Bad Traveler (6 page)

“It’d be good for business, unless you’re thinking of a more private location.”

“I ought to slap you, but then Grandma’d slap me at dinner tomorrow.”

“What can I say, she likes me best.”

“Then why is my handsome face on more pictures in her house?”

He slugged him in the arm, and Logan returned the favor. After a few punches and another cookie, they got down to serious work.

Fortunately, Logan hauled in most of the cut laminate, and he had a backup assistant he could call in if they failed to finish the floor today. They might not. He and walking weren’t on good terms this week. A dull ache in his leg nagged at him, and a blister had formed where flesh met plastic. Installing the floor after his Tuesday fitting appointment at the VA hospital would have been preferable, but Gwen needed the floor. Her need drove him. That and the promise of ibuprofen and massage oil later.

He dropped to the floor.
Damn
. A noise escaped his mouth through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to be okay with this work, or should I call someone else to help, too?”

“I’ll be fine. Just let me get more comfortable.” He removed the transtibial prosthetic from his right leg. “I’ll be faster this way. This one doesn’t fit right.”

“Can I presume that she doesn’t know about your leg?”

“Who?”

“You know who. It’s so obvious. You should have seen your face earlier when I threatened to ask her out. You were like one of those old cartoons where the guy has steam shooting from his nose and ears. Kinda like you look now.”

“Enough.”

Logan joined him on the floor. “In all seriousness, I haven’t seen you look twice at a woman since your accident, until now. And she’s different around you than she is with me. I thought I was going to have to tell you two to get a room when she brushed that flour off your cheek earlier.”

Yeah, that
had
been nice. He couldn’t suppress his smile.

“See.”

“Fine.”

“So, go for it.”

He wished he could, but why risk the inevitable rejection?

“You should. Ladies love a war hero.” Logan winked.

They did not. Sure, plenty of women waxed poetic about a man in uniform, but the reality was different. When Brooke visited him in the hospital long after he’d begun to heal, she pulled back the covers and screamed. The horrible, shrill sound echoed long after she left the room. She returned six days later with divorce papers. She didn’t say anything other than, “You’re broken and gross.”

Not that their marriage had been a dream to begin with. Their marriage lacked some intangible quality. On the late-night bombing raids when Matt spoke of his wife, he realized what was missing—a sense of respect, sacrifice, and above all love. Before the injury, he suggested counseling to make the marriage work. But the cruelness of the end surprised him. He’d made peace with the divorce, understanding that he’d never loved her fully. Her parting words still haunted him. Each blow of the hammer locked the floor in place but couldn’t silence the voice in his head.
“Broken. Useless. Gross. Damaged.”

All he had left were work and fantasies.

With the storefront mostly ready to go and with the respectable cookie-delivery sales during final-exam week, Gwen decided to soft open her bakery in the days leading up to Christmas. As she reupholstered chairs, she kept the doors unlocked. Samples in the display case showed customers what they could order for delivery from her home until she received her county health permit. Although her parents, sister, and Kyle knew of her plans to soft open, signage and word of mouth comprised her only advertising. Why spend the money until the students arrived back in town?

During a last-minute check of the product and cash register Monday morning, movement at the picture window caught her eye. Recognizing his coat, she waved to Kyle and crossed the beautiful floor he helped to install. The sleigh bells, picked up last week on sale, jingled as she unlocked the front door to let him in.

“Technically, I don’t open for a few minutes, but it’s too cold to wait out there.” She flipped the sign to open.
May as well
.

“Thanks. Looks like I’m your first customer.”

As he took off his gloves, he flashed a lopsided grin that turned her legs to pudding. The tips of his ears were reddened from the cold.
How long has he been outside?

“I know what you need. How do you take your coffee?” She gestured toward a table, but he walked with her toward the coffee machine and stayed on the other side of the counter. “And that coffee?”

“Black.” He looked into the glass-front display case. “Are those lemon-poppy muffins?”

The sturdy white mug slid smoothly on the counter. Not a drop spilled. “I have a few samples today. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.”

Using one of the waxed-paper sheets kept just inside the counter doors, she retrieved the best looking one. When she rose, muffin on plate, he opened his wallet.

“Your money is no good here, Kyle.” Taking his money didn’t seem right, not after all he’d done to get her shop ready.

His gaze locked with hers. She recognized intensity in his expression, one she’d describe as smoldering if he thought of her as more than a down-on-her-luck pal. Unable to force herself to look away, she fought the urge to kiss him.

He spoke in a conspiratorial tone, shattering the illusion of desire. “If you give out too many freebies, you’ll never turn enough profit to buy food and clothes and a puppy for Chloe. Besides, I insist on paying. I want to be your first customer.”

“I don’t think my parents would let us have a puppy. We’ll have to move out first.”

“All the more reason to let me pay.” When he flashed those white teeth in a broad grin at her, she resigned herself to doing whatever he wanted. He unzipped his coat as she rang up the sale. “I also brought you something to celebrate your first customer.”

“Really?”

From somewhere deep inside his coat, he pulled out an empty black photo frame. “I thought you might like to frame your first dollar for luck.”

His thoughtfulness impressed her. She loved restaurants that displayed a memory of their first sale. It reassured her about the business.

“Thank you! You’ll have to sign the bill, of course.”

He pulled out a Sharpie and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“You are too much, Kyle Collins!” The jingling of bells announced the entrance of another customer, double parked in front, but intrigued by the new business.

As the days ground on, the local population was more interested in baking their own holiday cookies than buying hers.
Business will pick up when the students return
. She might close during spring break to avoid the same problem. Then again, she owned a secret weapon. Her competitor, the campus coffee bar, closed when classes weren’t in session.

A member of the city government came by Wednesday to check the licenses on an unfamiliar business. “That’s a nice-looking machine you have back there. Can I get a latte?”

“Sorry, I can’t make one for you. I don’t have a level-four business permit to allow me to sell perishables.”

“Right answer, although I’m sorry to hear it.” Forty minutes later, he returned with another man, a thermometer, and a flashlight. By the end of the day, she displayed a city-issued temporary license valid for thirty days, or until the state inspector came through—whichever came first. She suspected the latter since she was on day eight of waiting for the state inspection.

Word of her espresso maker increased business on Thursday and Friday. Her fully automatic wasn’t the fastest machine, but the preprogrammed buttons let her make a few standard drinks with the touch of a button. It even frothed the milk for her so she didn’t need to learn to be a barista, too, if her coffee menu stayed simple. The average of fifteen customers a day included pity visits from her parents. As a test, she left them a plate of muffins and a pot of fresh-brewed coffee on Wednesday morning. When they brought Chloe to the store for her morning meal, they ordered scones and coffee. The untouched plate remained on the kitchen counter at the end of the day.

Stacking the chairs, the plainness of the walls assailed her vision. Perhaps the art department might be interested in displaying student or faculty work. A cork bulletin board in the hallway leading to the restroom would give her customers a community center, eventually. The only adornments up were the framed temporary license and the autographed bill.

***

Each morning, Kyle brought his newspaper from home, ordered a mug of coffee, and perused the daily assortment of scones, muffins, and cookies before making a selection. He couldn’t make a bad choice.

Thursday, citrus and something tart filled the air as he opened the door. Her broad smile brightened her face, and his morning. A silvery coffeepot dangled in her hand.

“Good morning. One cup of coffee, black, just as you like it.”

She slid the white mug across the counter. Their hands touched briefly. She peeked at him through her long lashes, a shy smile on her face. Heat flushed through him.

“This will help warm you up.”

“I bet.” Just being in her presence warmed him—especially since she brought Chloe today. Wearing a pair of pink-footed pajamas, she played with a rattle in the comfort of her portable crib.

“What do you recommend today?”

“I like the orange-cranberry scones. They smell like Christmas.”

“Is that what smells so good? I’ll take one. I’m headed out of town for a game, and I’ll come back just long enough to repack and get to my parents for Christmas, so I won’t see you for a few days, unless I can convince you to make a couple dozen toffee cookies for me to take along. I was going to leave on Christmas Eve.”

“Could you call me on the twenty-third? I’ll bring them over to your place if that’s okay.”

“Perfect.”

He set his breakfast on the table closest to the counter. Peekaboo with Chloe beat reading the paper. How could her father reject her? That’s not how a man behaved, at least not an intelligent one. She was so sweet and innocent. As the girl chuckled so hard he thought she’d fall over, his heart softened. Thinking of Gwen made his heart beat faster, playing with Chloe made it expand.

At least he hadn’t lost his head. Not yet. His heart was a lost cause, but he’d deal with that later. The problem was his heart gave him hope he and Gwen could have a future together. His mind recognized the improbability of that future.

***

The bags grew heavy on her arms as she waited for him to respond to the doorbell. Unlike the entryway to the apartment complex, the inner door looked new, solid, and secure. She drummed her foot.
What is taking him so long?
She wondered if this complex allowed children. So many in town didn’t. She leaned in to press the bell again as the door opened.

“Is this a good time?”

Her gaze dipped to his bare chest, a view definitely worth waiting for. She hoped Kyle would assume the flush in her cheeks stemmed from the cold wind outside.

Movement from his arms reminded her to look up, and he took the bags from her hands.

“I know asked you to come over, but I didn’t expect you so soon. Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me in the shower. Come in.”

The apartment door opened into the living room dominated by a large flat-screen TV and two recliners. She tried not to gawk at Kyle’s chest, but she couldn’t help sneak a peek at his six-pack abs and the damp curls peeking above the waist of his jeans. His body was more magnificent than she remembered, and more scarred. Shiny patches of skin flecked his right side.
What happened?

“This is quite the bachelor pad.”
And he probably entertains women here regularly
.

His bare shoulders nudged upward, and his right arm wrapped across his torso as if he were self-conscious about those parts of his body she longed to touch. “I watch a lot of game tape. It fills the time. Could I get you something to drink? I was thinking of making some decaf.”

“Sounds good.”

After setting her purse on the kitchen pass through, she draped her coat on one of the two chairs by a small wood table in the eating nook. It had nice Scandinavian style, but still looked like a lonesome place to eat dinner. She hated eating dinner alone. Did he even eat at the table, or did he balance a plate on his legs while watching TV?

As he worked in the kitchen, she appreciated the view of his broad shoulders moving with ease as the muscles rippled. The impulse to kiss him took over her brain. Her feet started toward him. She’d closed the gap about halfway when he turned around.

He startled, as if he’d forgotten she was there. That was about par for the course. Ever since her pregnancy started showing, she’d turned invisible to the male eye, unless nursing.

His brows furrowed. “I’ll be right back.” He walked down the short hallway of his apartment and disappeared through a door on the right.

He hadn’t touched her, or given her any signs. Those smiles he offered her at work, different than ones offered by other customers, must have been a figment of her imagination. Disappointed, she unpacked her canvas totes, extracting several clear bags stacked with cookies and tied with red ribbon at the top. Last came two plain white boxes, labeled A and B.

When he returned wearing a long-sleeve gray T-shirt, she wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved she wouldn’t embarrass herself by drooling.

“Here are the cookies you ordered. I forgot to ask if you wanted them gift wrapped or plated, so I put them in bags.”

“They look great. Is that your logo?” His finger traced the swirling steam rising from the cup of coffee on the left side of the oval to the top of the arc where similar swirls arose from a muffin in the lower right quadrant.

“Almost. To keep the state happy, so long as I’m working in my parents’ kitchen, I need to label all baked goods as home produced. On the store version, ‘Homemade by Gwen’ will be replaced with the Sweet Shop. And that coffee will be the perfect palate cleanser. It beeped while you were down the hall. I have two types of brownies, and I need your help picking the best.” Staring into his eyes made her wish he would try something.