“I don’t know where Kevin moved to. I’m not his mother.” Those words get Bennett’s attention and he’s standing next to me in less than a second.
The voice on the other end swears a few times. “Listen here, you little bitch. You better find me Kevin or else we’ll have problems.” Like I don’t have enough problems right now.
Who the hell does this guy think he is? Bennett holds out his hands indicating he wants me to give him the phone, but there’s a fat chance of that happening. I slam the phone down on the wall box and give Bennett a satisfied smile. There’s nothing better than the feeling you get from hanging up on someone.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Bennett demands.
My bravado runs away with an exhaled breath. It’s going to be a long day.
CHAPTER FIVE
The phone rings.
“Don’t answer it,” Bennett hollers from the kitchen.
I shake my head and pass over Pearl’s chocolate blueberry muffin. I couldn’t sleep last night so I came down and played for a few hours. Some people stress eat. I stress bake. And after 2 a.m. there’s no telling what will come out of my oven. There are perks and problems to living above a bakery.
“Don’t shake your head like you don’t enjoy having a handsome guy like Bennett in the back of your kitchen,” Pearl clucks at me a few times while she takes her seat, balancing the muffin on a dainty plate.
Bennett bumps me on his way through the metal doors in an effort to get the phone before it quits ringing. “The Bakery.”
Pearl has a point. Bennett’s answered my phone for the past two days even though I haven’t had any new threatening calls. The first twenty-four hours having him constantly in my space had my nerves unraveling, but we found our groove working together. It’s nice to have someone around for the heavy lifting and when Tabitha isn’t here to man the front counter.
“She’s open until six tonight.” Bennett hangs up the phone and then scribbles a few words on the notepad hanging on the wall next to it.
From the way he goes back to his work in the kitchen, a sly smirky little grin on his face, I don’t waste any time before I read his note. The small scratch pad and pen were intended as a way to jot down phone orders, but they’ve quickly become Bennett and Tabitha’s personal suggestion box.
Mainly for inappropriate bakery names. They’re all horrible and get worse by the day.
Bennett’s suggestions from earlier is scratched off on the top of the pad. For some reason I’m not inclined to name the place Cream Pie Sweets or My Baked Goods. The last I’m sure is a comment on my meltdown from a few days ago.
The latest suggestion is no better. There are no plans to name this place Flour Power. Although it is the least objectionable name offered by anyone so far.
With a sigh and an eye roll, I tear off the piece of paper and crumble it up before tossing it in the trash. I push open one of the swinging kitchen doors with my butt. “How’s the sandwich?”
Bennett’s jaw works up and down as he chews faster and swallows with a gulp. “One of the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“It’s a simple turkey and cheese.” Baking is my specialty, but it took a week before I realized if I wanted any sales after one o’clock I needed regular food too. Items people could grab and go.
Thankfully, years of working at the small diner in my hometown in Washington state provided the skills I needed in a regular kitchen. Customers won’t get anything fancy, but the cold cut sandwiches and side salads work to keep customers in throughout the day. At least until we close around six.
Bennett crushes up the sandwich wrapper and tosses it in the large black trashcan at the end of my prep table. “Growing up I was the definition of a latchkey kid. A single working mother with three boys to feed meant a lot of takeout. Anything prepared in the kitchen and not from a box tastes good.”
“Your mother raised three boys by herself?” The little tidbit about Bennett entices me to walk farther into the kitchen.
“Yup, Dad left when I was six. As the youngest, by the time I finished high school Mom was worn out and there was no money for college. It’s why I joined the military.”
“How many years were you in?” Bennett has been around the last two days but he hasn’t been overly talkative. At least not about himself.
He turns around and leans back against the large metal table like he’s settling in for a conversation. “Two tours and I met Ridge somewhere in the middle of it all.”
His eyes lose focus as he talks, staring at the corner of the room. It’s not the look of a man who is conflicted about his time, but more of one who looks back at it longingly.
“Why did you leave?”
Bennett sighs. “I would have stayed, but shit happens. And I needed to be here.”
We both pause and I prepare to ask for more information, but he cuts me off. “It’s better I’m here.”
