Baking Up Love Read online

  How many people could honestly say they had that?

  A quick peck on the top of my head and Thomas disappeared back into the kitchen. I shivered, it always felt like something was missing when he was gone. Some indefinable thing that went beyond his simple presence or his warmth. It was like a part of me was gone, and I felt the loss keenly.

  If I wanted to give this relationship its best shot I would need to live with the fear that induced. I wouldn’t run from it ever again. Thomas was mine and I had every intention of keeping it that way.

  2

  Thomas

  All day long I had worried about how Claire was doing.

  I did my best to read her mood and provide what support I could. All while dealing with her dad’s - who I knew as Richard - death as well. We’d gotten to be friends later in his life. But he’d been good to me even earlier when I was a kid.

  He was a good man.

  Richard had opened his doors to me when nobody else would. Especially considering he had two pretty young daughters. He was often away having to attend to some manner of business or another and I quickly found myself the envy of every guy at school being able to sleep over at Claire and Jemma’s house.

  Unfortunately, that meant they got a lot of dirty looks for it. I always did my best to clear up any misconceptions, much to my own personal torment. I had crushed on Claire since we were seven and that infatuation only grew over the years. I fell in love with her but was never brave enough to let her know.

  And before I knew it Beth had gotten between us, concocting a story about how I spread lies and horrible rumors about her. It took eight years of separation and a lot of growing up so that when Claire came back, I could tell her how I felt.

  Of course it didn’t quite go according to plan. We were both pretty upset with each other at first. Without Richard’s final push to make us work together, if not work through our problems, I doubt we’d ever have gotten together.

  I wasn’t a big believer in God, but if anybody could get the Big Guy to lend us a hand it was Richard. That man could sell ice in the dead of a winter snowstorm and you’d thank him for the privilege.

  Me? I wasn’t nearly as savvy or skilled in negotiations as that. I liked to make things. Preferably things to eat. I was pretty good at that.

  When Claire’s stomach had growled, I took it as a good sign that things were going back to normal. I had no assumptions that things would be instantly better. I knew from my own experience burying my mom that it would get better by inches.

  I would be here for Claire. And for Jemma.

  The funeral reminded me of my family. The father that hit me and my mom, who had thankfully drunk himself into an early grave. My mom who bore the bruises and scars, and somehow still loved that piece of shit. I loved her, but never understood why she stood up for him long after he died.

  I was filled with a torrent of emotions I wasn’t used to dealing with. Today is about Claire and Jemma, I reminded myself. It’s their father that just died. Not yours. Get a grip and be there for them.

  With two plates of reheated third-pounder burger sandwiched between two brioche buns, topped with thick cuts of applewood smoked bacon, and a layer of melty cheddar atop I sat down next to Claire. I nudged her plate closer to her on the coffee table ahead of us.

  For good measure, I had homemade fries and baked beans on the side. There was very little in my fridge or my home that wasn’t made from scratch. I know part of it came from the poverty my mom raised me in, but making things from the basic ingredients really did make for better food.

  It was an ethos I carried over to A Game of Scones and everything I made there. With the new influx of business from Claire’s wildly successful social media campaign, I felt like the customers agreed it makes for better food.

  Why else would they come from so far around just to visit my little shop?

  After dinner, I broke out a bottle of red wine and poured two healthy glasses. Claire had barely moved from the couch. I knew something was bothering her, something that even the best food and company couldn’t quite wipe away.

  I lifted my glass. “To Richard.”

  Claire looked at me with those beautiful bright green eyes, shining with unshed tears. She gulped once, then again to get over the lump that must be in her throat and raised her glass to clink it against mine. “To Dad.”

  “You know, he used to threaten me to call you if I was acting stupid. Said he’d force us to hash out our differences one way or another if we didn’t stop acting like a pair of jackasses.”

  “Sounds like him.” Claire took a small sip, fingertips holding the glass delicately as if it might break at the slightest touch. “But not like the man that everybody else told me they knew.”

  So that was it.

  “He was so lively, Thomas.” She turned to face me, sitting cross-legged under the covers. “He risked his life on a daily basis for nothing more than fun. The same man that would look four times before crossing at a crosswalk when the crossing light was green used to hike alone for weeks at a time. Did you know he wanted to climb Everest? I didn’t.”

  I sipped to hide the lack of shock on my face. I knew. He talked to me about those things. A lot of the stories I heard at Claire’s side back at the reception were things Richard had told me himself.

  It was interesting to see the story from another perspective. But the way they shook up Claire was unexpected. I figured she knew the crazy shit her dad got up to, but it sounded like she thought he was an entirely different person.

  “It’s almost like I didn’t know him at all,” she said into her wine. “I loved him, but looking back I wonder what he truly gave up when my mother left us and he was forced to do the work of two parents. We were two unruly girls. We never made it easy on him.”

  “He loved you.” This needed to be nipped in the bud before Claire got carried away with it. It would plant a seed of doubt in her mind and I couldn’t let her do that to herself. “You and Jemma were all he ever talked about. You’ve been in the apartment, you’ve seen the pictures. They were everywhere.”

  She nodded, wiping away her tears with the heel of her palm. “I know,” her voice barely a whisper. “I just can’t help but feel that we took something from him. Something vitally important to the man he was, and we turned him into the man we needed him to be.”

  “If anybody did that, and that’s a big if, it was your mother. That kind of pain stays with you.” I looked away, unable to meet Claire’s eyes. Even the brief period of time when she had confessed she couldn’t be with me had nearly killed me. I didn’t want her to see the pain the raw memory still caused.

  Strained silence filled the space.

  I looked back up, saw Claire staring pensively into the last bits of wine in her glass. There was my opening. “And if he changed from a daredevil into an awesome dad just for you two, is that really so bad? He did a great job raising two unruly girls if I may say so.”

  “Don’t forget the son he never had,” she added.

  It was true. I was over there more than four nights out of the week.

  “So it’s not really that bad, is it? So what if he used to be this jet-setting playboy that toured the globe doing amazing things. He raised you, and you’re pretty amazing. That’s worth more than all the cool stories he might have had combined. And I think Richard would agree, or else he wouldn’t have given it all up. You and Jemma were more important.”

  Claire drained the last of her wine glass. She set it down on the coffee table with an audible clink and leaned forward until she was pressed against me. She flowed over me like a cat, stretched out and practically a liquid.

  She shifted around, finally got her head in my lap and turned until she was staring up at me with those gorgeous green eyes of hers. “Tell me a story, Thomas,” she said stifling a yawn with one hand.

  “What kind?” I wasn’t the best storyteller. I preferred to read them. Not tell them.

  “Something nice. About Dad
.” She was losing the fight to stay awake. Grief can be tiring. She blinked slowly. I could see the effort it took to lift her eyelids even halfway. “You spent more time with him in the last few years than I did. You’ve gotta know something.”

  For a moment I thought she had fallen asleep before I even started, but her eyes fluttered open again and she gave me a veiled stare through those thick lashes of hers. She had definitely inherited Richard’s persistence.

  “All right, I got one. So one time, the heater for the bakery broke in the middle of January…”

  3

  Claire

  I’ll be honest, I only asked Thomas to give me a story because I wanted to hear his voice as I drifted off to sleep. It was one of my new favorite things. Right up there with rumbling thunder and rain on the window.

  I was out in an instant. Dad used to drive us around if we were feeling sick or unable to sleep. Thomas could soothe me into a deep slumber with just the power of his voice.

  He could do a lot more than that with his voice too.

  The next morning I woke up, head pillowed on Thomas’ sculpted chest. The warmth and solidness of his heartbeat was beyond soothing. It eased the ache in my chest that was there whenever I thought about Dad.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  His voice startled me. I may have made an embarrassing squeal of surprise. “Good morning to you too.”

  I turned my head to meet his coffee-dark gaze, and for once let myself get lost in them.

  “I was thinking maybe you should take the day off, come join me at the bakery if you like but leave the business for tomorrow.”

  It took me a moment to process his words. I shook my head. “There’s so much to do still. If we don’t keep up the pressure, what little exposure we’ve gotten will evaporate and things will be right back where they were.”

  That was something I wasn’t willing to accept.

  The town was already seeing more new people than it’d seen in the last decade. And that was largely due to Thomas’ bakery.

  As strange as it might seem, he had begun trending almost immediately after our little photoshoot and the viral sensation of this hunky baker was drawing in hundreds of new customers.

  We had online orders backing up. People waited more than an hour now to try some of his pastries. Especially the Lover’s Special, inspired by how I made him feel after I bore my soul to him inside the busy bakery just a few days ago.

  Not to mention the dozens of people there. That embarrassing scene was captured from several different angles and each of them uploaded to social media. That led to another surge in popularity.

  It still felt like yesterday that I had arrived back in Sunrise Valley. And now with the funeral over I had a few hard decisions to make. Should I leave? Go back to New York and work my connections there or should I stay in Sunrise Valley and quit my job? I had enough saved away that I would be fine.

  Unlike in New York, my only real costs here were the upkeep of the properties I now owned with Thomas, utilities, and groceries. All of which combined were less than half my rent in the city.

  The allure of coming back to Sunrise Valley and putting down permanent roots scared me. It’s one thing to open myself to love, but something else entirely to bind myself to one place.

  I saw what it had done to Thomas.

  If he had been able to move anywhere, he could be doing very well for himself in the lower eastside. I knew people who would give him a shot, even without certificates or degrees. In a few years, he’d have enough to open his own pastry shop.

  “Will you at least try to take it easy?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked so concerned and yet exasperated with me. One of the benefits of a long history was how well we knew each other. Even after eight years apart, Thomas knew me better than anybody else.

  And I knew him just as well. At least I hoped.

  “No promises.” I propped myself up and kissed him on his delicious stubbly cheek. “Gonna get ready.”

  I hopped out of bed and began shedding my clothes on the way to the bathroom, leaving a very clear trail for him to follow. Before I’d even made it halfway into the bathroom, I heard the creak of floorboards and his heavy footfalls coming closer.

  Yes, I thought to myself, having history is good.

  This wasn’t something I could do with most guys. I wouldn’t feel comfortable to just be myself, to be naked and invite him in for casual sex. Though nothing with Thomas was casual. It always had to be an elaborate production, which always ratcheted up my nerves and made it hard to have anything resembling an orgasm.

  That would almost assuredly make the guy never want to see me again. Some of the worst guys would even blame me. Saying it was my fault, not theirs that I couldn’t get off. Why couldn’t I just let go and enjoy myself?

  Yes, because just stop thinking about it works so well.

  With Thomas it was different. Everything was. He was so kind and gentle, loving and yet forceful. I could let my walls down with him. I knew he’d take care of me. It felt right with him, the way our bodies fit together was like nothing I ever experienced before.

  I craved him like a drug.

  The fear of losing him shrank day by day while the intensity with which I needed him grew to fill that void. It still terrified me, but I was learning to live with it. I needed to be better than the person I was the day before.

  Thomas’ arms wrapped around me. His strong hands splayed out across my stomach. They slowly, carefully glided down to my womanhood. I felt the thickening of his cock against my ass. The way it radiated heat in the most sumptuous way.

  Thomas was attentive. He was focused on me in a way even I never was with myself. On my own, it was always about the climax. The release of stress and worry.

  But this was nothing like that. Every time with Thomas was like the first time, every tingling sensation, every nerve was alive with anticipation.

  His touch sent a thrill through me that shivered up my spine and made me gasp in pleasure. There was nothing quite like it. I felt everything, every gentle stroke of his fingers against the bundle of nerves between my legs. The way he kissed the back of my neck, softly and then hungrily devouring my skin with his hot lips.

  I reached around behind me, grabbed his hard cock and relished in the way it felt in the fist I could barely make around it. It was so hot I was always mildly surprised it didn’t burn me. Despite being hard as steel there was a delicate softness to it. I loved the contradiction.

  Dragging my fingertips along his length, I managed to draw a shuddering groan from his lips. Felt his hot breath on the nape of my neck when my fingers got to the crown. Yes, right there. Underneath. That was the spot.

  It was amazing how well I knew Thomas’ body after such a short period. It was like I always had known it. I didn’t feel awkward touching him, unsure of what he liked or how he liked it. I knew. And that knowledge made me confident.

  With deliberate motions, I traced the tip of his cock with my fingers to coax a bead of moisture from the tip. I coated my thumb with it, and wrapping my hand just beneath the crown, rubbed slow hard circles just beneath the tip where he was most sensitive.

  He groaned and shivered with delight. “Fuck…Claire,” he gasped.

  I loved it when he made that sound. When he said my name like it was a curse and a prayer at once. It was too bad he couldn’t see the devilish grin on my face.

  In response, his hand slid farther south. I felt his palm over my clit and his fingers gently slide inside me. It was electric. My whole body tightened with the thrill of it. My breath came in short gasps and as if to remind me of what my hand was wrapped around Thomas pulled me tight against his chiseled body.

  The silk-wrapped steel of his cock pressed against my back. He throbbed hungrily in my hand and I gave in to his demands with slow, steady stroking up and down his length.

  My legs quivered as he rubbed languid circles on to
p of my clit with the heel of his palm. His fingers reaching deeper and deeper until he found my own personal weakness. If he didn’t have an arm already wrapped around me I don’t know if I would’ve been able to stand.

  I frantically tried to pump him faster, but with him sandwiched between my back and his rock hard abs it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do. Never mind that each moment I was frantically getting closer to a knee-wobbling orgasm that I wasn’t remotely ready for.

  His fingers swirled deftly around the sensitive spot inside me. Instinct took over and my hips moved of their own accord, pressing my bud harder into his palm. I gasped and moaned, eager for more. Hungry.

  Lips, tongue, and teeth against my neck drove me up and over the edge of oblivion. My legs gave out but Thomas’ impressive strength kept me on my feet as the rhythmic waves of pleasure unknotted the emotions in my belly and washed me in sheer bliss.

  I forgot where I was. It felt like I was drifting in a warm bath with Thomas’ arms around me, his lips tenderly tracing his love from my jaw to my shoulder and back again.

  I was doing something with my hand. I couldn’t remember what. My grip slackened but some deep recess in my mind recognized what I had been doing. I felt the throbbing need in my fist and tightened once more. Distantly I heard his throaty groan of need.

  He turned me around. My back pressed against something flat and cold instead of hard and sculpted. My hand came away a moment later as the raging heat of his cock parted my lips and pressed inside me.

  It was almost too much.

  I was still sensitive after that last orgasm and out of instinct I nearly pushed against him. He read my body like a map and stopped with just the tip inside. He filled me with so much delight, it was almost painful.

  The feeling subsided. My hands, pressed against his firm pecs relaxed and he pushed deeper. I gasped and shivered. Nearly ready again, at this angle the ridge of him glided tantalizingly over that damn sensitive spot deep inside me.