Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (8 page)

“
I
know
that running by the bakery is boring,” I admit. “But I’ll be just a few minutes. You can have a snack and then we’ll head to swim class. We won’t be late.”

“Can I have a double chocolate cupcake?” Chloe asks casually.

“Don’t push your luck,” I tell her, looking at her in the rearview mirror. She catches my eye and gives me her best sad puppy-dog look. “I have fruit and cheese sticks at the bakery.”

“Ugh, gross." Chloe rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Why are you giving me the 'ugh, gross' thing?” I ask, distracted as I turn down the main street in town. “You like that stuff.”

“It’s
fiiine
."

“Not as good as double chocolate cupcakes?” I tease.

“I don’t like cheese sticks anymore."

“Uh-huh. Since when? You had them yesterday.”

“Since today.”

“Fine. We’ll find something healthy and non-cheese stick for you, then.”

“And a cupcake after dinner?” she asks.

“Maybe. If you get your homework done and clean up your room.”

“Mo-
om
,” she whines.

“What?”

“That’s really not a fair trade,” she says. “I have to do math and it sucks. Plus, there are a lot of toys in my room to clean up.”

“Life’s not fair.” I turn into the parking space in front of the bakery. “And if you have too many toys, we should definitely get rid of some of them.”

“What?” she squeals. “No way.”

“Yes way." I unbuckle her from her car seat and she jumps out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She walks ahead of me, bouncing on one foot and then the other as she skips the cracks in the sidewalk like she’s playing hopscotch, her brown ponytail swinging back and forth.

“I don’t think we need to get rid of my toys, mom,” she says, holding open the bakery door for me, suddenly congenial.

“You don’t, do you?”

It's almost four and the bakery is empty. Generally, I try to have things completely wrapped up by the end of the day so I can pick up Chloe from school and focus on her for the rest of the afternoon. But I need to grab some paperwork to work on while Chloe’s at swimming lessons, and check on the delivery that should have come this afternoon.

I walk quickly through the store toward the kitchen. "Pull out your homework and start working on it," I tell her. Why she has so much homework in first grade, I just can't understand. I don't think I had homework when I was her age. "I'll grab you a snack."

"I don't like the math problems," she calls.

"You have to do them anyway."

The back door in the kitchen is open, and I stop short when Killian enters from outside carrying a fifty-pound bag of flour over his shoulder . . . shirtless. Sweat glistens on the wide expanse of his muscles and I just stand there for a second with my mouth open, gawking at him.

Shit. I'm leering at him like I've never seen a bare-chested man before. Except I have. I've seen a bare-chested Killian before, in fact. The image may be burned into my brain.

Killian sets the bag of flour down on the floor and wipes his brow. "Didn't expect you back here," he says.

"Oh?" I ask, forcing nonchalance into my voice.
Sound casual, Lily. Like you're not gaping at his pecs. Or his abs. Or the tattoo that covers his chest and winds up over his shoulder and down his bicep.

I forgot what I was going to say.

Killian smirks like he can read my mind as he reaches for his shirt on one of the shelves.

"Hey mom!" Chloe yells, barging through the swinging doors. "Ugh. Totally gross. Why is your shirt off? I don't need to see that."

I laugh at her bluntness, but choke and wind up coughing loudly. Killian scrambles into his shirt, and when I look up, I think I see a faint blush on his cheeks.
Oh my God. Is the caveman embarrassed?

"I didn't know anyone was here," he says.

Chloe walks over to the refrigerator and throws open the door with a bang. "You're probably getting sweat everywhere, you know," she yells. "Did you know sweat contains bacteria?"

"He's bringing in a delivery, Chloe," I say.

"It was warm outside," Killian explains.

Chloe reappears with a bowl of cut-up fruit. "No, it's not," she argues. "We had to wear jackets at recess today, and East took his off, and then Mrs. S told him to put it back on so he didn't catch a cold."

"That's not really how colds work," Killian says. "Is East a kid?"

"Yeah," Chloe says, popping a grape into her mouth. "That's his name. East."

Killian snorts. "Who names their kid something dumb like that?"

I clear my throat and glare at Killian. "Do you have anywhere else to be?"

Chloe's eyes get wide. "See, mom?" she asks, looking at me and then back to Killian. "I said it was a stupid name and I got two of my toys taken away because mom said I shouldn't say mean things. This guy just said 'dumb'."

Killian shrugs. "Some things are self-evident."

"Mr. Saint shouldn't have used the word 'dumb'," I say sternly. "Because we don't call people dumb. How would you like it if someone called you those things?"

"I didn't call East dumb!" Chloe protests. "I said his
name
was stupid, and I didn't say it to him, I said it to you. If I said it to him, that would be mean."

"We don't say other people's names are dumb!" I reiterate firmly.

Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. "He said it."

"He's an adult, and sometimes adults say stupid things," I blurt out. I immediately regret my choice of words.

"You just said
stupid
! Now you have to lose a toy."

"I don't have any toys to lose." I think I hear Killian cough and then clear his throat. Of course. I'm sure he assumes I'm a hard-up single mom with a drawer full of battery-operated toys. Okay, so that’s not far removed from reality. "Why don't you take your fruit out to the table and do your homework?"

Chloe ignores me. Instead, she looks at Killian through narrowed eyes and pops a piece of pineapple into her mouth. "Are you working for my mom?"

"He's helping out for a little bit, yes, Chloe. What did I say about your homework?"

"This is a bakery," Chloe says, frowning as she looks at him. "Only girls work in bakeries."

"That's not true," I say. I swear I’ve taught her better than that.

Killian interrupts. "You've never seen a male chef?" he asks, his voice gruff. "Men can work in bakeries just fine."

"How would you like it if someone told you that you couldn't play with something because it was a boy's toy?" I ask.

"That's what East says at school whenever I try to do math," Chloe complains. "He says girls can't do math."

"Well, there you go, East does sound like a stupid kid," Killian says.

"Killian!" I hiss. I'm going to kill him.

"I know." Chloe nods sagely as she looks at Killian. "But I'm not going to tell him that because that would be mean. I'll just think it in my head when I look at him."

"Homework," I growl.

“I’m going!” she says. “But don’t forget swim lessons!”

“I’ll only be a few minutes. You have time to do at least five math problems.”

“Two,” she says casually, as she walks out the door.

“This is not a negotiation!” I call. When she’s gone, I turn to look at Killian. “That’s not true,” I admit, exhaling heavily. “
Everything’s
a negotiation.”

Killian shrugs. “At least she’s got opinions.”

“That’s for sure. You stayed here to wait for the delivery?”

“I heard you say they were late. I wasn't about to leave Opal here to move this stuff.”

“We usually just let the delivery guy in and he leaves it all in a pile here.”

Killian shrugs again. “Didn’t have anything else to do anyway."

“You might want to get some friends,” I suggest.

“Are you volunteering?”

“Not to be the kind of friend
you’re
talking about,” I call, walking to my office. “Office” is a polite term for the room in the back corner of the kitchen that’s approximately the size of a closet. It has just enough room for my desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.

After I grab the paperwork and file a stack of receipts, I walk back into the kitchen to find that Killian has already put everything from the delivery away where it belongs.

“What kind of friend do you think I’m talking about?” he asks. I stop short as I walk right in front of him. There's all this space in the kitchen, and somehow I keep winding up mere inches away from him. How does this keep happening?

I cock my head to the side. “You know.”

“Oh?” His voice is low and gravelly and his eyes linger on my lips as I stand there unmoving. I think he might kiss me again. I think part of me might want him to kiss me again. Instead, he steps back. “I have to go. I have to be someplace.”

I clear my throat. “Hot date?” I blurt out, immediately regretting my choice in words.
Shit. Was there an edge to my voice? Did I sound jealous?

I’m a hundred percent not jealous. The opposite of jealous, in fact. I hope he’s going on a hot date. Maybe that will get him out of my hair.

Killian's expression is smug. “Why?”

“No reason. Anyway, I have to go. To swim. With Chloe.” When we walk out front, I see Chloe sitting at one of the tables doing her homework. “Did you get those math problems done?”

“Two,” Chloe says.

“We said five.”

“Math is boring,” she complains.

Behind me, Killian grunts. “Maybe East is right. You probably can’t do math. It’s probably too hard for you.”

I whirl around to look at him. Did he just say that to my kid, the kid I’ve been gently encouraging to do math even though she hates it?

“Oh yeah?” Chloe asks, sitting straight up in her chair. “This is easy stuff.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, kid."

“That’s it,” I interrupt. “Mr. Saint is leaving.”

“I can’t put money in my mouth,” Chloe says. “It’s dirty. There are germs crawling all over it.”

Killian laughs. “It’s a figure of speech. It means, You want to bet?”

“Mom says I’m not allowed to bet.”

If I could breathe fire, Killian would be completely incinerated. “We need to go to
swim
,” I say, putting Chloe’s math homework into her bag.

Killian shrugs. “Guess you don’t want to prove me wrong, then.”

Chloe jumps down from her chair and follows Killian to the door as I shove the rest of her stuff in her bag. “I’ll totally prove you wrong."

“Well, I don’t believe you can do that math. A quarter says it’s way too hard for you.”

Chloe scoffs. “Pfft. You’re wrong and I’m right. Two quarters."

“Don’t believe it ‘til I see it.” Killian winks at me as he walks out the door.

After swim class, I buckle Chloe into the car to drive home. “Hurry up, mom."

“Why are you in a rush all of a sudden?”

“I need to get my homework done.”

O
n the sidewalk
outside the store, two older women are exiting the bakery carrying to-go cups of coffee in their hands. “I had to see it with my own eyes,” one says. “Connie said she heard he was working here.”

The other woman clucks her tongue disapprovingly as she makes eye contact with me, then quickly averts her gaze. “I think he’s been to prison,” she whispers. “That whole family is no good. Anyone who has any sense knows to stay away from the Saint boys."

“They did help get Letty and Barbara Jean’s property back from the mining company. And Peggy and Lou think him working here is funny."

“Even so. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.”

They give me a sideways glance before turning and walking down the sidewalk, tongues still wagging loud enough for me to hear them continuing to gossip. The way one of the women glances over her shoulder as they talk, I’m sure they want me to hear what they’re saying.

Catty old shrews.

Connie C. said she heard he was working here.

They’re talking about Killian.

I think he’s been in prison. That whole family is no good.

A pang of possessiveness rushes through me. How dare they talk about him like that? Those nosy old biddies. Lipstick on a pig?

I pull open the door to the bakery with more force than I intend, more annoyed than I should be by what I overheard. I thought that the town gossips had been running their mouths and speculating about my past just because I was new in town, but apparently it doesn’t matter if you’re new here or if you’ve been in this place forever.

I despise stuff like that.

I’m so irritated that I’m halfway across the store before I realize the store is eerily quiet. There’s a long line of customers, but not the regulars who’ve been coming in for months; these are students from a nearby college and people in town like the old ladies outside, the women from the hair salon and the church. The ones who have shunned the bakery as if everyone who comes in this place is infected with the plague.

Two women standing beside each other in line whisper, and then glance up front to the register where Opal rings up a customer, like they’re afraid of being caught talking in class. I look around my bakery, watching as a regular customer wipes his table with his napkin, and then brings his used cup and saucer toward the front of the store. Stopping him, I take the dishes from his hands. “You know I’ll get that for you, Dan,” I say.

He glances furtively toward the front of the store, then back at me. “It's no problem at all. I’ll bring them to the front. Glad to help out."

Okay, what the hell is going on here?

At the front of the store, Killian is calling customer orders with military-like precision. No one is deliberating at the cupcake display case, asking what each flavor tastes like and how the cupcakes were made and whether they contain gluten or eggs or organic flour or dairy or food coloring and why I don’t have vegan and gluten-free options every day. Or why I carried orange cream cupcakes yesterday but not today and when’s the next day I’ll do them again.

Instead, the front of the store runs quietly and quickly.

When I get to the register and look up at the large chalkboard on the wall, the one that usually lists the daily coffee drink specials and the daily cupcake flavors, I see exactly why.

And I stop breathing.

Instead of the coffee drinks, the chalkboard reads: “Customer Rules.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I read down the numbered list in disbelief.

Number One. If you don’t know what you want, get the hell out. Don’t ask us what we recommend. You have a brain. Make a decision before you get to the front of the line.

Number Two. No small talk. We already know what the weather is like and we saw the game last night.

Number Three. Don’t ask if the cupcakes have gluten, dairy, or food coloring. Whatever you’re asking about, the cupcakes have it.

Number Four. If you ask for a skinny anything, we’ll tell you to leave. We make good coffee, not skinny coffee.

Number Five. If you use a table, clean up your damn mess. We’re not your maids or your mothers.

Two women in the back of the line giggle quietly as they attempt to take photos of the sign as unobtrusively as possible.

I have a vision of ending up in the
West Bend Gazette
with a review of the bakery and our horrific customer service and offensive sign.

Killian is dead. Totally dead. I will actually strangle him with my bare hands. If the people in this town suspected that I was a criminal on the run from the law, they'll at least have good reason to believe that
when I actually commit murder
.

I storm up to the front register, positively fuming. Opal catches my look and puts her hands up as I walk behind the counter, headed for Killian. “Now, before you say anything, honey - ” she starts.

"Don't. Even."

The girl standing at the front of the register hands over a slip of paper with her order on it before leaning forward to Opal. "The new rules are hilarious," she whispers, glancing furtively at Killian. "And the new guy is so hot. I already shared photos online. My friends are going to come here tomorrow."

Inwardly, I groan.

Killian clears his throat loudly and gives her a glare, and she mock-salutes, stepping to the side to wait for her coffee as she stifles a giggle.

Opal gives me a look. "Don't kill him."

"I'm not going to kill him," I say through gritted teeth. "Killing him would be too kind."

I glare at Killian and mouth the words. "Kitchen. Now."

He looks at me innocently before handing a cup of coffee to the college student waiting in line, the one who's not-so-subtly snapping photos of him on her phone. When she reaches for the coffee, he stops. "No photos," he growls. "Do you want me to confiscate the phone?"

She titters and practically swoons. "No, sir," she says with faux military inflection.

I roll my eyes so hard I think I might sprain a muscle. Then I watch in disbelief as the next customer in line, one of the guys who's shown up here regularly in the mornings for a cup of coffee and a newspaper, hands Opal his written order. He pays without a word to Opal, and then looks up at me. "I like the new system."

That is
it.
A muscle-bound, tattooed, bearded caveman who lives alone in a cabin somewhere isn’t going to waltz into my shop and start issuing customer rules like he owns the place. I whirl around, grabbing the chalkboard eraser and wiping it over the surface of the board until the stupid rules are smeared into a blur of chalk dust.

Behind me, several patrons groan their disappointment. Sure, some of them might have thought it was funny – mostly the airheaded girls who seem to be all-too-infatuated with Killian but there will be plenty more who are offended by it. And the old biddies in town will have even more fodder for gossip and even more reason to hate me.

When I turn around, I force a polite smile on my face. “I’m afraid that’s not how we do things here,” I explain, my voice excessively calm.

It’s a freaking miracle I can keep my voice calm, given the fact that my blood pressure has to be through the damn roof right now. Look at me, practicing self-restraint. I haven’t even murdered Killian in cold blood yet.

I hear someone in the line grumble, and someone else walks out the door. Seriously? The people in this town have nothing better to do than come read a stupid, obnoxious sign in a store? There’s really nothing else happening in West Bend that a dumb sign and Killian Saint can cause that much excitement?

I turn around and storm into the kitchen, pulling out the mermaid cake while grumbling to myself. I won’t scream at him right now in front of customers. I won't fire him right now and cause a huge scene.

I’ll wait.

I’ll wait here in the back while I work on this cake, stewing and plotting Killian’s demise. Killian obviously can’t work here, since he has the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old boy.

I pour all my frustration into working on the mermaid cake and I lose track of time. Opal walks through the kitchen door two hours later. She holds a receipt in her hands. “Now, before you say anything else,” she starts, “I know you’re mad.”

“Mad?” I put down the spray gun I’ve been using to color the ocean on the cake a mixture of blue-green. “Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am right now. I’m beyond mad. I’m absolutely livid.”

“That boy is a bit of a rebel, I know, honey. But look at the morning revenue.”

“A bit of a rebel?” I snatch the receipt from her hand. “He’s way beyond that. I should fire you both.”

Opal shrugs. “You do what you got to do, honey. But if you want my opinion, that boy is good for this place. And you.”

I bark a laugh. “Good for this place? He’s going to run all the customers out of here.”

“Maybe so." Opal shrugs. “I’ve been in this town a long time, though. Seems to me things need to be shaken up sometimes.”

“Traitor,” I breathe.

Opal shakes her head. “You okay on the cake? I’ve got to get home.”

“Fine." The fact that Opal has been in my corner since I bought this place is the only reason I don't fire her the way I’m going to fire Killian.

“Don’t forget to call the company about that freezer,” Opal advises. “It was making a noise this morning again when I came in. Killian was going to take a look but – “

“No,” I cut her off. “Killian doesn’t need to do anything else here. He’s done quite enough.”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, honey,” Opal calls.

I don’t hear a sound from the front of the store. It’s two minutes past two and the store is closed, since our business is morning-heavy and closing by two usually gives me just enough time to wrap up administrative stuff and run to get Chloe from school. Maybe Killian has taken the hint and gone home with his tail between his legs. Somehow I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed by anything he does.

I set the paper down on the counter and swing open the freezer door, propping it open with a box. It’s making a bit of a buzzing sound, but then again, it’s an old freezer. It came with the bakery. I’m sure a repairman is going to cost me a pretty penny, I think, as I put the cake on a shelf inside the freezer.

When I turn around, Killian is standing just inside the kitchen, his hand on the counter.