.
“But he’s got a reputation for overcommitting to too many projects. I’m waiting to hear back from one more guy, who’s away on holiday. He’s not due back until next week.”
“Great. In the meantime, I was planning on cleaning up the debris in the shop, so it’ll be ready for when the contractors start working. Can you recommend a good brand of chainsaw?”
He looked up, his eyebrows disappearing into his forehead. “A what?”
“A chainsaw. To cut up the fallen tree into smaller pieces, so it’s easier to dispose of.”
He placed his fork on his plate. “Ellie.”
“Alec.” I echoed his tone.
“Have you ever used a chainsaw before? Or any other power tools?”
“What kind of question is that?” I pretended to be offended. “You think I’ve never used a power tool just because I’m a girl? That’s very condescending.”
“Both my sisters know their way around power tools. Being condescending is the last thing on my mind. Just answer the question.”
“I’m an expert with a drill.” I held back a grin, because it was kind of fun to wind him up. “I assembled my IKEA wardrobe back home all on my own. With a sliding door. Have you done one before? Those things are hard to put together.”
Alec let out a loud sigh. “Let me try again. Do you have any real renovation or building experiences outside of IKEA wardrobes?”
My grin finally broke. “If you have to be that specific, then no.”
“Do you know that a chainsaw in an untrained hand is practically a lethal weapon?”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being realistic.” His tone was growing impatient. “Eric will never forgive me if I told him that you’ve lost a hand—or both, or your feet—because you used a dangerous power tool without training. You should wait for the tradesmen, because they’ll have the proper tools, and they can get it done in no time.”
“I’m not going to lose a hand, or a foot, or any parts of my body.” My grin vanished. “Because you know what? I don’t have much of a choice. The repairs are going to drain almost all my savings, so the more things I can do by myself, the more money I can save.”
Alec was quiet, looking thoughtful, giving me the impression that he was regretting his careless remarks. But a minute later, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. FYI, the nearest hospital is fifteen minutes away. Please don’t list me as an emergency contact.”
And just like that, our temporary truce flew out the window and was shattered into a billion tiny pieces. “Don’t worry. Not even if you’re the last man in the whole universe.”
“Good.” Polishing off his last piece of pancake, he stood up to rinse his plate and stack it in the dishwasher. “Great chat, but I have an on-site meeting at seven.” Without another glance, he bounded up the stairs.
Alone at last, I redirected my brainpower onto the day ahead and went through my plan again. Despite my show of confidence earlier, I had (less than) zero faith in my power-tooling abilities. Give me a balance sheet and a cash flow statement any day, but this was foreign territory to me. Not that I would ever admit it to him—I’d rather bite my own tongue and disappear into the ether. But I had to give it my best shot.
Because what other choice did I have?
“I’m leaving.” Alec jogged down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed in a dark suit and a crisp white shirt, sans glasses. Grabbing his keys, he shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I’ll be back late tonight. Give my regards to the squirrels.”
“So I don’t have to wait up?” I yelled as he slammed the door behind him.