Page 43 of Fool Me Once

As my best friend tells me about her new home, job, and life, I still hear a certain sadness in her tone. But Saylor isn’t the type to dwell on her feelings; she will tell me in her own time. So, instead of questioning her, I simply listen.

I wish I could take her to her favorite place on earth—Disney World. I don’t have the money right now, but if I did, I’d surprise her with a trip because that’s what she deserves.

In just a few days, I’ll be traveling to Tampa to watch Smith play hockey, and I wish Saylor could be there more than anything.

I drive through downtown Portland, keeping my knuckles against my lips, deep in thought about my talk with Gemma yesterday. It makes sense for us to pretend we’re dating. Not only will it keep her safe, but it will also send a message to her shithead ex that she’s done with him. Forever. But selfishly, I hope it gives us a fighting chance to maybe get back to the place we were before. A place where she looked at me like I’d hung the moon and she trusted me with her heart. God, I want that so fucking bad again.

I park my truck along the curb in front of the bakery. Gemma wouldn’t ask for anything, but I know her better than anyone. She loves chocolatecroissants and éclairs. This bakery—Frank’s—happens to have both. I haven’t tried them before, but they look damn good.

I might not be her real boyfriend, but I’ll be the best fake boyfriend she’s ever seen.

I push my door open, and instantly, I’m hit with a cold blast of Maine winter air. Last week, it was fifty degrees. Next week, it’s going to be in the forties. But right now? It’s eleven degrees with a wind chill that could freeze my nuts off and turn my dick into a frozen dickpop.

Maybe Gemma could lick it warm.

I blink, shaking my head at myself. I need to be respectful, even in my thoughts, but, fuck, that’s a hard thing to do when she’s so close and all I have are fantasies of her.

I walk into the bakery, and right away, I see the owner, Frank, behind the counter. He’s one of those old men who loves to bust your balls, but he’s got a heart of gold. His wife died from cancer years ago, and now, it’s just him and his granddaughter running the place.

“Look at the ugly bastard the cat dragged in, Freya,” he says to his granddaughter, nodding his head toward me.

Frank is eighty-two years old, but it’s hard to tell that because he works every single day of his life still.

Freya’s lips turn up into a smile because she’s used to the way her grandfather is when I come in here.

“Hello to you too, Franklin,” I say, knowing he hates when anyone calls him that.

“Getting doughnuts, are you?” He stands behind the bakery case with his hands resting on top of it. “How many today?”

“As many as you can give me.” I say the same thing I always do. “Just make sure you give me at least ten of those rainbow sprinkle ones. They are a real hit.”

“You got it,” he says, pointing to where the boxes are stacked. “Go on, Freya. Let’s get this generous man all loaded up.”

Once a week, when I come here, I buy him out of doughnuts and then take them down to the homeless shelter. It’s something I do that I try to keep secret because the last thing I’d ever want is for it to be publicized. Frank knows that’s where his doughnuts are going, but he understands I don’t want to make a fuss about it. So, he simply boxes up as many doughnuts ashe has left, and I pay and go on my way. I’m not much for sweets, but it’s a pretty nice feeling when you give a kid—or their mom—a doughnut, and it makes their entire week.

The feeling I get when I sit and talk to them—seeing them smile, knowing that’s not something that happens often—it’s something I don’t get often. It doesn’t matter how many wins the Bay Sharks have; nothing could ever be as rewarding as helping someone who needs it.

The saddest part of doing it is seeing the kids who live there with their parents. Or knowing that the stupid, sugary doughnut I give them is the nicest thing anyone has ever done. I tell myself it’s temporary and that, one day, they’ll have a better life.

Even telling myself that doesn’t help me sleep at night though. And oftentimes, I think about those kids’ faces.

Once the doughnuts are loaded, I point to where the croissants are. “Can I get a few of the chocolate ones?” Moving down to the éclairs, I nod. “And a few of these as well?”

Freya smiles and quietly murmurs, “Of course.”

For a beautiful woman, she moves about like a ghost. She has three kids, so I suppose I can’t blame her for looking that way. I’d be fucking tired too.

Frank goes to work, typing in everything on the cash register, but before he gives me the amount, he narrows his eyes. “You’ve been coming in here for years. I’ve never sold you anything besides the doughnuts. Other than the few times your sister came in with you and got a cupcake.”

“Yeah, Saylor … she, uh … she loves anything with frosting on it.”

“My point is, she’s not with you, so who are those for?” He points to the bag Freya slides beside him. “You know I’ve always told you that the way to a good woman’s heart is with baked goods. Did you finally smarten your ass up and find you a woman?” He looks over to make sure Freya isn’t near him anymore before dropping his voice down. “You missed out on my granddaughter though. She’s a real gem. Already has three kids too. All of them…the best kids.”

He’s done this since the first day I walked into this bakery. He recognized me right away and knew I was a Shark, and before I knew what was happening, he was telling me about his widowed granddaughter, Freya, who was going to one day take over the bakery. She seems nice, and nodoubt, she’s attractive, but I’ve never been interested in settling down with anyone who wasn’t Gemma.

I chuckle, handing him my credit card. “It’s complicated. But I’ll bring her by sometime.”

“You’d better,” he warns. “I need to tell her to smarten your ass up.”

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