5
Because Cupcakes
[Midge]
The event day finally arrives. I’ve been a basket case for the past week—worried the band kids won’t show, worried it would rain, worried, worried, worried.
The day after my crisis center phone call, I didn’t think I’d be able to face Ivy and Edie, as if they could read my guilt. I’d never done something like that before. I only wanted someone to talk to, someone anonymous, but it was just my luck the person on the other end of the line knew me. I’d never been more embarrassed than calling to complain to a stranger about everyone forgetting my birthday. Of course, I didn’t know he’d be the stranger on the other end of the line. What are the odds the crisis volunteer would recognize my voice? And as soon as he said my name, I realized it was him.
Hank.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him. He haunted my daydreams. He filled my nightly fantasies. I sigh, rubbing at my temples. I don’t need my thoughts straying to him today. I need to focus, but I’m on edge. My mind races back to meeting Hank and the way he caressed my neck. How he massaged my shoulders in the darkness. How he looked at me in the mirror. I relax for a minute until I hear my name.
“Mom!” I turn to find a sweaty Ronin running toward me. He used to look like me—brown hair, brown eyes—but now, his jet-black hair has streaks of purple. “We forgot the cake.”
Oh my God. I knew I’d forget something. A bakery donated a gorgeous cake shaped like a music note and decorated in the high school colors, but it was still in my refrigerator.
“Okay, don’t worry.” Easier said than done, knowing my house is thirty minutes away in good traffic, which is never a possibility in LA. Ronin nods when I squeeze his shoulders. He’s grown taller than me. When did that happen? He wants everything perfect as do I since all the kids know his mom’s in charge.
“Be cool,” he warned me prior to the event. I noticed my boys never said these things to their father. When I decided to highlight my hair after hanging out with Ivy and Edie, adding streaks of purple to complement the school colors, Ronin said I went too far. “You’re kind of old to color your hair like that. Plus, it looks like you copied me.”
The comment stung, especially coming from the artsy son.
“Mom’s not old,” Elston defended. The spitting image of his father—bulky, blond, blue eyes—he stands before me as a constant reminder of the man I once loved. “I think it looks…ballin’.” Is this a compliment? I don’t understand kid lingo most days, and just when I figure it out, it changes.
“Mom looks like the hip moms,” Liam added, always my little protector. He still looks like me with his matching eyes and smaller frame, though he sports his light brown hair in a crew cut. He could pass for Ronin Junior if Ronin wasn’t changing his image.
An afterthought occurs. I wasn’t hip before? The thought stings. Regardless, my longer locks hold new highlights to disguise the gray and some violet streaks to add some fun.
“I’ll just run to the closest bakery and find something else.” I’m explaining my dilemma to Ivy, but she’s dismissing the thought. “We don’t need cake.”
We’re walking as we talk, my legs racing to keep up with hers as she wants to do a final check on her own students marching in the 5K. With varying mental and physical abilities, Ivy’s protective of her crew. She wants people to trust her school, not just her name. I’ve learned her mother was a famous singer, a dozen years back. I remember the name—Kit Carrigan. Something about breast cancer and dying too young also crosses my memory, but I don’t remember exactly, and I don’t wish to pry. A large black and white image of Kit standing next to a child in a wheelchair graces the front entryway to the school. The boy in the chair holds rhythm sticks in his hand and wears a sweet expression on his face. The former female rock star looks lovingly down at him. It’s a touching picture in a sad way.
“Anyway, I can get to a bakery and back before the race finishes. I’m so sorry about the donated cake. I’ll bring it back tomorrow for your students, but if—”
Without watching where I’m walking, I smack into another person, the body hard and firm as my cheek hits a chest. Ivy stopped short, but I continued forward, and the impact with another human propels me backward.
“Whoa, little lady.” A scratchy, gravelly chuckle stops my heart, and my eyes close. Sweet cheese, no, this can’t be happening. Warm hands cup my upper arms to prevent me from falling—or fainting—whichever happens first. I want to melt into the pavement and disappear. His voice. It haunts me when I think of what it almost did to me a few weeks ago...sigh…
“Uncle Hank?” Ivy questions, and my lids flip open. Standing in a dark gray t-shirt which hugs his upper body and black track pants with white striping down the side, he’s a vision of athleticism. I’m wearing a purple shirt with the high school band logo and a light gray skort. I’m a mess with my hair piled on my head, and I know I’m wearing minimal makeup, just some mascara and purple lipstick to complement my highlights.
“Uncle Hank, is it really you?” Hank releases me just as Ivy flings her arms open and steps up to the burly man. He cups her head and wraps an arm around her back.
“It’s me, baby girl.” The moment is sweet, intimate, and something riddles me as I witness the reunion of two people familiar with one another.
“What are you doing here?” Ivy asks, leaning back but still holding him.
“Tommy told me about your party, and I didn’t want to miss it.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. He’s holding back some truth. I see it in the dull spark of his steely eyes, but his smile spreads, and Ivy’s lips respond. She’s happy he’s here.
“Hank, have you met the woman in charge of everything today? Midge, this is Hank. Hank, Midge.” Without extending a hand, I wrap my arms around myself. I don’t dare touch him without thinking about those thick hands massaging my shoulders, then slipping to my hips and tugging me back against him.
“We’ve met,” I mutter, lowering my eyes from his gaze. Ivy’s head spins to me, her mouth opening in question, but I interject. “The cake.”
“Forget it.” She waves.
“But I feel awful. I’ll just find a bakery around here and—”
“I know of one.” The smoker gaggle brings my attention back to Hank.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a bakery about five blocks from here although this isn’t the best neighborhood to wander around alone.” His brow raises, and he peers at Ivy.
“Don’t start,” she snaps, lifting a hand. I’ve heard all about how her husband didn’t approve of the location, but Ivy was adamant the place remained where it was originally founded. Speaking of her husband, Gage Everly walks toward us, and I blush. He’s incredibly good looking in an I-shouldn’t-stare-but-can’t-help-myself sort of way, especially since I’m definitely ten-plus years older than him. His chocolate-colored hair hangs to his chin, blending with thicker scruff at his jaw. His deep eyes suck you in, but he’s not even looking at me. Focused on his wife, he’s about to lay one on her, and I’m holding my breath because I know what’s coming. I’ve only seen kisses like theirs in the movies. It’s like a train wreck. I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t look away.
The kiss happens, but within seconds, a sharp cough to my left reminds us there is more than me as an audience.
“Gage,” Hank gruffly speaks.
“Hank?” Gage looks from the larger man to his wife and back. “Hank Paige.” There’s respect in his voice along with disbelief. “Man, you look good. Really good.” The comment implies at one time he didn’t appear so healthy, which strikes me as odd while the two men clap hands and lean in for a bro-hug. If I thought Gage was attractive, Hank redefines attraction for me. He’s not only my age, but there’s a playfulness about him. He seems rough but sort of reckless, and I’m drawn to him. Typically, I’m not into tattooed men with silver scruff, but on Hank—I want to trace those designs and gently scratch his chin. The thought I had upon first meeting him returns. I want to rub up against him.
As the two men shake hands, I admire the flex of Hank’s forearm and the strength under his inked skin. I want to feel those hands on me again, and my eyes travel up the etched pattern to find him looking back at me.
“Midge?” I blink. Shit. Did he say something to me? Should I know what he said? “The cake, little lady.”
“Right,” I squeak. “Cake.” I want to eat him. I shake my head. I’m a mess.
“Come with me, so you can pick what you want. I’ll drive.”
I nod, a needy moth to a bright flame. “Wait!” I turn to Ivy as my practical side slams on the brakes. “The boys.”
“Liam’s fine. He’s found Petty who can watch him.” Gage chuckles, and I know why. Jon Petty is the drummer for Collison, Gage’s band, and he’s the least likely to be responsible for a rock let alone a child. Liam’s only twelve and has more sense.
“Maybe I should just—”
“Midge. He’s fine. I’ll find him. Just go.” Ivy’s smile assures me. She’s met my boys on a few occasions over the past six weeks, and my Liam has a serious crush on her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she encourages it. I grin at the thought.
“Okay. I’ll just get my purse.”
“You don’t need it. I’ve got this,” Hank interjects. “Consider it my contribution to the day.” He places a hand on the small of my back and guides me to a large SUV. We walk without a word as all I can concentrate on is the warmth of his hand on me. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door for me and helps me into the vehicle.
As we ride in uncomfortable silence, my mind races through a checklist, confirming I haven’t forgotten anything else. I’m mentally scrolling the list so I don’t think about how turned on I am to be in a confined space again with Hank or how awkward I feel because of it. I’m also hoping he’s forgotten about my call into the crisis center.
“So, you have boys?” he asks, rolling his free hand over his wrist, moving a collection of bands. His arm rests lazily over the edge of the steering wheel as he maneuvers us down side streets.
“Yes. Three.” His head swings toward me.
“You have three kids?” Serious gray eyes roam my body. I’m uncertain of the implication, so I continue.
“Elston is seventeen. Ronin, my son in the high school band, is fifteen, and Liam is ten.” I pause, recalling I’d spewed this information to him when I thought he was a crisis center operator. Cripes. My fingers twitch to cover my face. Please don’t let him remember anything.
“Not married,” he confirms, eyes shifting to my empty left hand. I used to wear the ring. It brought me a strange comfort even when the marriage was over, but about a year ago, the weight of the ring bore heavy. Maybe it was the impending marriage of my ex to his younger girlfriend.
“Nope.” My eyes drift to his hand, dangling over the steering wheel. As if he senses my perusal, he flexes his fingers. The fingers nervously stroking the beads on his wrist reach over and lift my left hand. Drawing it to his lips, he sucks at the empty space on my ring finger.
“Me neither,” he mutters against my skin. “Never been.” I shiver with the touch, the tone of his voice, and the overall gesture of his lips on me. I’m pathetic.
“What about children?” I ask.
“I would have liked to have them. But have none I’ve been told of.” Although I catch the hint of humor, there’s something underlying his comment. None that he knows of. What a strange way to phrase things.
“Is there the possibility you have wayward children out there?” I try to jest in return, but I’m curious. He simply shakes his head, absentmindedly stroking a thumb over my ring finger.
“You’re Ivy’s uncle?” I’d only heard of Tommy Carrigan as her family.
“Just in name. We aren’t family like that.” His silence after his answer lingers in the air. He isn’t going to offer more, and I’m not in the mindset to pry.
“Where are we going?” I’m hoping to deflect my overactive imagination, which conjures up a scene where he pulls this SUV over and takes me in the back seat.
“Because Cupcakes. It’s a bakery around here.” I don’t question how he knows these things. We’ve crossed through some questionable parts at the outer edge of the city. If I didn’t know the reasoning behind Ivy’s desire to stay in the area, I’d have pushed her to relocate as well.
Suddenly, we pull up in front of a business with feminine scroll on a frilly, pink awning. Gauzy curtains dress the window, framing shelves of cupcakes which look like designer confectionary instead of edible treats. They’re beautiful with piles of icing in silver, white, pink, and light chocolate. My mouth waters.
Hank surprises me again when he opens my door and assists me out of the SUV. He holds my fingers for a moment longer than necessary before leading me to the bakery entrance and holding the door open for me. It’s been a long time since a man’s been a gentleman toward me.
“Hank?” The woman behind the counter seems both surprised and pleased to see him as we enter. I recall the woman in the hallway the night we met, and I wonder if he goes anywhere where some woman doesn’t know him. This can mean only one thing—player.
“Lily.” His direct address to the blonde behind the counter startles me. My guess is she’s in her forties. She’s pretty with caramel colored hair, cut to her chin and bright blue eyes.
“Is Brut with you?” The fold to her shoulders alerts me this woman hates that she asked at the same time she wants an answer.
“Nope.” Again, Hank’s directness shocks me. More surprising is when his hand returns to my lower back, caresses lightly before he urges me forward. Lily’s eyes shift to me.
“How can I help you?” She’s gone into business mode, ignoring the fact Brut isn’t here, whoever he is. I delve into the explanation of the high school fundraiser for the music therapy school, clarifying my connection, and my error with the cake.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” This question goes to Hank, who shrugs, looking away like an errant child. I don’t understand what’s happening, but there is some kind of history here. “Did you say Ivy Everly owns the school?”
Hank nods, and the woman’s face brightens. “How is she?”
“Married with children.” Hank replies.
“Children?” Lily’s eyes widen.
“She has three,” Hank clarifies.
“Three kids. Whoa.” They laugh for a second although I’m not certain why having three children is funny. Without further explanation, Lily continues. “This might take a few minutes. Let me step in the back, and I’ll gather up what I think you’ll need.” She winks. “But while you wait, what would you like to sample?”
Hank coughs once next to me, but my eyes fixate on a mini round cake with a white dollop of icing and a raspberry on top. “Oh, I’m good.” I dismiss with a wave, but a graveled voice in my ear encourages me.
“Try a sample, little lady.” I close my eyes to the innuendo as a shiver ripples over my skin. I try to refocus my thoughts and order the white chocolate with raspberry treat. Lily adds two other cupcakes to a pink plate and hands it to Hank, instructing him to, “Take a seat.”
We walk to the counter spanning the length of her second window and sit on high stools. Hank adjusts his stool to bring it closer to me. We face each other, and his knee slips between my thighs.
“Take a bite.” The words roll over me, and I shiver again, wanting nothing more than to open my mouth and nibble on him. He’s holding out the cupcake, and I’m wondering how my mouth will fit around the tower of icing. For some reason, my eyes lower to the seam of his jeans, but then I look away quickly. A man his size has to be large in other areas, and my mouth reacts in the same way it does toward this cupcake. Would it fit? How would it taste? A trembling hand comes to my forehead as I reprimand myself to get a grip.
“Wait.” He drags the white covered mini cake from my open mouth and I sit up, a little embarrassed and a lot frustrated as my mouth hangs open in anticipation. Setting the delicacy on the plate, he slips off his stool, disappears behind the display counter to the back room, and then returns. He stands at my side, sticking a candle in the icing next to the raspberry. My eyes widen, and my stomach flips—uncertain of his gesture and equally apprehensive of his memory. He flicks a lighter, and a single flame tops the candle.
“Happy Birthday,” he singsongs beside me, raspy and rumbling. His eyes find mine, pinning me to my seat when all I want to do is melt under it.
“You remembered?” I lower my head, picking at the hem of my athletic skirt. My cheeks heat with humiliation. A thick fingertip props up my chin as he takes his seat across from me.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I add, closing my eyes, unable to face him.
“Open those beautiful eyes, Middy.”
“Middy?” I chuckle nervously, snapping my attention up to him.
“Midge seems too old-fashioned for someone like you.”
“Someone like me.” I quietly parrot him. What do I look like to him? Who does he see? What must he think of me for calling into the hotline? He doesn’t explain and I chew at my lip. His thumb reaches up and tugs the tender skin from my teeth.
“Don’t be embarrassed about calling in to the crisis center. We all need someone to talk to sometimes.” I wish I could believe him, but I am a bit ashamed. My call seems so frivolous, not a real issue. I’m typically stronger at handling things. In hindsight, I don’t remember what I said.
“How old are you, Middy?”
“Forty-one.” A twinkle sparks in his steely eyes, making them silver. I like how he’s looking at me.
“Time to walk on the wild side. Make a wish, little lady, and take a bite.”
Why does the nickname make my belly flutter? Moreover, what wish should I make?
I wish I may. I wish I might. I blow out the candle, blushing from the warm sunshine steaming through the window and the sweetness of this man.
He holds the cupcake up to me again, minus the candle, and I open wide, dragging my teeth over the whipped sugar. My lids lower, and I may have purred at the pure heaven exploding in my mouth. White chocolate and raspberry. Yum.
“Better than an orgasm.” I sigh. Then realize what I’ve said. My eyes snap open to find his enlarged, dancing in the sunlight and flickering with something I haven’t ever seen directed at me. Like a big, bad wolf, he looks like he wants to eat me, and somehow, I’m certain the pleasure will be all mine.
“You’ve got…” His voice trails off as he swipes at my nose. Cripes. Here I thought he wanted to devour me, and he’s only staring because I have frosting on my face.
“Oh dear.” I reach for my nose, but he grips my wrist. His knee slips between my thighs again. When did he scoot so close? He sets the cupcake down, pokes a finger into the creamy frosting, and looks up at me.
“You have more here.” Before I can speak, he coats my lower lip with the icing. A gasp parts my lips, and he leans forward. “Let me get that.”
Instantly, soft lips cover mine, sucking at the sugary treat and spreading the delicacy before his tongue sneaks out and licks along the line. I open without thinking, and it’s all the invitation he needs. A hand cups the back of my head, and his mouth takes mine deeper, rougher, stronger. Lapping at mine, he cleans off the frosting and adds a new layer of sweetness. I might have purred again, and his lips curl. He’s smiling while he kisses me, and I’m so turned on.
My hands lower to his knee between my legs, feeling the thin, slippery material of his track pants. My fingers outline the muscular bulge of his leg, and my thighs clench around the bulk. The curve of his knee hovers an inch away from where I need some friction. I’m already damp. If he presses any closer, I’m sure to leave a stain on him. His fingers comb into my hair, holding me in place to continue our kissing. Icing lingers on our lips while other areas grow stickier. I’m ready to hump his knee like a dog in heat when a strong cough comes from my left. Breaking apart, I turn away from the business owner, covering my lips with shaky fingers. I need a moment to regain myself.
“Thanks, Lily.” Sarcasm drips from Hank’s voice, but it isn’t really her fault. We are in a public place, in broad daylight, kissing like two teenagers on an afternoon date. Sweet cheese, if only.
Hank stands, blocking me from Lily’s view. I can’t look at the other woman yet, embarrassment hitting me hard. “How much do I owe?” he says.
This pulls me back to reality.
“No. I’ve got this. It was my mistake.” I fumble around me to remember I don’t even have my purse. This man has me so mixed up I walked away from everything: the fundraiser, my boys, and my belongings.
“It’s okay, Middy. This one’s on me.” I’m not certain if he means the cupcakes or the potential mistake of kissing me. I’m firing up to protest to the first option when Lily interjects. “Count it as my donation to Ivy.”
Ivy. She must be someone special. Everywhere I drop her name or others use it, people are giving her things. Twelve large boxes rest on the display counter, which means Lily allowed our kiss to progress for as long as she could before she interrupted us. I flush again with the thought while Hank takes a stack of boxes out to his SUV.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, pointing toward the window.
Lily pffts me. “I’m so happy Hank has a girlfriend. How long you two been together?”
“Oh, I’m not—”
“Not long enough,” Hank interjects. I hadn’t noticed he returned inside the bakery. “And I’ve been waiting too long for her.”
The words sound like the lyrics from a song, but I can’t place the tune. My heart sings its own melody at the moment. A dangerous ballad which will lead to nothing.