Kristen Ashley - Wild Man

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“You didn’t tell me you’d –” I started but he interrupted me, his brows drawing together.

“Yeah I did, Tess. I said the bakery is on radar.”

I stared at him.

Then I told him, “I thought you meant the cops.”

“Cops, Lee’s boys, fuck, I even called Hawk fuckin’ Delgado and asked him to keep his ear to the ground and his eyes open.”

To that, I blinked. This was because I knew Brock was not the still unknown (even though he was Gwen’s man) Hawk Delgado’s favorite person but also because Brock had told me Hawk was not his favorite person either mainly because he screwed the pooch on the Darla deal and both of them were not over that situation as in way not over it and, now knowing the details, I got why on both sides.

“Really?” I whispered.

He crossed his arms on his chest and stated, “Babe, you think I found the woman of my dreams at forty-five years old and I’m gonna let anything happen to her, think again. That’s a long fuckin’ time to wait for what you want. I waited. I found it. I’m pullin’ out all the stops to take care of it. I know you feel the same for me so I’m doin’ the same to keep me safe for you. So yeah, really, I called Delgado. I made peace and asked a favor. His woman is in your posse so she wouldn’t be doin’ cartwheels, he said no and something went down with you or, for you, me. And he isn’t dumb, he’s a man who knows to collect favors and he’s a man whose business means he often has the need to call markers. So his ear’s to the ground and his eyes are open so if a cop isn’t cruisin’ by your house or bakery, one of Lee’s boys or one of Hawk’s commandos are. Smart people pay attention to who’s cruisin’ around people they want to fuck with and smart people will see cops, Nightingale’s men and Delgado’s crazy motherfuckers and, my hope is, they’ll steer clear. So, there you go. Now you got a full explanation of what I mean when I say you’re on radar.”

I heard all he said, I really did.

But I was stuck at the beginning part where he told me I was the woman of his dreams.

And that made me feel so warm and gushy, I was mostly incapacitated.

So the best I could do was force out an, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he replied.

Then I forced out, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

He jerked his chin up.

Then he walked out.

I stared at the door. Then I did it a little while longer as I heard him moving around in the bedroom changing out of wet clothes. Then I did it for longer after he’d left the bedroom.

Then I toweled off, got dressed in loose-fitting, drawstring lounge pants, a camisole and a light hoodie and I went downstairs. Brock fed me grilled cheese and oven baked tater tots. It was really good, Brock grilled a mean cheese sandwich and the tater tots were baked perfectly, crispy on the outside, soft in the middle. Then I hung out in front of the TV curled into Brock until he sent the kids to bed at ten. Then I hung out longer, curled into Brock.

Then, finally, Brock took me to bed and spent more than a fair amount of effort in taking my day away.

He succeeded magnificently and I knew this because, seconds after he curled me into his arms when he was done expending this effort, I fell into a peaceful sleep filled with really, really good dreams.

“I’m telling you girl, I think it’s perfect,” Martha declared from beside me in my car and she was right. It was perfect. Terrifyingly so.

We’d just come from viewing some space in Writer Square in LoDo. It was fabulous, great foot traffic, sandwiched between 16th Street Mall and Larimer Square, visibility from 15th Street and Larimer, sidewalk seating opportunity.

But the rent was a whack.

I was six months from paying off the business loan I got to open my first location so I knew how much it cost to set up a bakery. Location and setup costs were close to crippling.

One and one were equaling thousands.

It was just under three weeks since Brock suggested Martha be brought in to take the load off. I’d called her and discussed it the next day. She’d jumped at it, no hesitation. She loved the idea. And I knew she loved the idea for, upon sharing it with her, she screamed in my ear,

“I frickin’ love that idea! ”

She had a good job and her pay was excellent, no way I could match it, but she said she’d take the hit for peace of mind and the opportunity to work close to my cakes. I promised a pay hike once the second location was up and going and turning a profit.

Oh, and of course, free cakes.

Martha put in notice and enrolled in accountancy classes the next day. I bought payroll software. I was going to save on outsourcing those and my business account was super healthy therefore, with both, I could easily absorb her additional salary, not to mention, that freed me up to make more cakes.

Still, my account balance wasn’t so healthy I could start a new location without additional capital, though this wouldn’t be a problem because my bank contacted me approximately one point seven times a month asking if I wanted a further loan. Then again, my loan manager had four kids, a husband, six brothers and sisters and the offspring they created and they all got birthday cakes from me so she knew I was a viable risk.

But I still needed a getaway with Brock and the boys. I had decided all-inclusive, five-star just because we deserved it and I had also decided I was going to pay for it just because Brock had lawyer bills and a cop’s salary and, unfortunately, him and both of his sons had birthdays all sandwiched in the same week of the same month, this month – February. This was a cruel twist of fate for anyone who had their names on their present list. This was also a perfect excuse for me to take them all on vacation without Brock going macho apeshit (hopefully).

“And I’m telling you, Martha, I don’t know. The rent is pretty steep,” I told her (again) as I wended my way through Cherry Creek North toward my shop. “Maybe we should look into something on The Mall or lower LoDo around My Brother’s Bar?”

“I get where you’re coming from but that location is Tessa’s Cakes,” she replied.

“Already, you’re in Cherry Creek and that isn’t exactly shantytown.”

This was true. My rent for my current bakery was also a whack.

Martha kept going. “The Mall is out, it’s cool but it’s not Tessa’s Cakes and lower LoDo is awesome but it isn’t established awesome like Writer Square unless you’re talking about Brother’s or Paris on the Platte which are only established because they’ve been there yonks.

Not to mention, foot traffic is way less. Practically every shop in Writer Square is fabulous and they’ve all been there for years. And they have flair. You’ll fit right in.”

She was right about that, all of it.

Eek!

“Tessa,” she went on and I could tell by her voice she was facing me and I could also tell by her voice she’d hit her “listen to me, I’m being deadly serious” mode, “your cakes don’t say 16th Street Mall and they don’t say lower LoDo. They say Larimer Square but you’ve nixed that because of the rent so the next best thing is Writer Square. This is perfect, honey.

This is you. ”

She was right about that too. All of it.

Yikes.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to hire someone who knew me and understood my vision.

Maybe it was scary.

Damn.

Oh well. Nighties and sanity were on the line. And I didn’t hire Martha to do payroll and create schedules. I hired Martha to help me expand then to look after my vision when I did.

There was nothing for it.

“Okay, call them and tell them we want it.”

“Yee ha! ” she shrieked.

Dear God.

I pulled into the parking lot beside my bakery and parked in the spot that had the sign,

“Reserved for Tessa, you park here, you don’t get cake” on the building in front of it. Then I switched off the ignition. Then my phone rang.

Martha, holding my purse in her lap, dug through it, nosily looked at it and mumbled,

“Bad boy hot guy,” then handed me the phone and started to exit the car, finishing, “I’m gonna go make the call now.”

Then she was gone.

I took Brock’s call.

“Hey.”

“Well?”

He knew I was viewing the location.

“It’s fabulous,” I answered his mostly unasked question.

“And?”

I grinned at my dash.

“My guess is, even though she was exiting my car with great haste while the phone was ringing with this call from you, still Martha’s right now on the phone in the office with the landlord saying we’ll take it.”

Silence then, “Good, baby.”

“I’m scared out of my mind, Brock,” I admitted.

“Be stupid not to be, Tess,” he replied, not in a whisper and I pulled in breath. “It’s a risk but it’s a risk worth taking. And it’s a lot of work but it’s work worth doing. It’ll pay off, it’ll pay off soon and then it’s all about the nighties.”

I started laughing softly then I stopped laughing softly and said quietly, “Yeah.”

“We’ll go out tonight, celebrate.”

Well. There you go. This decision was seeming like the right one already.

“Sounds good.”

“Not Lincoln’s Road House meatloaf sandwiches celebrating. You in sexy heels and a short skirt celebrating,” he clarified and I blinked at the dash because I’d never had sexy heels and short skirt fun with Brock. I’d had beer and pool table and plethora of neon signs on the walls fun with Brock plenty of times but never heels and short skirts.