The last thing I need is two mafia goons at my side when I knock on the front door of the cupcake shop. The girl would probably have a heart attack if she’s still alive inside after whatever the fuck happened.
From outside, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. There’s an empty display case, a ladder in the middle of the floor, and other construction material, but the store looks in top shape and just as it did when I came in a few hours ago.
“Hello,” I call out as I pull the door open just enough to stick my head inside. “Anyone here?”
There’s banging coming from the back. “Fucking shit.” I hear the woman screech. “You’re a motherfucker. You almost killed me, you piece of shit.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I step inside.
“Hello,” I yell a little louder.
Whomever she’s yelling at sure is getting their ass chewed out. I don’t know if I should laugh or feel bad for the poor sucker.
Marissa used to yell like that sometimes. Especially when she was pissed at something. She never took her anger out on anybody, but objects…they were fair game.
I stand there, frozen and not sure if I should cut my losses and leave, or make sure everything is okay before I head back to the bar to keep the guys from draining a keg.
Taking a step forward, I brace myself for whatever I’m about to find on the other side of the door.
The last thing I expect is to see a woman standing by herself, covered in baking flour from head to toe, kicking the shit out of her electric mixer.
“Ma’am.” I clear my throat.
She spins around, eyes wide and wild. “Fuck,” she hisses and clutches her chest. “You scared the shit out of me. You should warn a person before you sneak up on them.”
There’s a twang to her voice, and it’s charming.
“I yelled.” I smile, trying to show I’m friendly, which I kind of am. On a good day. “A few times.”
She rubs her cheeks with the backs of her hands, smearing the white powder. “Oh.” She gives me a pained smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay in here? I heard a loud noise. Thought I’d check to see if everything was okay.”
She points to the mixer near her feet. “Besides my batch of turtle cupcakes being completely ruined, I couldn’t be better.” She swats at her skirt, kicking up more flour into the air and coughs.
We stare at each other for a minute.
Her eyeing me. Me eyeing her.
“Would you like some help?”
“With the cupcakes?” Her eyebrows rise.
“I’m a shit cook, but I can at least pick up the mixer for you. It looks pretty heavy.” I let my gaze travel down her body, landing on her way too high heels for cooking. “I’m sure those shoes weren’t built for manual labor.”
Fuck. The woman’s body is mint. Even covered in flour, I can tell whatever’s underneath is nothing short of spectacular. The guys said something about her being a piece of ass—their words, not mine—and I hate to say it, but I don’t think they were wrong.
“You’d help me?” She takes a step forward and grabs at her pearl necklace. “You’d help a stranger?”
“Ma’am, I may not know you, but when there’s a lady in need, it’s my duty to help.”
“Say that again,” she tells me, piercing me with her moss-green eyes.
“Which part?”
“All of it, handsome. All of it.” She smirks.
Fuck me. We have a live one, and from the looks of her, she has every ingredient necessary for an absolute recipe for disaster.
