Chapter Two
“George, I swear to God, if you even think about dying on me right now, I’m going to pull the plug myself. Do you hear me?”
Sophie Caldwell glared at the commercial mixer as its normal whirring sound alternately slowed and sputtered, hoping her version of a Jedi mind trick would somehow magically spark the appliance back to life. She held her breath and mentally started counting off the seconds. Experience told her that if it didn’t die within thirty seconds, it usually perked up and lived to mix another day. It was currently running on its fourth life. If there was a God, cats weren’t the only things blessed with nine lives.
Twenty-two…twenty-three…twenty—
All movement stopped.
“Son of a bitch.” Sophie gripped the edge of the counter and dropped her head back in defeat. “KP,” she called to the front of the bakery where her best friend and only employee was setting out fresh cupcakes in the display cases. “George died!” She clenched her jaw in frustration and cut a look at the recently deceased.
“Again?” Kristin rounded the corner, pulling off her pink apron. As always, Sophie couldn’t help but admire her friend’s knack for disguising her true nature. At the bakery, she looked like a wholesome late-twentysomething with hair pulled back into a bun or French twist and dressed in tasteful, casual attire.
But as Sophie discovered at a night club early in their friendship, “daytime Kristin” was merely a facade for the real Kristin who was a lot less conservative. Midway down, her platinum blond hair bled into gradient shades of pink, from pale blush to dusky rose at the tips. Business casual changed to midriff tops and skinny pants, or if she was going out at night, corsets and leather.
Kristin hid her wilder side easily, unlike Sophie, who was the mascot for the Wild Child Movement. Her right arm sported a sleeve of brightly colored tattoos, she had more piercings in her face and body than in her ears, and her hair was always one color or another, as long as it wasn’t a natural one. Her current choice was a vibrant jade green. She fell in love with the pinup look when she discovered it as a teen, and the body mods were just another way to accessorize, albeit permanently.
“Billy can get fix it.” Kristin grabbed her purse and kissed Sophie’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
“It’s six o’clock on a Sunday morning. He’s gonna hate me,” Sophie said with an exaggerated pout.
Her friend snorted. “As if that would ever happen. Some days I think my husband likes you more than he does me.”
“Says the woman who’s worshipped like she’s freaking Aphrodite.”
Kristin giggled. “He is pretty great. I guess I’ll keep him.”
Sophie laughed and shook her head. She couldn’t imagine anyone or anything prying her friends apart. After ten years of marriage, they still acted like they were on their honeymoon; playful, affectionate, considerate… Sophie would be lying if she said she wasn’t the teensiest bit jealous. But she’d put those childish dreams of finding Mr. Right to bed a long time ago. She had so many failed relationships in her past, she could write a book about her love life. It’d be called something catchy like Heartbreak Hotel. Or more aptly named Relationships for Dummies: The How-Not-To Guide.
Or better yet, If He Says You Can Trust Him, Don’t Trust Him: A Memoir.
Kristin paused on her way to the back door. “Damn, this means I’m going to miss my weekly dose of eye candy. Tell him to stop back in after his run. I’ll be your wingman.”
The term “eye candy” didn’t even do him justice. Eye crack, maybe? Was that a thing? When it came to Xander, it was definitely a thing. One taste and boom. Instant addiction, and all you wanted was another look. Sophie rolled her eyes at her friend. “Will you quit trying to play matchmaker? In a million years, I would never date that man.”
“Who said anything about dating? I’m just saying you should take the gorgeous specimen for a test drive. There’s nothing wrong with getting your kicks and leaving it at that.”
Sophie scoffed. “He does that enough for the both of us. The man’s like the village bicycle.” At Kristin’s confused look, she added, “Everyone’s had a ride.”
“Sophie Marjorie Caldwell, have you been spying on him?”
“No!” Okay, she probably said that a little too quickly. “It’s not spying if I’m looking out my window and I happen to see him taking a different woman back to his place every day of the week.” That was a bit of an exaggeration. It was really only once or twice on the weekends, and not even every weekend. Although that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. It’s not like she was constantly keeping watch of his comings and goings for Christ’s sake.
“Well that just tells you the man has highly desired skills.”
“Or maybe he’s so bad in bed that the women don’t want a repeat performance, which is why he has a different one every time,” Sophie argued.
“No fucking way. Men who look like that don’t suck in bed. It’s an impossibility. Kind of like you coming out of Saks OFF 5TH without a new pair of Jimmy Choos.” The bell on the front door jingled, letting them know a customer had entered up front. Kristin gasped, her face a mask of dramatic surprise. “Just after six on a Sunday morning? I wonder who that could be.”
Sophie picked up an undipped red velvet cake truffle and chucked it at the woman, but she managed to duck out and slam the door just before the mini-cake went splat. Through the thick metal door she heard a muffled “Love you!” followed by fading laughter.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, exchanging her stained white utilitarian apron for her clean uniform one. Sophie could admit she looked forward to Xander’s regular Sunday morning visits and occasional random ones, but it wasn’t because of some adolescent crush she had on the guy. Sure, she appreciated how hot he was—she wasn’t blind—but his seeming player lifestyle acted like a suppressor on any lust she might have had otherwise.
It was a cruel twist of fate that his third-floor corner apartment faced her tiny second-floor apartment above her bakery. Considering the man kept his drapes perpetually open, she had to wonder if the good people of England used them purely for decorative purposes, or if exhibitionism was merely a way of life for him.
Grams had always covered every window in the house before dusk, warning, “Nighttime turns your house into a giant fishbowl, and I sure as heck don’t want any Peeping Toms staring into mine.”
The number of times Sophie had stared into Xander’s fishbowl over the last few months wasn’t something she’d admit even under threat of torture. It’s not like she intentionally spied on him, but she didn’t own a TV, so whenever her eyes needed a break from reading or surfing the web on her laptop, the natural thing to do was look out the window next to her. It wasn’t her fault if, when she happened to glance out, she noticed him moving around his place. And if she watched him for a while, it was only out of bored curiosity. It had nothing to do with his affinity for walking around shirtless with unbuttoned jeans slung so low that the only things holding them up were the curves of his ass and a prayer.
“Oh good, there you are,” Xander said, his British accent affecting her the tiniest bit. She couldn’t be blamed for that, though. There wasn’t an American woman alive who didn’t get a little swoony over foreign accents.
Sophie smiled and folded her arms on the chest-high glass display case. “Where else would I be at this hour on a Sunday? Wait,” she said, noticing the clear water bottle he held. “You filled up your water bottle?”
“What?” He glanced down at it almost like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh yeah, I guess I did. Listen—”
“With your own water,” she interrupted in disbelief. Something was wrong. Since moving to the area, Xander had come into the Sweet Spot every Sunday morning to have her fill his water bottle with her tap water, claiming that his side of the street got nothing but ‘mountain runoff shite’ while her side got the filtered good stuff. She knew it was nothing but an excuse to come in and flirt with her before his run—and she was certain he knew she knew—but it was always a fun banter session, so she overlooked the ridiculousness of it all.
Xander sighed and she noticed the muscle in his jaw tic. “Yes, with my own water, but I’ll let you dump it out and refill it if it means you’ll take a five-minute break so we can talk.”
She frowned. Ooookay. Maybe he didn’t want to flirt with her anymore. Wouldn’t be the first time a guy lost interest in her. But if that was the case, then what would he want to talk to her about? “Okay, sure, what’s up?”
He was about to answer when two of her regulars and friends of Grams walked in. Sophie gave him a look of apology, and he nodded his understanding and stepped back from the counter to make room for her customers. Now all she had to do was focus on pedaling her drugs of choice—sugar and caffeine—and not obsess about the pending ominous discussion with the eye crack standing a dozen feet away.
Piece of cake.
…
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but Sophie Caldwelll was sex on a stick. More like two sticks since she always wore tall heels that were so skinny in the back, it amazed him that she managed to walk around in them as easily as he did his trainers.
Sophie’s long, wavy hair had always been some shade of green since he’d known her, ranging from pale pistachio to so dark it was almost black. Two weeks ago, she’d changed it to a jewel-toned jade that perfectly set off her dark chocolate eyes.
She had a silver ball stud just below the center of her full lower lip and another one nestled inside that sexy Cupid’s bow of her upper lip. Tattoos covered her right arm from shoulder to wrist in brightly colored cupcakes and candy. Thoughts of licking her skin to see if it tasted as sweet as it looked had consumed him more than he cared to admit. With her heavy eye makeup and bright red lips on a canvas of fair skin, she reminded him of a punked-out version of Snow White’s classic beauty.
Today she was wearing the hell out of a black lace tank top, skinny black jeans, and red-soled black heels. Usually he struggled not to picture what she wore underneath her clothes. Images like that would make for a very embarrassing and uncomfortable run. But with the threat to their businesses looming over his head, his brain was behaving itself. Mostly.
He took a beat to appreciate her smile and the way she positively glowed when talking to her customers, like she was lit up from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling curled deep in his chest, like a wisp of smoke on the edge of a breeze. Maybe it was respect for her as an independent businesswoman. Maybe it was admiration for how she treated the people who came into her shop like family. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Sophie boxed up the various sugary baked goods—otherwise known to Xander as kryptonite since he wouldn’t let any of it near his mouth during training—and rang the ladies out with a smile and see-you-next-times. When they finally left, Xan breathed a sigh of relief.
He needed to talk to her about their impending evictions and find out where she stood. It’d kept him up last night, wondering if she was okay with it. If he were judging strictly by her mood when he first came in, he’d say she didn’t have much of a care in the world. And if that was the case, was the money she’d make from the sale easing her mind? He didn’t know her all that well, but from what little he did, Xan had thought she’d be more sentimental about the quaint shop her grandmother had started decades before.
There was only one way to find out. “I was hoping we could talk in your office.”
“I—”
The bells tinkled behind him as three older ladies and a gentleman dressed for church entered the shop, waving and calling out their hellos. She responded warmly in kind before turning back to him. “I can’t right now, Xander, I’m sorry. Kristin had to run out for a bit so I’m on my own until she gets back.”
“No worries,” he said, even though he hated the idea of waiting even longer. “I’ll just pop in after my run, then, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’ll be perfect.”
“Great, be back soon.” Gripping his water bottle tighter, Xan headed outside and started to run, welcoming the endorphin high that would empty his mind for the next two hours. By the time he got back to the Sweet Spot, whatever it was would be gone, and he could get down to the business of figuring out how to save his. And Sophie’s.