Chapter 11
I happily shut the door and flipped the sign. The till was full, and I’d only be wasting time and energy waiting for the few stragglers who might not even turn up.
Plus, the display cabinet looked like the buffet table an hour into a Madden birthday party; blitzed and bare. Just a few errant crumbs and pastry flakes to show for a spread that could feed an entire Air Force base.
I got to work on the glass case first, and once it was sparkling, set about taking the money into my little office. It was big enough to fit a desk, chair, filing cabinet, and a safe, but the pale peach walls and white desk furniture made it look airier instead of cramped.
I counted out the day’s takings, mainly card receipts, with a smile on my face. I’d be paying my parents off in no time.
At three-thirty I was back in the kitchen doing what I could to ensure tomorrow was a bit easier, selecting a playlist that would make cleaning and prep a little less lonely.
A few songs in, one I hadn’t heard before came on and I walked over to my phone to peek at who the gorgeous voice belonged to.
“Well, hello, Benson Boone.”
“Who’s Benson Boone?”
I spun and my hand lifted to my racing heart as Scott smiled at me.
“Made ya jump?”
“Yeah, you did, asshole.” I slapped his shoulder playfully and turned the music down.
“I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow.”
“Me too, but I woke up about ten minutes ago, brushed my teeth, and headed straight over.”
He reached for my wrist and gently rubbed at the bruise I’d forgotten about. “Sorry about earlier, cupcake.”
My insides melted at the use of my nickname. “That’s okay. You didn’t mean to do it.”
“I should never lose it like that on you. I was mad and took it out on the wrong person.”
He was gently rubbing my wrist, but it felt like a caress, and I had to fight not to lean into him.
This time he visited with me, he smelled fresh and clean. He wore a navy blue henley, his preferred shirt of choice, and his cargo shorts—a Scott Madden staple.
They were so ugly, and we all teased him mercilessly, but he was a sucker for them and didn’t care what any of us said.
It was actually a godsend because whenever he rocked up in sweats or dressed up in a suit, I almost always choked on my own tongue.
“Really, forget about it.”
“She died,” he murmured, looking at my wrist. “The girl I tried to save. Looked just like you. Same hair, same color eyes. Our age, and just poof, smoke got to her. She never stood a chance.”
“Oh, Scott. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes finally rose to mine. “I got her out. Carried her from the fifth floor, but she died with the EMTs. The alarms went off too late, she’d have probably survived if not for that”—he shook his head—“anyway, I came over to see you and yelled at you instead. You didn’t deserve it and I’m sorry. How’s the finger?”
I took a step back; I was losing myself in his gaze and I didn’t want him to see it.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “Occupational hazard, you know that.”
He shook his head. “I wish you could just use butter knives.”
I chuckled and thought about how his mom would insist on those being the only ones Coralie and I were allowed to hold when we used to help her cook or bake.
“Yeah, because that wouldn’t be frustrating or time-consuming.”
He grinned. “Want to go for a walk around the park? It’s not raining.”
He meant Morningside Park and I was all up for getting some fresh air.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Can I just finish this? Is that okay?” I pointed to the beginnings of my task.
“Let me help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
And there were his amazing forearms again. Jesus, did he have any idea how sexy that was?
Probably, I mean he was a Madden after all, and those boys had confidence in spades.
Especially my Madden, even if he wasn’t trying with me. He had simply rolled up his sleeves to help his best buddy and hurry it all along so we could go out for our walk.
Yep, he knew exactly what he was doing, and although we never spoke about it, I knew the type of girls he took to bed, even though I tried to never think about it, and we never ever talked about it.
“You don’t need to,” I said, flustered. I had to stop myself from going down the rabbit hole that was Scott and what he got up to when he wasn’t with me.
“Might as well. Put me to work, Chef.” His smile was cheeky, and I wanted to kiss it right off his face.
I blinked a few times, and it, like every time, restarted my brain. “K. Want to cut the parchment paper and line the tins and sheets for the morning?”
“I can do that.” He winked, and my brain went offline again.
Oh man, did I need to get a grip.
I handed him the industrial roll of grease-proof paper and he set to work measuring, scoring, and cutting with a pair of kitchen shears, while I set about whipping up a new batch of cookie dough.
If I made enough and stored it in the refrigerator it would last two days, saving me a bunch of time.
We talked while we worked, me practically on autopilot, him methodical in everything he did, while telling me about how he’d texted Coralie and that we were on for a Jack-filled weekend.
He would be picking Jack up from his hockey practice on Saturday afternoon and then we’d have pizza and watch a movie. I made a note to whip up a fun dessert that Jack could help put the finishing touches on and soon we were walking out into the crisp February air.
It was a perfect afternoon, a fresh wintry day, but there was a whisper in the air. A promise of the longer, warmer days that were just around the corner.
Scott intertwined our hands like he always did. Those butterflies I had insisted stay still, swooped and whooshed.
What I wouldn’t give to have him hold me like I were his. Feel his arms around me like I did this morning all the time.
I wondered what it felt like to be wanted by him.
My neck heated under the weighty, maroon-colored scarf I had on as I daydreamed about how it would feel to have his lips crash against mine in a frenzied kiss.
Then I told myself to snap out of it.
Who would ever risk something as precious as what we had?
Not me, that was for damn sure.
He squeezed my hand in his like he could read my thoughts and my heart sank.
A few days later Scott asked if I wanted to go to hockey practice with him, and of course, I said yes. It was only early evening and I really wanted to see him in action. The game between the FDNY and the NYPD was fast approaching and there was just something about it.
Sometimes the rivalry got out of hand, but it was amazing to watch Scott take what was technically NHL ice once a year.
He loved to play; it was his passion, but he didn’t need it the way his brothers did. He had the department for that—the adrenaline, the sense of duty. That’s what got him out of bed every morning.
I’d been in enough practice rinks to know I needed to be prepared. They were always smaller and freezing and you’d be lucky to get a hot chocolate. I pulled my seat cushion from under my bed and packed it in a tote bag along with a flask of coffee and my fingerless gloves.
I was also already dressed in my leggings and jeans so I could concentrate on the scrimmage rather than on how cold I felt.
I was nothing if not a dedicated goalie wingwoman.
When we were younger, I took up residence behind the goal every game he played and was at almost every practice, too. His coaches used to joke that I should be the team mascot, but I just liked to be there for him.
Scott texted that he had pulled up outside and I locked the door behind me. Parking was a killer, and he wouldn’t be able to stay where he was longer than a few minutes.
I hustled out of my building and jumped into the passenger seat.
His eyes roved over me, and his lips ticked up at the sides. “There’s my goalie girl.”
Being his goalie girl was half my problem. Good ole dependable Jenna always available at a moment’s notice. But I couldn’t not be her either.
I just needed to keep a level head. We were best friends and that’s all we’d stay, and I had to be okay with the prospect that nothing else was ever going to happen.
“What ya got in there?”
“Oh, brownies,” I said, gently waving the tub. “Just thought it would be nice to have something to share.”
“You’re cute.”
I felt my cheeks heat and the grip he had on the steering wheel got tighter, but neither of us mentioned either of those things.
Okay, levelheaded Jenna started now.
Traffic moved slowly. We’d left in enough time, but everyone seemed extra cranky tonight and we made it to the rink with just enough time for Scott to lace up.
He wasn’t the only one, though, and a few other guys were making their way in, too.
Scott had an extra pep in his step, and I knew it was because he was about to be in his happy place.
Goaltenders were notoriously a strange breed, and Scott was no different. He had an intensity rather than a flair, but he was still on the odder side.
He pecked me on the cheek and left me for dust as he bolted down the corridor that led to the men’s locker room, hefty bag slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
I walked through a gaggle of kids who were kicking a tennis ball around.
It was a new facility and bigger than the last. There was more seating here, but still those metal ones, hence the cushion.
I was greeted by a round of “Hey Jenna’s,” and I lifted my hand to wave.
I knew these girls liked to chat here at practice, but otherwise we only saw each other at games and charitable events throughout the year. There were forty-five guys on the team, and they traded off commitments around family and work obligations, so sometimes it could be a few months until I saw any of them again.
One time, before I opened Cupcake, we went on a little away tour, and it was the most fun ever. Another fire department from Atlanta had invited the team to play and hosted us for a whole weekend. We had a blast, but that seemed like forever ago now.
Trish—the captain’s wife—scooted over, and I joined her on the bench.
“Hi, ladies, I brought the treats.”
“Thanks, I made fruit skewers.”
“Oh, yum?—”
“Because no one in their right mind would bring baked goods knowing you’d be here.”
I shook my head, laughing. “That’s not true.”
“Facts,” CeCe said from above me and swooshed my ponytail. We’d also gotten close on the Atlanta trip.
The three of us talked for a while about kids and work as the team stretched out and loosened up. And they made a date to come for lunch at the bakery while the children were at school and the husbands were at work.
When the guys had finished warming up and I had my hot drink ready to sip, I watched intently as the defensive coordinator started his work with Scott and the backup goalie.
Somehow they’d roped in a retired NHL coach and before long, I could see how tough this guy really was. Scott and Reyes were taking turns in the net and from what I could make out from the snippets I heard, the coach wanted both men to sit in their butterfly position with their eyes closed as he fired a shot at their chest pads, and they were only allowed to open their eyes once they’d felt the hit while an assistant coach was tapping his stick lightly so they couldn’t hear the release.
The aim was then to play the loose puck rebound.
Scott was so focused. Even with the obstructed view of his features due to the grill on his mask, I could tell.
Over and over, they swapped out until the coach switched up and started a new drill.
This one I really couldn’t work out. Looked like something on the backcheck, but by then I’d gotten into a chat with the other girls again.
They’d been going at it for a while when the head coach blew his whistle and then it was time for the scrimmage. This was always my favorite part. Sure, I was happy to sit and watch Scott contort his body every which way, but I really liked to see a bit of action.
And I loved to see Scott in his happy zone.
He scratched up his crease a little, squirted his water bottle into his mouth, and then sent me a wink, making me smile.
The puck dropped and soon all the action was going on in the defensive zone. Scott was so fricking good even the coach seemed impressed. There were definitely a couple of eyebrow raises when Scott calmly and effortlessly protected the net. The other boys on the team were good. Really good.
Quick and agile.
Dialed in.
Scott wasn’t some beer league chump; he was a guy that I believe to my bones could have made it all the way. He just chose to skate a different path instead.
I whooped when he made an especially impressive save.
“You two still playing the best friend card?” Trish said as she sidled up to where I was leaning on the small ledge just before the plexiglass.
“There isn’t another card,” I sighed.
“I’ve never really understood it.”
I opened my mouth to rebuff her claim, but she cut me off.
“I’m not saying a man and a woman can’t be friends. I wouldn’t be so closed-minded. But Jenna, the way he looks at you, it’s like you’re his tether to this earth.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Well, I would.”
Thankfully the tennis ball kids took that moment to tear into the rink and Trish went over to corral those belonging to her.
I could see why nobody really understood the relationship I had with Scott. I mean, even my expectations had changed about where we headed over the years. There wasn’t much I could see going wrong with us if we did give it a try, but it took two to tango and I’d had just about enough rejection, even if he didn’t know he’d technically rejected me.
“I’m starving, you got any brownies left?”
“Where are your manners, Scott Ashley Madden?”
He grinned. “Please? I’ll love you forever . . .”
I smiled back. “Saved these for you.”
His hand was already in the box before I could even get the lid fully off.
“Thank you,” he managed through bites. “I know it’s not the best, but shall we hit a drive-through tonight? I don’t think I could wait on takeout.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
We talked about training while I tried not to get high from the thoroughly scrubbed adonis sitting next to me. The spicy citrus scent of his body wash, deodorant, and laundry detergent had a serious effect on me and it was filling the cab of the truck the longer he drove.
I was thankful for the reprieve when he wound the window down to speak through the McDonald’s order hatch. Being here reminded me so much of when we were younger. I always tried something different, every time. But he always ordered the same things.
“Hey, can I get a Big Mac, a McChicken, two large fries, two Diet Cokes, oh and twenty nuggets?”
I laughed as he pulled the window back up.
“What? I’m a big boy.”
“I was just wondering if I’d time-traveled back to high school. You really think you can still eat all that?”
I knew he could, but it was fun to tease.
“ Some of it was for you.”
As we waited for our meal—or should I say banquet—to be ready, his phone buzzed, and because we were stationary, he looked at it. The minute he read what was on the screen he belted out a laugh that made me smile. For as much as he scowled, I knew when one of his siblings texted shit about one of the others, and it was one of the only things I was truly jealous of when it came to being an only child.
I loved the relationship I had with my mom and dad. We were close, but they didn’t suffocate me. I knew they’d be there for me in a hot second if I needed either one of them.
They were good people and seemed happy with each other and their lives.
But I always thought it would have been so cool to share a whole life with someone like that. Experienced all the same things together, shared moments, and inside jokes.
“That one of your brothers or Coralie.”
“It’s Coralie. Jack has been watching reruns of Double Dare and it’s sent him a little crazy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, he’s in planning mode but now she’s just talking shit about Knox. He’s really hurting her.”
My smile tipped upside down. “Oh, I don’t like that for her.”
“No, I don’t either.”
“And I was just thinking how lucky you all were.”
“How’s that?”
“Just having each other, sharing your childhoods and a family. It’s nice, I suppose until one of you gets pissy with the other.”
“You’ve got that. Don’t feel jealous. You’ve got me. We shared our childhoods and we’ve got our own stuff no one else knows about. Want me to add you into the group chat when Knox pulls his head out of his ass?”
“No,” I laughed, “that’s just for you. That’s a family thing.”
“Jenna, I’d say you were family by now, wouldn’t you?”
“You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “You’re crazy if you think they don’t love you as much as me. You’re a younger version of Coralie.”
Oh, man. That sliced. He meant it in such a complimentary way. Coralie was amazing. Truly amazing. But she was their sister.
His sister.
Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry anymore.