Page 9

BIRDIE

Harlan chooses the worst possible time to show up at the café. It’s packed to the gills again, and while I never complain about having so much business, the need for more staff and a bigger space is only magnified. Daniel is now helping Megan in the front, and I’m running behind in the kitchen. Not to mention that I’ve been irritated for the last four days, courtesy of one Ethan Woods who thought he’s clever by sending me his own ‘UberTREAT’ after ordering one of mine. The notes he sends might be written by Rowland, probably an attempt to remain anonymous, but I’d recognize Rowland’s almost eligible handwriting just as easily as I would Ethan’s. A fact they’ve obviously both forgotten. Sadly, there’s another side-effect to his fucking treats — because they’re from The Naked Patisserie, I remember everything about how we created those recipes together, and the result of his little game and the memories associated with what he sends me is a dirty dream about us in either his kitchen or mine. And dammit if I can’t rid my mind of those memories. Being turned on is an inconvenience, but its become a perpetual state for me since I refuse to take matters into my own hands. It does, however, make for one grumpy Birdie, and everyone I come into contact with gets the brunt of it. I’m not the grumpy one, that’s Harlan’s state of being, but if anyone were to be constantly turned on for four days in a row, I’m pretty sure they’d be fucking grumpy too. I wave, and beckon Harlan to the kitchen, away from the chaos that has become my café.

“You okay?” he asks in lieu 0f a proper greeting. His brows are furrowed, deeper than usual, and he’s sporting a scowl he usually reserves for his construction crews. When we spoke on the phone the night before I was rather cryptic, and when I’m withholding information from my brother, he worries. A lot.

“No,” I huff. It’ll serve me better if I’m honest from the start. Hiding things from Harlan is pointless, he finds out anyway. And I don’t like keeping things from him, I never have. When it’s just you and your sibling, you come to rely on each other a whole lot more. I’m also his baby sister, making him overprotective as all hell. It used to bother me, but now I understand it’s how he’s hardwired. “I’m not sure you noticed but my café is filled beyond capacity, my waitress is running her tail off and now my assistant has to help her out front, leaving me without help in the kitchen.” That’s my primary concern at the moment. My secondary concern can wait, lest I want Harlan to lose his shit and find the man responsible for my current state of distress and arousal. Harlan doesn’t need to know any of that just yet. One thing at a time, and right now, my business and livelihood takes precedence.

“Bird,” Harlan steps closer, and holds my arms. “Take a breath, okay? We will figure it out.”

The overwhelm starts to get the better of me, that feeling of too much on my plate making my eyes burn. Harlan wipes the tears on my cheeks, and pulls me in for a hug. “Does this have anything to do with Ethan being back in New York?”

I freeze, looking up at my brother. “How’d you know about that?” Just the mention of it intensifies my urge to cry, to give in to the overwhelm and fall into a messy heap on the floor. My body is too small to contain everything I’m feeling.

Harlan expels a breath, his expression back to scowling. “Björn called me, so did Rowland.”

I open my mouth, then close it, stepping back. I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. The last thing I need is to get a damn migraine. I recall, “You knew he was back when you came by the other night with Liv, when she had the recipe book. But you didn’t tell me.” It seems no one wanted to tell me, not my brother, not my best friend, not Rowland. I’m not some delicate flower, though everyone around me seems to think so. “We can talk about that another time, okay? Right now I have a bigger problem.”

Harlan purses his lips. “You need more staff, and a bigger store.”

Expansion is something we spoke about when Harlan bought the store I’m in now, but I didn’t think we’d need to move any time soon. Now, it’s unavoidable, unless I want to lose business. Which I don’t.

“I’m not sure we’ll find something before the new year, but let me see what I can do. You’ll need to send me your financial statements, Penny will be able to tell you if you can afford to move. Though you know I’ll help you anyway.”

My shoulders sag. “I don’t want you to finance it, Harlan. You already bought this place,” I wave my hands around, “and if we do manage to find another store that’s bigger than this one, I’d like to do it on my own.” Harlan can’t fund my life, not when he has one of his own. One that now includes another person. Harlan has been my rescuer for most of our lives, I’d like to rescue myself for a change. Daniel comes rushing into the kitchen, panting from running around and waiting on people no doubt. Not that I think he minds, him and Megan are officially an item and quite enjoy working together. And their productivity hasn’t wavered. I thought they’d distract each other, but they’re working harder and it’s not just because we’re insanely busy.

“We’re almost sold out of food, Boss,” he huffs, hands on his hips. When he spots Harlan he gives him a chin lift. “Harlan, how are you man?”

Harlan returns the gesture and replies, “Good, man. My sister still treating you well?”

Daniel smirks. “Best boss I’ve ever had.” He glances back at me. “We’re going to have to tuck into that emergency stash.”

I groan. “It’s not even lunch time, how have we run out of food?” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I add, “You know where it is. I’ll put the ovens on.”

Daniel disappears into our industrial freezer and is coming out, arms laden with frozen foods, when Harlan touches my arm. “Why don’t you have dinner with me and Liv tonight, at our place, and we can look at your options. I’ll have Penny compile a list. We’ll sort this out.” His expression changes, and his nerves become apparent when he rubs the back of his neck. “There’s, uh, something else I want to tell you, too, but not here. Tonight. At our place.” There are so few times I can recall where I’ve seen my brother as anything but unflappable, so his discomfort is beguiling. Too bad I don’t have time to ponder, I’m on the verge of a fucking crisis as it is.

“I’ll be there. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

I don’t feel any better when Harlan leaves. I don’t want to move my store, the logistics can be a nightmare, but I also can’t keep running myself into the ground or expect Megan and Daniel to do the same. Putting it out my mind for now, I get back to work, preparing the emergency stash of goodies that will also need to be replaced. It’s a substantial amount, too, but another thing I have to put out of my mind if I’m to get through this day alive. Between me, Daniel and Megan, we manage to keep the café stocked until 6 p.m — a freakin’ miracle if you ask me. We’re busy tidying up — Daniel is making a list of ingredients we need to replace what we used for the second half of the day — when Megan says, “If things keep going like this, we’re going to have a problem on Christmas Day.” Shit. That had slipped my mind.

“I’m seeing my brother tonight,” I tell her, my exhaustion coming over me in waves. “I’ll ask him if he has any suggestions about that.” I should have thought about that. Every year on Christmas Day we open for people who have nowhere else to go. We usually have a tree set up by now with wrapped gifts beneath it. Not only do I purchase gifts myself, but so does Harlan. We also receive numerous donations based on letters our patrons leave in the ‘Santa Box’ on our front counter — when those patrons show up on Christmas Day, they have a gift with their name on it under the tree. Some call it community outreach, but having been that kid who had shitty Christmas after shitty Christmas, I don’t want anyone else to feel the way I did. Alone and forgotten. And so our Christmas Day tradition at Wild Flour Café was born. I can’t allow what feels like a shrinking space to change that tradition. Megan takes my attention away from my wayward thoughts, and brings me back to the present.

“Are you seeing Olivia too?”

That makes me smile. “You mean Cecilia Lloyd?” Megan was sworn to secrecy when she found out my brother is dating New York Times Bestselling Author Cecilia Lloyd, which is obviously Liv’s pen name. Megan, like me, is a fan of her romance novels. “Yes, I’m having dinner at her — I mean, their apartment tonight.”

“Do you think you can ask her when she’s publishing her next book? I’ve read the set you gave me, like, five times and so has my roommate.”

“I doubt she’ll tell me, but I’ll ask.” Liv explained how it all works, who knew publishing was so painfully slow? Liv’s exact words were, it’s like watching paint dry, and then they still don’t do what you want them to anyway. For traditionally published authors anyway. Once the tables are clean, and Daniel is done in the kitchen, they say goodnight and leave together. Megan told me their first date was romantic, and that Daniel is wooing her. Her giddiness was adorable, and a feeling I’m not completely unfamiliar with. Ethan was that guy. He took me on dates, opened car doors, pulled out chairs, and that was just in public. In private, he was…different. Unrestrained, I guess. He loved touching me in public but in private? He was all over me, and I’d be a fool if I said I didn’t enjoy the two sides he showed me. Both were real. And that’s how I fell in love with him. I’m about to lock up when an UberEats guy races to the café door. “Miss, I have something for you.” He’s out of breath, as if he’s been running. I’m tempted to turn him away, too tired to face whatever Ethan has sent back, but I don’t want to be rude. With a small smile, I accept the box, tip the poor guy who had to do Ethan’s bidding, and lock up. I shoot a quick text to Harlan letting him know I’ll be there shortly, and wander into my kitchen. Box on the stainless steel workstation, I slowly flip the lid. I will never admit to anyone that these treats breathe life into the kind of excitement I only ever felt when I spent time in a kitchen with Ethan. Accompanying that tingle of anticipation is a healthy dose of reality, too. Because he’s still the boy who broke my heart, and the man who is now determined to drive me batshit crazy. I’m still dreaming about him, and I still refuse to deal with my arousal. Of course, not having that release is a contributing factor to my current state of exasperation. An orgasm would go a long way in relieving my stress. My hands tremble as I lift the lid, and I can’t help but inhale the sweet scent before inspecting what Ethan has sent me this time. There’s a note too, but I leave that aside. For now. Judging by the three rectangular-shaped desserts, it can only be Blondies — they’re like brownies but without cocoa and more sugar. I pick one up, and in the middle, between two layers of blondie batter, is Nutella. Such a simple thing, but I recall, unwillingly, when Ethan showed me how he makes them. He uses both brown and white sugar to give it that gooey texture, and always adds extra Nutella. I’m tempted to take a bite, but I put it back in the box and decide it can be our dessert tonight. Then I pick up the note, aware that it’s the first one with Ethan’s chicken scratch on it as opposed to Rowland’s messy scrawl.

Do you remember the first time we made these? You tasted so good covered in Nutella x

Ugh. He just had to go there. Too bad I can’t yell at him, and tell him I’ve never looked at Nutella the same, or that I haven’t eaten it since he left for France. It became a staple in our relationship, just not in the kitchen. My body shivers, remembering the way Ethan licked my torso, my belly button and the valley between my legs clean after smearing the chocolate in all his favorite places. I try to shut the memory down, but it’s there, so vivid and alive…

“Ethan, what are you doing?” I breathed, writhing on the hardwood floor in Ethan’s living room. We’d spent the afternoon in the kitchen, and well, it seemed to lead us to a state of undress and foreplay more and more. Not that I could complain. Ethan smiled, using a spoon to trail Nutella from the valley between my breasts, down my stomach and between my legs. “I think I like Nutella better on you than I do in my desserts.” He sat up, taking in his handiwork, and tossed the spoon aside before spreading my legs further apart. We were both completely naked, and while he admired the dips and curves of my body, I shivered when I saw his erection. I expected him to start between my legs, but he tortured me by starting a slow trail of kisses from behind my ear, down to my breasts. I arched when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, and grabbed his hair. The need to close my eyes was there, but I reveled the sight of him like this, naked and playful. “You taste much better like this,” he murmured, moving lower and lower, licking up the chocolate as he went. We’d be sticky afterwards, but that was always a prelude to shower sex, and I’d become quite addicted to that as of late. One could even say I was addicted to Ethan, though I had yet to gather the courage to tell him I loved him. I wanted to speak, ask him to hurry up, but I was already out of breath. “I love your body,” he whispered, using his hands to tilt my hips how he wanted. “You’re perfect.” Right then would have been the perfect time to respond. However, he robbed me of my words by ending his journey where I wanted, needed, him most.

“Yes,” I hissed, tilting my head so I could watch him. His eyes, ice cold blue, reminded me of the blue flame emitted by a torch gun when used to caramalize sugar. Slowly, and with intent, his parted my lips with his tongue, moving from my wet entrance — he turned me on something fierce — to my clit. He sucked on it, and I let out a sound, a quiet, “ah”. He hummed his own satisfaction, the vibration a sensory delight. Laying my hips back on the floor, he slid two fingers inside me, and said, his voice husky, “Always have to make sure my girl is ready.” It was always such a cliché when a woman said her partner was big, and had to be thoroughly prepared to take all of him. In my case, it was the absolute truth. My knees fell to the side, and my hips started moving to the rhythm of his hand. But I knew his game by now, the look on his face and what it meant. He wouldn’t allow me to come like this. No matter how badly I needed to. As expected, he knew when I was on the cusp and slowly removed his hand, licking his fingers clean, and reached for a condom he’d tossed on the floor while we got naked. He moved the head of his erection between my wet lips, and watched himself playing with me, sliding a bit of himself in and out. When he was satisfied, he moved me closer and leaned over me. “Tell me you want me,” he whispered, his mouth inches from mine. A mouth I knew all to well.

Trailing my hands down the side of his sculpted torso, feeling the goosebumps on his flesh, I replied, just as quietly, “I want you, Ethan. I always do.” A beat passed where we just stared at each other, and I wondered if this is what it felt like to fall in love. If this is what it felt like when someone else’s existence felt so vital to your own. I didn’t have much time to linger on that because Ethan kissed me, and filled me, and everything that came out of my mouth, our mouths, was downright carnal. I was grateful he didn’t take his time — he knew when I wanted him hard, when I wanted him slow and when I wanted to be fucked. Now was definitely one of the times I wanted to be fucked, good and thorough. We didn’t talk dirty, we just moved dirty. His tempo increased but he held me in place so as to avoid any kind of abrasion from the hard floor. He reached between us, and managed to play with my clit while keeping his rhythm.