Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(8)

“I need some pastries. Maybe some rolls?” he says.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. We specialize in pastries and rolls.”

“I figured you did.”

I tilt my head, giving him a look that’s far more flirtatious than I normally dare with anyone. “What clued you in?”

“The sign above the door. It says bakery.” He grins and moves closer to the counter. “So…baked goods, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Mandy moves back away from the cash register. Catching the movement out of the corner of my eye, I turn my attention to her for a few seconds. “Why don’t you head on home, hon? I know you’ve been here all day without any help.”

“Okay, sure.” She smiles at me, then at Nick, then takes off her red apron and heads out the door.

“Poor thing. She’s probably starving,” I comment, watching her go.

When I look back toward Nick, his grin has turned to a slight frown. “Don’t you have anybody else to help her out?”

I shake my head. “No. We can’t really afford to pay very many people. Most days it’s just me and Mandy. There’s a high-school kid, Jim, who comes in on weekends. That’s why we have such short hours.”

I generally don’t keep the place open past two or three. Most of the traffic comes by in the morning anyway. But I’m sure we could do additional business if we were open for people coming home from work. Or if we had coffee. Another thing Sal shot down as too expensive. No coffee, not even drip. God forbid I should ask for a couple of espresso machines.

“Yeah, I saw the hours on the sign,” Nick comments. “I was afraid I might be too late to pick anything up.”

I shake my head. “Nope. We’re still open. Technically.” I figure I’ll turn the CLOSED sign over as soon as Nick heads out. It’s not like people are standing in line outside the door, after all. “What can I get for you?”

“I was hoping for a few boxes.”

My eyebrows go up—usually I end up selling a couple of pastries here, a couple more there, a few loaves of bread every once in a while.

“Maybe whatever you have that’s going to go to the day-old shelves tomorrow?”

Okay, this is going to be a good sale. I can’t help but be a little excited about it. I start looking over the items in the display cabinet, tallying up what I might have in the back. “I think we can accommodate you, sir.”

“That’s great.”

He leans against the counter, and I can’t help but notice the way his shirt pulls tight over the solid, prominent muscles of his chest. I take out a box, unfold and assemble it, and start dropping donuts inside. “Are you having a party? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

He smiles. “I’m going by my mom’s place. They always like fresh bread and pastries.” There’s a hesitation, just long enough for me to wonder how many people live in his mom’s house that he’s buying several dozen pastries. “She’s in a nursing home.”

“Oh.” My voice comes out small, and I feel like I’ve made a misstep. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. She likes it there. She’s got a ton of friends, and I go by a couple times a week. We just lost my dad, so it’s good she’s got people there she can hang out with when she gets lonely.”

“Oh.” I seem to be having problems coming up with full sentences. “That’s great.” I set the full box aside and grab another one. “I mean, that she has friends there, and that you go see her.”

Nick nods in response then points toward the display case. “Are those apple fritters?”

“These on the left are apple; the ones on the right are peach.”

“That sounds phenomenal. Can I get a few of those?”

“Of course.” I put fritters in the second box. It gives me an excuse not to look at him when I say, “So… I enjoyed dancing with you at the party last night.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that I finally look at him. His face has gone hard and sober, and my heart lurches. Whenever I see a look like that on Sal’s face, it means he’s about to haul off and hit me, or at the very least rip me up one side and down the other verbally. He’s very imaginative with his insults, is Sal. Sometimes they hurt more than when he actually strikes me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Should I not have mentioned it?”

Nick’s head jerks to one side as if I’ve pulled him out of his thoughts. “No. No, it’s not that. I just…” He smiles then, and that’s when I realize he saw Sal hit me. My face goes hot. I look back down at the pastry box.