Lies. I’m available.
Mona pouts. Like actually juts out her bottom lip and whines. “No.” She draws out that single reply as if it has fourteen syllables, grating on my nerves instantly. I’ve never understood why people do that whiny shit. I mean, even Lizzie doesn’t whine like that, and she’s three.
“’Fraid so, darling, but enjoy your night,” I reply, sliding off my stool and heading for the back hallway, beer bottle in hand.
If I’m choosing to not get laid, there’s only one other escape for me. I make my way back to my kitchen and prepare to dirty everything I just cleaned. As I flip on the lights, an idea pops in my head. I’ll bake a pie. Walker can take it to his great aunt’s house tomorrow. Aunt Edna will hate it, only because she knows my pecan pie is better than hers, which makes me grin. I’ve gone round and round with the older black woman on many occasions, only because it’s so much fun to get her going.
Pecan pie.
Of course you’re making one. It’s the only thing you haven’t been able to best Lyndee at.
Well, stand back, Lyndee Gibson. I’m about to blow your socks off with the best damn pecan pie recipe out there. Your reign at the top is officially over.
Chapter Eight
Lyndee
I’m a mess. A stressed, freaked out mess.
I’ve been at the bakery since before the sun rose, anxious to get a jump on the product I’ll feature during tomorrow’s grand opening. I’ve baked breads, pies, cookies, and cakes. I have the dough ready to go in the fridge for tomorrow morning’s pastries. I recleaned the coffee pot and made sure napkin holders and other necessities are filled to the brim. Hell, I’ve even triple-checked to make sure the oven was properly hooked up and the refrigerator was operational. As tired as I am, and knowing I have to get up super early tomorrow, I just can’t seem to make myself go home.
I took Dustin home two hours ago. He was exhausted and ready to relax, though it was a hard sell to get him to leave. He wanted to stay if I was staying, but I knew he had reached his limit. He was willingly using the wheelchair, his motions more stiff than usual. He had been here early with me both yesterday and today, and it was taxing on him. Now, he’s watching television in his room and probably on his second frozen pizza.
When I glance at the clock, I see it’s after nine. I need to go home. Three in the morning is going to be here before I know it, and the last thing I want is to fall asleep while rolling the dough. Though, I don’t foresee that happening. I imagine I’ll be too amped up on adrenaline and caffeine. I probably won’t even realize I’m tired.
A knock on the front door grabs my attention.
Holy shit, someone’s at the door. Should I go out there? What if they’re here to kill me?
Seriously, Lyndee? You think most murderers knock on the front door to grab your attention? Why not just use the back door where they’re not standing directly beneath a streetlight?
Setting my towel down on the island, I slowly head to the front and peek around the doorway. My breathing hitches and surprise sweeps through my exhausted extremities. What is he doing here?
Jasper gives me a tentative wave. “Hey,” he says through the glass.
My feet carry me to the entrance, and I unlock the door. “Hi.”
He runs a hand through his messy hair. “I was just…well, I was leaving work and saw your lights on in the kitchen.”
I’m only slightly hesitant as I step back and grant him access. “Oh, yeah,” I respond, locking the door behind him. “I really need to go home and get some sleep, but…”
He turns around, his hands shoved in the pockets of his dark blue jeans, and gives me a grin. “But…you’re too amped up to sleep. I get it.”
I sigh and sag into the first chair I can find. “Yeah. I’m exhausted, but I can’t seem to shut my mind off.”
He nods in understanding. “Right before we opened Burgers and Brew, I swore anything that could go wrong was going to happen. I even called an electrician to double-check all the appliances, which was crazy since all of them were brand new and I’d been using them for two weeks to train the staff.”
I give him a tired smile. “I completely understand that.”
“Well, I’m sure everything is going to be fine tomorrow.”
“I hope,” I whisper, glancing down at his shoes. He’s incredibly casual this time. Instead of the pressed slacks and polo shirt, he’s wearing a pair of worn boots, jeans, and a hoodie sweatshirt beneath an old brown leather coat.
The room is filled with silence, but it’s surprisingly not awkward. I find myself just taking him in, noticing how he’s starting to relax against the counter, and realize I’m relaxing too. Back in school, our exchanges were always tense and full of electricity. I always thought it was because of some unspoken competition we seemed to constantly be engaged in, but now I’m not so sure. Looking back, it feels…sexual.
Yeah, I’m definitely exhausted.
“Did I ever tell you how I met my friends?” he asks, the softest smile playing on his full lips.
I shake my head. I know they met in college, Isaac mentioned it to me in conversation, but don’t know the story. I mean, it’s not like we were friends back then and actually told each other those kinds of things. No, we were competitors, and competitors didn’t exactly share personal information that could potentially be used against us.
“Well, Walker and Jameson were friends from high school. Jameson didn’t actually go to college, but he was always visiting Walker on the weekends. We met at a frat party at the beginning of our senior year and hit it off. We were all standing around bitching about the horrible rap music pumping through the house. Turns out, we were all fans of Mötley Crüe, so we’d get together and drink a few beers, play cards, and listen to them.
“A year later, we ended up at this dive bar across town. You know the kind they feature in murder mystery shows where catching the killer is going to be a bitch because of all the DNA covering everything?”
I can feel myself making a horrified face, and his laughter only confirms it.
“Yeah, I know. For someone who cleaned his kitchen at least two times a day, being there was not a picnic for me. But Jameson and Walker got pulled into a billiards game, so we hung out for a while.
“Anyway, Jameson ended up with a baggie of weed. I had smoked it a few times, but never really saw the appeal. We ended up in the dingy bathroom, passing a joint like a couple of cool twenty-two-year-olds,” he says, shaking his head at the memory. “It was just the three of us in that nasty bathroom with a half-smoked joint when Numbers walked in to use the john.”
My eyes widen in shock.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Isaac at a seedy bar? I think he was in pressed khakis or some shit like that, but he was there, looking all sorts of uncomfortable. I could tell he didn’t even want to whip it out to pee, but I think he realized he was about out of options. Just as he starts to go, the alarm and damn sprinkler system went off, soaking all of us to the bones. We took off out the door, Numbers hot on our heels as he was trying to zip back up.”
A bubble of laughter spills from my lips. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?”