That makes me almost giddy.
I’ve wanted to open a restaurant like this for as long as I can remember. I have gluten sensitivities. I suspect I have celiac disease, but I’ve never been diagnosed. However, since I’ve been working in and using a clean kitchen, I’ve had minimal issues.
Feeling good is a luxury I’ll never take for granted again.
On my way back through downtown, I come across Jackie, the owner of the Sugar Studio, as she sets her chalkboard on the sidewalk.
“Good morning,” she says with a big smile. Jackie and my mom were good friends, and she’s been one of the few people who’s been sincerely excited to have me back home. “How are you, beautiful girl?”
I let her hug me close even though touch is something I’m still getting used to again, and I give her a smile when I pull away.
“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you, Jackie? How’s your knee?”
“Meh.” Jackie shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch most days, but who has time for knee replacement surgery?”
“Um,youneed to make time. You’re on your feet every day, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, this knee doesn’t let me forget it. But I’m okay, sweetie. It’s nothing a little ibuprofen can’t help with. I have a new gluten-free scone recipe for you. Or, if you want, I can come by one evening, and we can make them in your kitchen.”
I love this woman. I know she’d make it for me inherkitchen—Jackie makes the best pastries in the state—but her facility isn’t gluten-free, so it might make me sick.
Instead, we’ve spent plenty of time in my restaurant, and her recipes never miss.
“I’d love that. Anytime works for me. I’ve decided to start closing at four on Sundays.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Why’s that?”
“Well, working from seven in the morning until nine at night makes for a long-ass week.” I chuckle and brush some hair behind my ear.
“You have girls who work for you,” she reminds me. “Let them handle a day by themselves so you can take it off.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t need a whole day. What would I do with myself? But half a day would be great. Plus, I’d get to see you. I can’t wait to try those scones.”
She grins at me, but I see the worry in her eyes. “You work too hard, baby girl. Your mama would tell me to make you slow down.”
“My mama worked two jobs all my life,” I remind her and turn to leave. “So she’d have no room to talk. I’ll see you later.”
When I get down the block to my place, and before I can walk around to the alley that holds the stairwell that leads to my apartment, movement across the street catches my eye. I see Brooks Blackwell walk out of Bitterroot Valley Coffee Co. with a cup in hand. He doesn’t see me at first, so I’m able to take him in.
God, he’s beautiful.
Taller and more muscular than he was when I was in college, Brooks grew up very well. Okay, that’s the understatement of the year. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His jawline is firm and chiseled, and his dark hair a little too long and tousled, as if he just rolled out of bed.
Or had sex.
Fuck, don’t think about that.
His deep red T-shirt is tucked into his jeans, showcasing a narrow waist and sculpted abs. But it’s always been his arms thatmake me weak in the knees. That shirt looks like it’s a second skin around his biceps.
I know how it feels to have those arms wrapped around me, and there’s nothing like it in the whole world.
Suddenly, his eyes come up to mine, and his stride slows, just a smidge. His eyes harden. His jaw clenches.
And then he turns the other way and walks to his garage, as if I don’t even exist.
That’s the part that tears my heart out.
“You’re nothing.” His eyes bore into mine, so much anger shooting through him, and landing right on me.
