Chapter 1
Palmer
Thump – thump – thump - thump!
The beating of my heart intensifies with every thud of the machine against the wall. Sweat dews on the back of my neck, the beads on the cusp of rolling down my hot skin. The vibrations course through my entire body like an electrical current, making my overwhelmed senses even more on edge.
My mind is whirling, feeling almost faint as a knot twists in my gut. The tightness of my chest making my breaths come out in short bursts, almost in rhythm with the thumping.
In my wildest fantasies, all that banging would be at the hands of the dominant, possessive male lead as he ravaged my body.
Instead, it’s a borderline anxiety attack, and the only thing here getting railed is a piece of shit dishwasher that I can’t afford to replace. I could only dream my life was as exciting as a heated, passionate fuck on the kitchen appliance, but I have no time for sex with my hectic work schedule.
I maneuver around the cafe’s kitchen. The mixer is doing its thing, the ovens baking dinner rolls, and I’m preparing the ingredients for an Italian loaf. All the while, I have my phone balanced in my aprons chest pocket as I listen to my best friend Andy McNealy on speaker phone, telling me all about her engagement last night.
I’m pretty sure most women in their thirties have that same feeling when our friends tell us about their recent engagement. The envy, the jealousy. The ‘when will it be my turn?’ Or the ‘I miss those days,’ thoughts creeping in and hanging heavy over us.
Though I’m sure its much worse for us single ones. A sharp reminder that I am nowhere near a proposal or a happily ever after. Not even fucking close.
“It was so romantic! Like totally out of a movie with all the red roses leading to the bedroom, him waiting there on his knee with the box out, the gorgeous diamond shimmering in the light,” she sighs dramatically like she’s starring in a Hallmark movie. “and let me tell you, Palmer, the just-got-engaged-sex has set my bedroom standards to a whole new level!” She exclaims and I roll my eyes.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s even that good considering Andy always needs to rave about how great her sex life is. Every guy has been the best lay ever. The type of woman she is, this may be part of her whole ‘putting it out there in the universe’ theory. If she puts it out there that Johnathan is the best she’s had, maybe he will actually become the best lay ever.
In my experience, men are so short sighted when it comes to sex. It’s like it’s part of their genome to be selfish in bed, so I don’t think she’d be unique in saying her man doesn’t quite do it in the sack yet. But, she’s willing to help him because she loves the man he is.
“Well, I’m glad he watches romance movies to know exactly what you wanted for a proposal and the engagement sex.” I fake my interest, trying to sound like the supportive friend that I most certainly am not.
I’ve met Andy’s fiance, Johnathan Callaghan, a grand total of three times in the last eight months they have been dating. The most I know about him is that he works in the financial district as a commercial realtor, and they met at a lunch mixer that her boss got them into for networking for his firm.
And now, hearing that they are engaged after being together for only eight months? My red flag is waving vigorously. Andy has been known to jump all in before, and it’s burned her. Bad.
How can you know you want to marry someone after such a short time and never living together before? I need to know what his secret daily quirks are before I can give that kind of commitment.
And, I need to expose him to mine.
She sighs. “He’s perfect. Anyway, I want to have an engagement dinner, in like two weeks. Clearly you’re my maid of honor, so book a place in the downtown core, close to my condo. Something fancy, Italian maybe, or French cuisine. I want all of his family, my family, and my wedding party there, so that will be a total of twenty-five people. Can you handle that Palm?”
And so it begins.
Andy is my best friend from elementary school, but we couldn’t be any more different.
She’s a beautiful strawberry blonde and is all about beauty and fashion. She’s bubbly, happy, and positive despite working in a drab law office as a law clerk. But she is particular, demanding, and has her standards with things.
And I am more basic with my brown hair, blend into the crowd type look. I’m a realist, with a big old side of bitterness, who runs her own business and is constantly angry with everything that comes along with it. All the red tape, permits, fees, taxes, and other annoyances that take away the joy from what I actually love doing, baking.
Faking happiness one little fondant flower at a time.
I opened my bakery, Suga n Spice, with my best friend from college, Rachel. She is more my pace. Having met as adults, we knew who we were, and our grumpy personalities meshed well into late night giggle fest's while working. Whereas sometimes I think Andy only keeps me around because of loyalty. My angry streak definitely annoys her, but I have my reasons. And she knows that.
Andy grew up in a comfy home with good parents, whereas I grew up with a single mother in a basement apartment and multiple ‘step fathers’. Men who manipulated my mother because she was just so damn desperate to be loved.
It’s like I was bred to be negative from the get-go.
Even when Andy told me about Johnathan and how it was love at first sight, I snorted a laugh, thinking it was the cheesiest damn thing I'd ever heard. We had a huge fight over it, which we promptly got over, but here she is pouring her heart out in excitement on the phone, and I’m finding every single reason why this is the worst idea ever.
I'm a fucking asshole.
“Of course I can handle it,” I reply but get distracted as the oven starts beeping at me, and rush across the kitchen to take out the buns placing them on the counter to let them cool. Then, as Rachel loads up the oven with the next batch, I start moving the mixed Italian loaf dry goods into another container to be baked later or tomorrow, depending on how many we sell today.
“Palmer? What are you doing? Are you even listening to me? This is very important, I need your undivided attention!” She snarls into the phone.
“Andy, you called me while I’m working..”
“Well you didn’t answer last night,” she points out.
“I know, and I’ve told you, this is a fourteen hour a day job. After I close, I do the books, then pre mix all my dry recipes for the mornings recipes, then I have to clean to the standard of the food inspection agency. And right now, I’ve three types of bread to make here. We need our stock resupplied for the evening rush.”
She sighs loudly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you..”
“No, Andy. I’m listening. Downtown core, twenty-five people, fancy Italian or French, in two weeks.”
“Yes, thank you. Friday night. Jonathan plays hockey on Thursdays with the boys, and others can’t make it on Saturdays because of work.”
“Okay, no problem.”
“Great, I’ll send you the list of people to invite with their contact info. Tell me as soon as it’s booked. Love you!”
She hangs up, and I look down at my phone and add into my tasks for later tonight that I have to figure out this engagement dinner.
I finish taking the rolls out from the pan and place them in their packages of six, and then bring them and all the other loafs out to the display cases, and take inventory of the other remaining pastries.
The afternoon and early evening rush hits; teenagers here for an after-school cookie and hot chocolate, families getting their nightly dinner rolls, and grabbing other desserts for their evening affairs, or their croissants for tomorrows breakfast.
By 6:30pm, the customers are non-existent in this small town, so Rachel leaves, and I'm left to clean the mess for myself.
Every month, Rachel and I try to give each other a couple of nights off so we can just do our own damn thing. Get a break from the never-ending cycle of mix, bake, clean, sell. More often than not, I still end up coming down to work with her because I have no life.
But Rachel? She’s got her own little thing going on, so tonight it’s my turn to close.
I lock the door and finish pre-mixing the dry ingredients for tomorrow morning, then sit in the office going over our POS and cash for the day.
After that, I throw on some tunes and begin cleaning the store front and the monstrosity of a mess of flour and frosting in the kitchen.
Just another day of baking the bread and icing the biscuits, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
