Page 65 of Rough and Rugged
With dozens of pints of fresh, plump, and tart raspberries, I let my heart guide me to the goodies I made for today. Mackenzie steals one of each before she helps me load up the bakery case. As we finish, the ding for the sourdough bread startles me and I almost drop a tray of cupcakes.
“Ding ding, that’s the bread for your sweetheart,” Mackenzie teases me.
Making a face at her, I roll my eyes as my face flushes. How is she the oldest with her juvenile antics? Rushing to get the bread out of the oven, I feel the fluttery sensations in my tummy. I make this bread special for one person. I make fresh rye or pumpernickel from time to time, but usually I focus on sweets. That is what I love to make. This bread, though, this is for someone who I would bake any loaf of bread, donut, or brulee for.
Becker Tallman is the sweetest thing in all of Driftwood—too bad he’s not sweet on me.
Pulling the loaves out, I set them on a cooling rack. Foolish tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away fast. We’ve had enough heart-to-hearts about men. First about her breakup with her almost-boyfriend Dole, not to mention our sad stories about our father.
“Do you butter slices for him so you can feed him? Is it some sort of kink between the two of you? I mean, that could be hot, feeding him food.”
Glaring at my sister, I shake my head. I should never have mentioned my crush on Becker to my sister. Knowing he could never want a girl who looks the way I do, I should have given up this crush ages ago. Since he started coming to the bakery last summer, I cannot help how I feel.
Becker is kind and sweet, so handsome it hurts to look at him, and he makes me feel safe whenever he comes in. Not that Driftwood Peaks is unsafe, exactly. Growing up with an alcoholic father who flew into fits of rage hardly provided a safe place for us.
“Stop teasing me about him. You know it upsets me,” I whisper to her as I bag up two of the loaves, knowing he will be in soon to grab them.
“Why would it upset you? You like him, he likes you, it should not be that hard. Then again, liking someone is not always enough,” she admits.
Frowning at her, I go to hug her. Things with her and Dole never got serious, but I think she had hoped they might. He found the love of his life weeks after they first went out. I teased her she should date all the guys in town, so they can find their happiness after her. I guess the good-natured teasing about boyfriends and romance goes both ways.
“It’s definitely not enough if only one of us likes the other, Mack,” I scold her, hating that she even teases me with him, liking me the way I do him. Of course he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t think about me all day. Or wait anxiously for his visits. He doesn’t wake up before the sun is up to create something for me. I have done all that every single day since we met.
“Uh, what does that even mean, Bria? You cannot think he comes here for some sourdough.Do youthink that? He hauls his cookies here for your cookies, sweetheart,” she teases me, waggling her brows at me with a pointed look at my ample bosom.
“Hush your filthy mouth! He does not... I mean, he’s a guy but... he never even looks... stop it!” I almost whine as I flush hot again.
Becker is the hottest lumberjack in Driftwood, which is saying a lot because there are a lot of hot lumberjacks in town. With his towering frame of at least 6’5, his broad, powerful shoulders, the dark beard and long, glossy dark hair, he looks like a Greek God, if you ask me. When he smiles.... oh, when he smiles, my heart stops for a few seconds before slamming against my ribs to a beat that beats just for him.
“How obtuse of you, B,” Mackenzie teases me before she turns and heads out the front door, waving her steaming cup of coffee at me as she goes.
Frowning after her, I push down the swell of hope inside me. My sister is biased—of course she thinks some hot lumberjack would find me cute. Heck, he might even find me cute. Cute as an adorable Disney character. I wish the world did not see me as the pie making, cake frosting, sweets shilling sweetheart I am. Is that all I am?
Rounding the counter, I check the days’ pickup orders when the bell on the door rings. It’s not the ring of the bell that makes my heart bounce in my chest. It’s not the heavy boots on the pink and white tiles. The smell. Wood burning and sweet cherry wood smoke. I close my eyes and inhale quietly, savoring the sweet scent I’m addicted to.
“Morning darlin,” his voice booms, filling up the small shop. “Did you miss me this weekend?”
Flushing when he asks me the cute question he does every Monday, I take a calming breath. Turning, I try to get the stupid grin off my face but can’t. And I answer the way I always do. “Of course I did. How’s things up at the landing, Becker?”
Becker stands towering over me, his vast frame taking up all the space between the counter and where I stand. I can’t be certain, but he seems to lean in to take up even more space. His big hands come down on the counter, his posture going relaxed as he leans against the bakery case.
“Going good enough. Will be even better now that I’ve come by to see you. I smell that sourdough, is that what you whipped up, darlin?”
Nodding my head, I can’t form words. I certainly can’t flirt the way I want to. The way sometimes let myself think he’s flirting. Becker leans closer, so closer I can see the flecks of gold in his honey-brown eyes. I smell his soap and see the tattoo that spreads over his shoulder up to his neck.
The hours I have laid in bed wondering what the tattoo is. What other tattoos does he have, and would he show me if I asked? I flush hot once again, hating how shy I am, how I can’t talk to him the way I do in my head. In my head, I seduce him with cute talk and the best bread in town. In turn, he wants to wed me and breed me with his babies.
“Bria,” his voice sounds low, too close, his hand sliding across the counter between us. “What is wrong, darlin?” He hums, his hand covering mine on the counter. Heat simmers on my skin as his big palm covers my much smaller one, still dusted with sugar and flour.
“N-Nothing. I’m fine. Let me go grab that bread for you.”
“Bria, wait, just a minute,” his words come fast, but my feet go faster. I duck behind the swinging door to the kitchen, tears streaming down my cheeks. Why do I let myself think about things that can never happen?
Hastily shoving the rounds of bread into a bag, I seal it with the pink and white sticker with the bakery logo on it. I take one more moment to compose myself before I put on a smile and head out. I find Becker pacing the small space like a wild animal. His feral movements are beautiful.
“Here you go. I hope you enjoy the sourdough.”
“Bria, is everything alright? You seem upset. Did I do something?”