Finding Fate (2 page)

I curl my lip.  Was that a come on?  Wow, guys are getting desperate these days.  Must be the bad economy.

“I’ve got plenty in the front case here,” I say, trying to remind myself that he’s a customer.  No matter how annoying or how make-me-drool sexy he is, the guy is a customer. 

“Not interested in the front case,” he says.  “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name?” I shoot back, bitchy.  I regret sounding bitchy but face it, this guy is pissing me off.  And plus, I’m not even open yet. 

“I asked first,” he says.

Oh, here we go, the high school banter.  I hate when guys act like boys.  Where are the men at?  Seriously.

I open my mouth, ready to fire away at him, when Mr. Jens takes a drink of his coffee and makes a loud smacking sound with his lips.

“Still the best damn banana bread I ever had,” he says.  “You know, I miss my Althea every single day but I’m sure glad I’ve gotten these years to enjoy this bread in peace.  She used to try and copy your grandmother’s recipes.”

My eyes are stuck on Mr. Hottie with the Ink.  He’s got a half smirk on his face, enjoying Mr. Jens is word vomiting my family’s history.  But damn, when he smirks, he has these dimples...

No, stop it Isabella.  Just... stop it.

I look at Mr. Jens.

“Okay, well you have a great day Mr. Jens,” I say, still screaming, hoping the old man understands me.

“She would get so mad,” Mr. Jens continues, “because I’d try her bread, you know, and it wasn’t half as good as this.  She could see it in my face and if I lied to her it only made it worse.”

“Okay,” I say.

Mr. Jens looks at me, finally, and sees the expression on my face. 

The hint is finally taken and he looks over his shoulder as Mr. Super Sexy and then looks at me surprised.  He leans forward, trying to whisper, but he can’t.

“In my day, we didn’t need to color our arms to impress the girls.”

He takes out a ten and slides it towards me.  It’s way more than he needs to pay but Mr. Jens doesn’t take change.  Ever.  I fought with him once and he told me if he walks with change then everyone will know he’s coming and he prefers to be sneaky.  I’m not so sure how an almost ninety year old man can be sneaky, considering most of the time he has some kind of cough or cold.

But whatever, it’s a decent tip for me.

Joy.

He turns and hobbles his way from the bakery, pausing at Tattoo Boy.

“Take care of that girl,” Mr. Jens says.

“No,” I cry out but it’s no use.

“She’s special,” Mr. Jens continues.  “She works magic with her hands.”

Oh gosh, did he just say that?

I cringe and blush as Hot Guy looks at me and winks. 

“I’m sure she’s magical,” Sexy says and pats Mr. Jens on the shoulder. 

“If I were your age, I’d take her out to dinner.”

No, no, no, no...

“She won’t go with me,” Hot Guy says, now using Mr. Jens as some kind of pawn.

Mr. Jens looks at me.  “I was only joshing about the tattoos, Isa.”

Damn!  He said my name!  Part of it too. 

“Isa,” Hot Guy says and nods.

“You two be safe,” Mr. Jens offers and I’m not sure what he implies by saying that.

He leaves, finally, and now I’m stuck with Hot Guy.

He struts towards the counter and puts his elbows on it.  His arms look big and strong, and I start to catch sight of his ink.  It’s an array of designs, patterns, everything working together creating some kind of story. 

I’d love to hear that story... and see if he has anymore ink on him.

Now I feel desperate.

“Isa?” he asks.

“Isabella,” I say.  “I hate being called Isa.  Only Mr. Jens does it.”

Why am I talking to him?  And why am I talking so casual?  I hate myself right now but I can’t help it.  It’s been way too long since a hot guy has talked to me.  Not many good looking guys my age come into a bakery looking for a snack or a date.

Maybe this just my lucky day.

My eyes shift from his eyes and his tattoos.  The colorful artwork on his skin is just so sexy and tempting.  I imagine him sitting in a tattoo parlor with no shirt on, the whirring of the needle tearing his skin open, depositing ink.

“Funny thing,” Hottie says, “I’ve spoken with that man at least half a dozen times.    But he still doesn’t remember me.”

“Are you from around here?  I don’t remember seeing you.”

He smiles.  Ugh.  So cute.  Hot.  Sexy. 

“I’m everywhere,” he says with a cockiness that he could back up.  “Just got back into town yesterday.  Helping with the family business.”

“And you are...?” I ask, desperate for his name.

“Colt,” he says.

That just about explodes my tender heart into pieces.  The name is hot, but it has an innocent sound to it, doesn’t it? 

Colt.

I’m not sure if he looks like a Colt or not but I know for sure that anyone else I ever meet named Colt will be second best to the Colt standing before me right now.

“You should serve coffee out here and sell it,” he says and taps the counter.

“Thanks for the tip,” I say.

I turn for a second to check on the ovens and give my body a break from Colt’s delicious look and tempting eyes.

He says, “I’m just offering a suggestion.  Clean this place up a little and turn it into a café or something, right?”

“A café?  For what?”

“For people.  Nice little hangout spot.”

I freeze, watching as Colt eyes the place like some high profile realtor looking to make a sale or find reasons why the place should be closed down.  His look doesn’t fit what he’s doing.

It intrigues me.

“And you would know?”

He’s turned now, his back facing me.  He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’d know.  Trust me.”

“Trust you?  I don’t know you.  Are you buying something?”

“Didn’t we already go through this?”

“Then why are you here?”

“Smells good,” he says.  “Thought I’d check it out.”

“I’m not even open yet,” I say.

“I’m sure you will be soon enough.”

He’s so fast and so hot, my mouth now shuts and I have nothing.

I hear him saying it...

“I’m sure you will be soon enough.”

What the hell did that mean?  Was that some kind of sexual thing?  Or just a normal, waiting for the business to open kind of remark?

I just met Colt and he’s already frustrating me.  I wish guys could find the balance between aggressive and passive.  They should have a class in high school for it.  Either I have guys trying to tongue me before introducing themselves or I have a guy like Colt, a guy so freaking hot, but he’s more interested in the cobwebs in the corners of the bakery.

“I have to get to work,” I say, bringing myself back to a lonely reality of not having the freedom I dream of. 

The ability to meet a guy and just run off and have a fun day or enjoy myself.  The bakery used to be open four days a week and then five and then six.  Everything family problems crept into our lives, the bakery opened more.  There was a spoken word about seven days and I had to walk away from the conversation.  Nothing like seeing your mother sitting at the kitchen with her only love, staring between cracked blinds, dazed and lost, suggesting I work seven days a week.

“Yeah, there’s tons of work to be done here,” Colt remarks.

Now I’m annoyed.

Seriously.

“What do you know about a bakery or café?”

Colt spins around.  “I own a few.”

“A few... what?”

“Cafés,” Colt said.  “And we bake there too.”

“A few?”

“Okay, fine, I own four.”

I’m in shock.  Colt looks...

“...so young,” I whisper.

“Me?”  He laughs.  “Look at yourself.  You have a bakery.”

“I don’t own it,” I say. 

Colt’s eyebrows raise.  “Oh.  Okay.  Who does?”

“Family,” I say.  Which is true.  I’m not really sure who owns the place fully.  It was my Grammie’s, but since she...

“Family business is hard,” Colt says.  “Been there, done that.  Sometimes cut throat.  You should open your own place.”

Hearing it sounds good but the reality of it all is that I’m behind the counter of the family bakery, the neon sign outside buzzing GG’s Bakery.  It’s my life, for now, until things sort themselves out.

“Did you hear me, Bella?”

I hate shortened versions of my name, but when Colt says Bella... well...
wow
... what a feeling.  My rules instantly change.  Colt can call me anything he wants. 

“I heard you,” I say.  “It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

I raise an eyebrow.  “Who are you?” I ask.  “I’m not going to tell you about my personal life.”

“So it’s a matter of getting to know each other better?”

He’s so smooth and calm.  He seems the type that lets nothing get to him.

Damn, he’s sexy and smart...

I’m screwed, big time, if he doesn’t leave.

He puts his elbows back on the glass counter. 

He’s not leaving.

“Let’s get to know each other.”

“Why?  I’m busy.”

“I’m busy too.  Everyone is busy.”

“Then you understand my position.”

“I’d love to know about your position,” Colt says.  “Then I can share mine.  We can share positions together...”

I grumble under my breath, trying to make it seem like he’s lame.  But he’s not lame, I am. 

“What’s your favorite position?”

My cheeks start to turn red and I will it not to happen.  I turn and walk towards the register, touching my cell phone, pretending that I have a text or email or something.  But there’s nothing, just my main screen showing a picture of a droplet of water hitting the ground.

“Must be important,” Colt calls out.

“What?  Oh.  My phone.  Of course.  Business.”

Colt smiles.  “Business.  I understand.  Is that what this is?  Business?”

“Me in the bakery is business,” I say.  “Why you’re here... I don’t really know.”

Colt looks up at the neon clock behind me and smiles.  “Right on time.”

“Right on time?” I ask.

“Yep.  You’re now open.  I’ll take a slice of the chocolate chip bread, to go.”

He adds the words
to go
as though I should suddenly be upset that he’s not going to spending more time bothering me. 

I tell myself it’s good he’s going to be leaving but as I reach for his order, I kind of wonder what else he has to say to me.  He seems so calm and casual, like we know each other.

I ring him up just as a few people begin to work their way in.  I recognize all of them as regulars.  The people who knew my grandparents and think the world of my family.  They’ll ask how my mother is doing with her
illness
and I’ll have to nod and explain she’s
taking it one day at a time
.  They’re the ones who have the potential to linger and mingle with the other patrons.  If the subject is anything but my family, I’m fine, but when they start about my mother and her...

“Can I be honest for a second?” Colt asks with a mouthful of chocolate chip bread.

“Sure,” I say.

“This bread...”  Colt points to the bread.  He swallows his bite.  He smiles.  “This bread sucks.”

My mouth falls open.

Colt winks and then takes another bite.

By the time he reaches the door, someone is at the counter but I’m not paying attention to them.  Not at all.  My eyes are locked on Colt, watching him walk up the sidewalk. 

I hear someone saying my name but I ignore.

I could care less about the people in the bakery.

How dare Colt try and say the bread
sucks
?  And then he leaves without giving me a chance to ask why... or explain... or...

I hear a heavy rumbling outside kick up.  It takes me all of a second I know it’s a motorcycle.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Sure enough, a couple seconds later, a black motorcycle goes down the street.  The driver thankfully is wearing a helmet, but he’s not wearing a jacket.

And I see tattoos.

Really sexy tattoos...

Shit.

If Colt comes back, I’m in big trouble.

-Chapter 2-

When the bakery finally closes, my body is sore.  The first thing I do after locking the door is just stare out the door.  The large glass panes are more of prison bars but I have to keep it to myself.  I can’t let anyone down, except myself.  That I’ve done many times and will probably continue to do so.