Page 7 of Be My Reason

“Michael, he did not have his sights set on me.His name was Nate. I had a high school crush on him. He used me for one night and then I never saw him again.”See, loser.

Dang, now I’m in a bad mood when I’m about to leave and not see Michael for a whole week. Wanting to leave on a happy note, I look up at him through my lashes. “Um, so let’s get back to all the things you are going to do to make it up to me.”

“Oh, I plan to make it up to you all right, in all kinds of ways and in all kinds of positions.” He raises an eyebrow. “That all right with you, future Mrs. Brooklyn Bridges?”

“Hmmpf. I don’t know what kind of sick joke fate is trying to play on us.” I can’t help rolling my eyes. “But for the millionth time, I willnotbe taking your name,” I assert.

“I know,Ms.Vaughn, and I understand. But it is still fun as hell to tease you about it.”

I smile at my perfect guy as he getsup from the bar with our mugs, takes them over to the sink and rinses them before placing them in the dishwasher. “Now get your pretty little butt over here and give me a proper good-bye.”

His eyes darken and watch my every move as I deliberatelyand slowly lick my lips when I saunter around the counter towards him. He is focused on my mouth when I reach out and place my hand on his chest. “I’ll miss you so much,” I whisper. I kiss him slowly at first; then I want him to know what he’ll be missing so I work my tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his before I suck gently on his tongue until he makes little moaning noises. Then he grabs my head, deepens the kiss and presses the length of his body, hardness and all, against mine, grinding ever so slowly.Damn, he gives as good as he gets.

I can feel him smile against my lips.He knows what he is doing to me. Well, at least I’m not the one who has to adjust myself while heading out the door. He pulls away still gripping me tightly. “Time to go, sweetheart. Don’t forget to text me and don’t be upset if it takes me awhile to get back to you. You know how busy it gets at the hospital.”

He holds my hand as we walk downstairs to the parking lot.He opens the door to my less-than-impressive car and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Be safe and have fun. But not too much fun, I know how Emma can get.”

“I love you, Lyn,” he says, staring down at me with so much meaning in his eyes.

“You too, Michael.” I look up at the face that I will miss so terribly for the next few days. “And don’t worry about Emma, she’ll be all work and no play in Raleigh.”

He closes my door and watches as I back out and drive away.

~~ ~

It never gets old turning onto my street and seeing my name—my name—emblazoned in hot pink over the outline of a light-blue cupcake twenty feet up over the entrance of my shop. After earning my Certified Pastry Culinarian designation from Savannah Tech, and saving almost every cent I made babysitting, waitressing and temping, and okay, I’ll admit a lot of help from Emma, I was able to start a small bakery. It still feels like a dream to have my own shop. My mom and I used to bake together when I was little. I can remember being seven years old and realizing what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Mom smiled down at the confectionary creation I had attempted with the admiration only a mother can have for something that looked so hideous. “Brooklyn, you can be whatever you want when you grow up as long as it is something you are passionate about. There are no limits to what you can do. You could be a teacher, like Daddy, or a Mommy like me, or a doctor or scientist. You could even be a baker and make wonderful cakes like this one.”

My eyes widened and my smile about split my face in two when I realized one could actually bake.For a job. And make money. That was it for me. From that day on, if I wasn’t at school, I was making a mess in Mom’s kitchen. God love her, she never complained about cleaning up after me.

A flash of pink catches my eye and I look over to see Kaitlyn, my one and only employee, as she pops her pink-streaked head of hair out the door to put up the daily special board. I quickly drive around back, park by Emma’s Beemer and Kaitlyn’s Beetle, which is—surprise—pink, and make my way in through the back door.

I’m immediately struck once again by the powerful and intoxicating smell of fresh muffins and cinnamon rolls baking to perfection.I hope I never get tired of this. I don’t want running the shop to ever become just another day at the office. Bakery air is just too good to take for granted.

I know Emma is waiting for me upstairs and I am running a few minutes late but I need to hit the shop for a second. I pass by the doorway that has stairs leading up to our apartment and I head on through the kitchen to the front of the bakery that smells of fresh coffee.

I see Kaitlyn setting up the pastry cases for the fresh stock.I look around the shop which is really too large for its purpose. The morning light streaks through the front windows that a local artist has adorned with etchings of baked goods. The mixture of low and high-top tables, along with the few booths that I added, give it an eclectic, yet quaint feel.

I head over to the coffee station behind the counter to grab some to-go cups for myself and Emma. “Hey, boss.You ready for your road trip?” Kaitlyn looks up as she sips from one of the oversized Brooklyn’s Bakery mugs Michael had made for my last birthday.

“I don’t know.” I sigh, looking around at my shop thinking about how I will miss it this week. “Maybe I should stay. I mean, five whole days on your own here is an awful lot for me to ask of you,” I say, knowing full well that is not why I’m reluctant to leave.

“Lyn, are you crazy?” she practically shouts. “I live for this. You know I need this to see if one day I can maybe open my own place. Plus, you know your mom will probably stop by every day to help out.”

I know she is right.My mom and biggest cheerleader, second to Emma, stops by almost daily. She also insists on working one morning a week to give me time off. She conveniently schedules that morning to coincide with Michael’s day off. She refuses to let me pay her, saying that this is what you do for family and just wait until I have a daughter one day and I’ll understand. That is just one of the perks of living in the same city as my parents. Also another reason not to leave Savannah.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I start to go into the kitchen. “I’ll do a quick check in the back to make sure you have everything you need.”

She watches me walk past her and through the large swinging door; the kind of door that you see in restaurants with a giant round window at face level. I know exactly what she’s thinking because she knows that I checked everything just yesterday. Twice. “I know you are rolling your eyes at me Kay,” I say without turning around.

“Hmmpf,” I hear. “Don’t let that back door hit you in the ass on the way out,” she says. “You know I love you, Lyn. Don’t worry about a thing.”

In the large kitchen that has become my secondhome, I run my hand along the shiny stainless handle of the large baking oven that I will probably never pay off in my lifetime. I hold up my right hand and thoughtfully regard my scar. I don’t hold a grudge; it was my own fault for wearing that chunky charm bracelet. I learned my lesson. I will never wear a bracelet again. To the left of the oven are the cooling racks that already hold dozens of heavenly breakfast treats for the morning crowd. Taking in a long, slow breath through my nose, I again drown in the almost sickly-sweet smell that has become the favorite part of my morning.Other than waking up next to Michael. My mom had the brilliant idea to place the cooling racks by the only window in the kitchen so that when weather allows, we can open it which practically guarantees that anyone within a quarter-mile will follow the mouth-watering smell to find the source.

I pluck a low-fat blueberry muffin from the rack for myself and a cinnamon roll for Emma, thinking how totally unfair it is that she never has to count calories like I do. And then I add more gooey fat-filled cream cheese topping to hers just for good measure. Then I head to the back of the kitchen and up the stairs to where Emma is undoubtedly tapping her foot on the ground waiting for my arrival.

Chapter Two

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