Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Ah,” Hazel says as if she’s discovered something exceptional. “So it’s not what they think, it’s what you think. You’re the one who thinks you’re a ‘rich-boy runaway on Daddy’s dime.’”
“Shit. You don’t mince words, do you?” I ask, stepping back.
Hazel shrugs. “Why bother? If people can’t handle my mouth, they can’t handle me. It’s easier to filter people out from the jump. Door’s over there,” she offers as though she expects me to be one of the ones who limp away from her sharp tongue.
Except other than backing away from the raw bacon and wiping my hands on my apron, I’m not going anywhere. “What’s next? More bacon?”
Hazel turns to check the oven, trying to hide her pleased smile from me, but I see it clear as day in the reflection of the glass. I think I just passed one of Hazel Sullivan’s tests with flying colors.
By staying. Something that’s not my usual strong suit.
“What about you?” I ask. “What’s your story?”
She opens the oven and pulls out the cupcakes, setting them aside as she pops the tray of pecans and brown sugar down low, my bacon up high. “Not so different than yours but without the money. My family has run Puss N Boots and the Bakery Box for years, and I grew up helping Mom and Aunt Etta. I never really considered doing anything else. Guess you could say I was in that big middle.”
“Big middle?” I echo, and she nods.
“Sure. Lots of folks around Cold Springs would say our family is doing pretty well for itself. Maybe we are. I mean, Aunt Etta’s got her own horse, and that’s all she wants in the world. Same with Mom and this bakery. And I’ve got my home. But we’re not so rich that we don’t clip coupons, do without sometimes, and we work hard to keep the businesses running right.”
I nod, knowing what she means. I don’t say it, but I remember the man who came into my shop one time with an antique Scottish hutch he wanted to sell. It was in serious need of restoration, but even still, tears were in his eyes when I asked why he wanted to part with it.
The reason? Medical bills. So I paid what he asked, even if I took a small loss on the resale when I added in the costs of the restoration. I even offered the hutch back to the man, but he refused. It taught me a tough lesson, because I would’ve happily eaten the cost to bring a smile to his face, but he said the hutch had painful memories now. It was only my determination to live on my own work that forced me to eventually sell the hutch.
“You want to take over one or both businesses someday?” I ask. “You know, sling cakes by morning, beers by night?”
Hazel shrugs. “Don’t really think about it. I mostly put one foot in front of the other and keep everything from going off the rails as best I can.”
She opens the oven door, stirring the pecans before closing it up once again.
“Do you ever go off the rails? Let loose a bit?” I challenge, stepping in front of her once she’s clear of the hot ovens.
I’m truly curious. She’s a hard worker, dedicated to her family, staunchly loyal to her friends, and though I think she’d consider herself a bit of a wild child, the truth is, even when she lets loose, like dancing on the bar or playing pool, she’s in complete control.
Every move she makes may not be calculated for pros and cons, but the bets she makes are ones she knows she can win, and her rowdy behavior isn’t all that rebellious in a bar where she feels safe and knows that everyone there would help her if she needed backup.
I lean in closer, my breath on her cheek. I can feel the heat coming off her body, both from the oven’s blast and the work she’s been doing. Anticipation fills the small space between us, and I wait, not moving to see if she’ll make that crazy leap into uncertainty.
A test of my own, if you will.
I want her to kiss me. I want to feel the savageness of her soul because I bet Hazel Sullivan is a sight to behold when she unleashes. She licks her lips and I’m on edge, barely holding on to the end of my rope. I think this is going to be a pivot point, the time before Hazel kissed me, and after.
Inside my boots, I’m clenching my toes so I don’t step between her feet to get even closer. My hands curl into fists as I fight my desire to touch her. I work my jaw, trying to look calm and patient, as inside I’m anything but. I tilt my head slightly and part my lips, so fucking ready for her.