“Is that so wrong?” he asks, then reaches for his drink.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m used to working all day and tending to family things at night. Then you come walking in...”
“I know a thing or two about family,” Colt says. “And as far as your bakery goes, I smelled something good and saw a bakery. Like I told you, I’m thinking of opening something new very soon. A bakery like yours mixed with the aura of my cafés.”
So there it is. He wants to know about the bakery. I want to feel deflated but I won’t show it on the outside. No way.
“Can you tell me anything about your bakery?”
I sip my water, wishing there was something stronger in it. Then I wish I stayed at the bakery, doing the right thing.
“I’m not telling you how it works,” I say. I’m catty and I don’t care.
“Bella, I’m not asking for secrets,” Colt says. “I’m just asking about the bakery, about you. Okay?”
“You know, nobody calls me anything but Isabella.”
“I don’t care. I call you Bella. You look like a Bella to me.” Then he does this move where his back stiffens and he adds, “Bella.”
That much can be true. Nobody calls me Bella and nobody would get away with it. Except Colt.
“You want to know about the bakery,” I say. “Okay... my grandparents opened after a winter storm. For whatever reason they had power and my grandmother started to bake. She handed out loaves of bread to anyone who wanted it. Those people loved it so much they asked for more, and different kinds. By the time spring came, they had a little side business that had my grandmother baking ten hours a day. So they opened the bakery.”
Colt nods. “That’s a beautiful story.”
“They bought the building, and my grandfather tweaked it a little so the smell would float around town...”
“That’s what did it for me,” Colt says.
“There you go. Even gone from this world, my grandfather is still luring people in.”
“Sorry for the loss.”
“They’re both gone, actually.”
“That’s sad to hear,” Colt says. “That’s why you run the place?”
I lick my lips. Am I really teetering on this edge? Am I really going to tell Colt some of this story? Then again, maybe he’s the perfect one to share it with. He’s still like a stranger to me. He could take it for what it’s worth and do what he wants with it. At least it’ll be off my chest.
“My grandmother got cancer a few years ago. And it spread fast. When she couldn’t bake, I stepped in full time, leaving school and everything. My mother... she, uh, doesn’t have the magic touch, I guess you could say.”
“Doesn’t want a thing to do with the business?” Colt asks.
“She does... the money part of it.”
Colt nods. There’s suddenly pain behind his eyes. Maybe we have something in common here.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“You finish,” Colt says.
“What else do you want to know?”
“What’s your plan for the place?”
“How so?”
“You’re dying, aren’t you?”
The question hits hard and takes away a slight feeling of romance as I share my heart to Colt.
“Dying? I’m in good health.”
“The business,” Colt says. “I can tell by the dust on tables and the feeling inside the place.”
“Well, since the bread sucks so bad, it’s no wonder, right?”
Colt laughs. “You take things to heart, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“I don’t take things to heart, but I can offer
my
heart, to the right person.”
There’s a pause between us and I’m not going to be the one to break it.
Colt finally does.
“All I’m saying is that you just told me a beautiful story about your grandparents. Why not tell it inside the bakery? Why not bring in coffee, music, and create a place for people to hang out at?”
My mind imagines Colt ‘hanging out’ in his club, kicking out a bullied gay man and his boyfriend only to be shot...
“What’s wrong?” Colt asks. “Am I offending you?”
“No, I’m listening.”
“Good.”
“But everyone knows about my grandparents.”
“I didn’t,” Colt says. “And anyone in this town who is new or who is under the age of, what, fifty, probably doesn’t know. For all they know, you’re just some bakery. Some kid running a bakery.”
“Some kid?” Now I’m starting to get offended.
“Don’t take it like that,” Colt says. “I’m going to be twenty-eight in a few months and people still think I’m a kid.”
“I appreciate the advice,” I say and push my chair back.
“Whoa, what are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. The only way the bakery can survive is to be open.”
“That too,” Colt says. “Pick your own hours. Make the hours work for you as much as you work for them.”
“I’ve had enough business chat. You don’t know anything about me, about my family. About my life.”
“Then let me in. I’m right here. I’ve got time.”
I’m standing now, unsure what to do. If I leave, it’s going to be an even longer walk back to my car. One filled with regret and knowing that Colt will be staring at me and there’s nothing I can to stop him.
So I sit, again.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Colt says. “I’m just being honest, Bella. You deserve more than what you have.”
“Oh, and you have it?”
“I never said I have a thing. All I can offer is myself.”
I’ll take it...
I shake the thought away.
Come on, Isabella, stay grounded.
“I didn’t ask to be in the position I am,” I say. “Okay? I’m trying to do what I think my grandparents would want done.”
“That’s silly. You don’t know what they would be doing right now if they were alive. They sound like smart people. They would understand the need to change.”
“Need to change,” I whisper.
How true is that? I think of my mother and wonder if she’s in a drunken state yet. If she had a good sober day, she’d have a few bad days. That much I know.
“Enough about me,” I say. “I want to know about you, Colt. Why are you here? Why aren’t you home running your businesses?”
“First off, ‘home’ is less than an hour away,” he says. “Two, I have family here. I’m passing through. Thinking, riding, enjoying life. Sometimes when it all comes down on my shoulders, I step away before I start to crack.”
“Before you crack?”
“Sure. We all have a breaking point, Bella. And if we crack, we break, and something terrible can happen.”
Colt leaves that lingering out there, leaving me to do what I want with it. I put it into perspective about his nightclub. This is my opening, my chance to just put it out there. I need to ask. I need to know. Colt’s eyes are addicting, his face gorgeous. I picture myself letting Colt come near me in ways I never thought I would allow a person... but I can’t do it. I’m not Becca-Ann, I don’t kiss first and ask later.
“Colt, I have to ask something,” I say. “I don’t want you to get mad... but it’s something on my mind...”
“Shit,” Colt growls. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I sit back in my chair and watch as he stands up. He’s instantly tense and I think I’ve hit a nerve. His hands are in fists and his face is flared. He reaches into his pocket and damn my mind for thinking he’s going to pull out a gun. It’s just money. He drops a ten on the table and looks down at me.
“Come on, we’re leaving.”
“Colt...”
“Stand up, Bella,” he bellows at me.
I stand up. “What’s going on?”
I look over my shoulder and Colt grabs my arm. He’s not aggressive but he’s so strong. I barely catch sight of the sidewalk behind me and see a thick man standing, looking just as angry as Colt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the stranger yells.
“Now,” Colt says and starts to walk.
He jumps the black bar and helps me over. I start to take a step and Colt grabs me again.
“Get on the bike,” he says.
“What? No. I have no helmet...”
Colt hands me his helmet and then straddles the bike.
I look at the man down the sidewalk and he’s pointing at Colt. He starts to yell something -
You better fu
- and Colt starts the bike, drowning out the man.
“My car!” I cry out.
“Get it later,” Colt yells back.
I can’t believe I’m doing this but I put the helmet to my head and push it down. It smells like Colt. Is it wrong to be turned on right now?
I look at the motorcycle as it rumbles. Colt is still pissed off and I turn my head, seeing the stranger charging at us. All I can think is that something in Colt’s past has caught up, looking for him.
I move to the bike and climb on it. I put my hands to his sides, gripping his shirt tight as he starts to move us.
He screams to me, “Hang on tight!” and then we’re off. He hits the throttle on the bike and I suddenly feel like we’re going two hundred miles an hour. The growling sound, the harsh rumbling, and the feeling of my body pressed against Colt’s. As we charge down the street... Colt running from his past and ironically, I am doing the same thing.
Running.
-Chapter 10-
When I feel a little more comfortable, I slide my hands around to the front of Colt’s body and locked my fingers. I feel the rippling of his stomach muscles and I am able to moan, knowing he won’t hear me.
My chest is tight to his back, my head to the left just enough so I could see. The wind must be pounding at his face and while it’s wrong and stupid to ride a bike without a helmet, Colt looks so hot. His arms outstretched, his muscles and tattoos.
What did I get myself into here?
I close my eyes and try to collect myself.
Then I feel us slowing down and when I open eyes, we’re at a park. We’re towards the edge of town where they set off fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s where all the high school kids go with their boyfriends or girlfriends and make out during the fireworks show.
Is Colt going to make out with me?
He stops the bike and turns it off.
I step from the bike and slide the helmet off. I place it on the back of seat and as Colt gets off the bike, I feel myself ready to punch him.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask, everything inside and out of my body feeling wild and raw.
Colt looks at me, licks his lips once, and then makes a move. His hands are at my face, holding my cheeks for a second before he comes forward. When our lips touch, I exhale. His thumbs gently caress my cheeks as he kissed me again, opening his lips a little. The third kiss, our mouths are open, but it’s not until the fourth kiss do our tongues actually touch. When they do, my knees bend and Colt pulls me back up. His hands move from my face as my hands touch his sides. I clutch at his shirt, trying to keep control because they want to explore elsewhere.
The kiss is hot, the kiss is powerful, the kiss is both of us expressing our frustration for the world. We’re letting our lust for each other take away whatever pain we’re hiding. And yet, I don’t know his pain... and he doesn’t know mine...
But the kiss is good.
Really, really good.
Good enough that I forget about everything. The bakery. My family. My mother. The stuff I read about Colt. It all slips away with the taste of his warm mouth against mine. He's like a comforting blanket but his hands remain at his sides still. I move my hands down to his, trying to hold them. He lets me but he won't let me interlock our fingers. Frustrated, I wrap my hands around his wrists and squeeze. The kiss gets hotter as our breathing grows. I exhale as he does, our breaths colliding and spreading across our faces. I can't take him not touching me so I pull at his wrists, wanting him to touch me.
I keep pulling and Colt resists.
I break our kiss and take a deep breath, moaning as I exhale. Colt looks at me with his eyes on fire, something between rage and lust.
It's almost too much to stare at.
"What's wrong?" Colt asks.
"You tell me," I say.
I pull at his wrists, again, and this time he twists and breaks my hold. He steps back towards his motorcycle and growls. He slaps the seat and bends towards the bike, shaking his had.
Oh no... is this where he tells me he has a girlfriend?
"Colt, talk to me," I say. "We just fled a restaurant because someone wanted..."
"Enough," he says.
"No," I say. "You just made me tell you everything, now it's your turn."
"What do you want?" he asks.
"Why won't you touch me? Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No... Not at all."