24. Tilly
Chapter twenty-four
Tilly
A n assortment of desserts from every country I’ve ever wanted to visit fills the kitchen island. There’s Polvorones, a Spanish shortbread cookie, a play on an English sticky toffee pudding with a hazelnut cinnamon chip sponge cake, and a Boston cream style cake with a caramel glaze inside.
Baking is an art. The way you knead dough out for breads, or how you must serve the souffle at the precise time so the air that is whipped into the egg whites doesn’t cool too quick or risk it crumpling in on itself.
I stare at the desserts I stayed up all night baking, and a sense of pride I haven’t felt in a long time…well, almost ever, rises inside my chest. These treats show I have what it takes to run my own bakery. My mind is filled with more unique flavor profiles and extravagant cakes, and given the opportunity, I think I can wow this town.
I gather the supplies I need to work at the bakery, I head out into the brisk November air. Thanksgiving is two weeks away, and my grand opening date inches closer.
“Hey Dad,” I say, walking in through the front door. I texted to let him know I’d be dropping off some new desserts today. He’s sitting at a booth looking through schedules.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He stares at my work boots and denim jeans. “You’re dressed differently. ”
Worry takes root in my chest. With everything going on lately I haven’t had the time to tell him about the bakery Jessie bought for me.
“Uhh…yeah,” I start. “About that.”
His bushy gray eyebrows bunch. “What’s going on?”
Sweat beads my palms as I slide into the booth. Better to rip off the band-aid quickly.
“Jessie rented me a bakery location…” I clear my throat, stifling the emotions threatening to arise. “Before he passed.”
Dad’s lips part like he wants to say something, but I know if I don’t tell him everything before the tears start, I may not be able to finish.
“Archer and I have been working to get it ready for the grand opening in December.” His eyes widen when I mention working with Archer, but he doesn’t interrupt. For the first time since my mom passed, I feel the bridge between us shrinking. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He reaches for my hand with a smile on his face but when I don’t immediately reach out, he slowly brings it back to fold his hands on the table. Because I’ve gone so long without touch, I’m still wary of allowing even little touches. The synapses in my brain seem to fire off at random times as they reconnect to my heart.
“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” he says when I’m finished and out of breath. “You’ve always wanted your own spot, and I know I’ve limited you by what you can sell here, but I’m glad you’ll be able to spread your wings.”
“I’ll still supply your restaurants with sweet treats.”
“No way. It’s time to follow your own dreams.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dad. We’ll see how we do after opening.”
“If you need anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Yup.” I leave the treats with him to try while I’m not there. I can’t bear to watch while he decides if he likes them or not .
Heading to the bakery, I wonder if Archer’s already there. Shantel let it slip that he’s got another interview for that job soon, and I can’t deny the sadness I feel thinking about it. Once the bakery is finished, I won’t see him anymore, unless he comes to Sunday dinners at Nora’s. With his plan to leave, I’m not holding my breath. I think it’s why I’m still trying to deny these feelings bouncing around my chest. I don't want to give someone else my heart and then have to watch them leave me.
I wouldn’t survive it.
I stop by the cafe and grab a latte for me and Archer. We haven’t spoken outside of a few texts since last night, and the last time I actually saw him, I left him there with Deidre. To be honest, I’m worried. He said Jessie wasn’t the reason he was still working at the bakery, which means he’s there because of me. It was the most I’ve gotten him to open up, the most honest he’s been in years. But if he can’t be transparent and talk to me, how do I tell him I’m interested but scared?
Screamo blares through the speakers as I approach the bakery, and pedestrians move to the other side of the street to get away from the sound. He’s already scaring off my customers before I even open. Pushing through the door, I speed walk to the radio and turn it down.
“What the heck was that?” I ask.
It takes a beat to realize his shirt is off, the ripped muscles of his abs stealing my breath. He’s covered in sweat, and my tongue darts out like it can taste the salty flavor of his skin.
“I brought you a coffee.” I hold up the paper cup, my gaze refusing to lift from where his muscles take a sharp curve down his hips and into his jeans.
“My eyes are up here,” he says.
Heat rises to my cheeks as he chuckles and grabs his shirt.
Stopping myself from booing takes superhuman effort .
“You didn’t have to do that.” He takes the drink from my hands. “But thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. What’s on the agenda today?”
“Your hair looks beautiful.”
I struggle to contain my grin by chewing on the side of my lip. “Thanks.”
He takes the lid off the cup and chugs the latte. A thin strip of foam is left on his lips and without thought I reach up and swipe my thumb across it, the pad of my finger brushing against his soft lips. His sharp gasp makes my center clench. He steps back like I’ve hit him and brings his hand to his mouth.
“Sorry.” Electricity zings around my chest, and my cheeks flame. Why did I do that? What on Earth made me reach out and touch him like he was…mine?
“No, it’s fine.” He looks down at his shoe, and I curse myself for making it awkward. My first time initiating any physical contact with him, and I ruined it.
I’m such an idiot.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the compliment, though.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence descends over us. My eyes bounce around the room, taking in all that still needs to be done. I’ve ordered the metro shelves, stainless steel tables, and coolers for the back of the bakery. Thankfully there was already a stove and some cabinets from whatever company was here prior.
“The wall looks great.” I gesture to the freshly painted wall with shelving hung and a cabinet beneath it. “All it needs is a sign. ”
He rubs the back of his neck and pulls out the poker chip he keeps with him, flipping it a few times. I imagine it’s an obsessive trait at this point, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
“There are a few signs you can choose from at my garage,” he says, kicking the toe of his boot against the wood pile.
“Jessie had signs made?” Giddiness takes over my emotions and I smile wide.
His expression doesn’t match mine and I realize I’ve somehow offended him. I know it’s difficult for him. He planned to work on this place with Jessie, and instead, he got me. I’ve tried not to give what Shantel and Zevia said too much thought, but could they have been right? Could Archer have been pushing me away all this time because he’s been attracted to me and felt bad? Would he be honest if I asked him?
“Let me show you.” He walks past me and out the door to his truck.
“Now?” I ask, following him.
He opens the passenger side door and shuts it when I get inside. Leather mixes with Archer’s cologne to make the sexiest scent in the world. I close my eyes, inhaling like I want that smell to become part of my DNA. He gets in, pulling his notebook from his pocket and placing it on the dash. The truck roars to life, vibrating beneath me.
Something about a loud engine, a sexy man, and a vibrating seat gets me hot. My nipples firm beneath my top, and my center pulses in time with the music he turns on.
Archer’s mouth moves but I can’t hear him over the whooshing in my head and the thumping of the bass. Instead of turning the music down, he reaches over me, brushing his arm against my already sensitive chest, and secures my seat belt.
“Thanks,” I yell over the tunes .
He doesn’t respond but focuses on maneuvering through traffic on the frontage road to the interstate. Archer lives on the outskirts of town, far enough out he has some land for a large three car garage he uses as a workshop. I’ve never been to his house, but Jessie always talked about the beautiful wood carvings he does in his secret lair.
Archer doesn’t speak the entire time we drive, choosing instead to tap his thumbs on the steering wheel along with the music. I yawn and rest my head on the seat, letting my mind roam. We have a little over four weeks to get the bakery opened, and we still have so much to do. Can we make it through the rest of it without acting on these feelings bubbling to the surface daily?