Page 2 of Grumpy Baker

By the time he announces the last call, the frustration from my lack of work washes away with one last swipe of the towel across the countertop. The last stool is empty, and the TV is off.Dean sighs as he closes the register, yawns, and stretches before looking toward the back of the bar.

A long hallway has restrooms on one side, an office, and a back door leading into an alley behind the buildings lining Main Street.

"Are you going back to Sweet's tonight?" I ask him. It's hard stopping my grin every time I think of a bakery next to a bar, and he owns them both. Sweet Treats. On the Rocks. I have no idea how he has the energy for it.

Dean nods before running his fingers through his thick brown hair, which he keeps short. I try to remember how soft it is, but then I remember the pain it took me to forget. Still, I hate knowing he will be working until the bakery opens in a few hours.

"How about I come help you prep if you let me keep all the tips from tonight? You get to go to bed before the sun rises for once."

"I don't know, Mackenna. You know how hard it is…" He smiles and lets the end of his sentence drop.

I have to stop myself from reaching for his crotch to see exactly how hard he could be. Control is the name of this game, and neither of us seems to win it. We lose control whenever we're in the same room together, but we decided to give each other space.

It's been almost ten years since we were next-door neighbors and six months since I got so hammered in this same bar, he picked me up off the floor. In those moments of Dean taking care of me while swirling through my grief, I wasn't ready to let him be there for me.

The perfect gentleman at all times. Even when I'm drunkenly throwing myself at him, he protects me from trauma-based choices. However, the embarrassment slithering through me keeps me away from his bakery, but I have my favorite stool as a regular in his bar. A bar I can drink at without dwelling on what I wanted us to be because Hank's the best bartender at On the Rocks. Now Hank is gone, and I might have to deal with all the words I never said to Dean while loathing my career over free shots of bourbon.

"How's your family doing?" he asks, sympathy rolling through his tone.

"Better than me," I admit. "Pop keeps himself busy with all of his furry patients at the vet clinic. Maddie's still flipping that house over on Grave Street. Rye's slinging smiles and sundaes at her parlor."

"Right." He nods. "The ice cream spot on Smith."

I smile because I know he already knows. Dean's been looking after the Monroe sisters since we were little. I pushed him away before, but he didn't push back. He never pushes me to do anything I don't want or anything he knowsI don't want.

A sigh of what-if pushes through my lips as I find my voice to silence my thoughts and speak. "The kids are all right. Listen, Dean, I just … I don't know how to thank you, and this is just me trying?—"

Dean puts his hands up to stop me from talking, and then he holds it out for me. The moment I slip my hand into his, he pulls me close. A hug from Dean is like hot chocolate on Christmas morning. He smells like it, too, but now there's an essence of cognac sprinkling into his sweet cinnamon and pastry aroma.

"You smell too good for me," I moan into his embrace.

"You won't be saying that in the morning," he laughs. "That is if you're serious about coming with me."

"I've always been serious about coming with you," I tell him as I pull out of his hug.

"Tease," he mutters with a slight shake of his head.

My mouth says the things my body wants, but logic forces me to change the subject. "Let's go laminate some dough or fold things into batter."

He snorts and kisses me on the top of my head. Dean keeps his arm around me as we walk out of the bar's back door, into the alley, and through another door that leads into the bakery's kitchen. It's freezing as we step inside, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I'd turn the heat up," Dean says as he glances down to see what's obvious. My nipples are as hard as rocks, and I can see the desire glazing over his blue eyes.

"Heat isn't good for what we need, right?" I ask him, turning toward him and letting the hardness of my breasts brush against his arm. He grunts and shakes his head.

"Fuck me," he mumbles.

I smile and stroke the side of his face. "I'm trying not to."

2

DEAN

Mackenna locks eyes with me as her soft fingers slide down my face while her hard nipples glide across my bicep. There's no way I can focus on prepping for tomorrow with her standing this close to me. All night working the bar with her has my mind reeling over what could have been.

Refusing to let the moment slip by, my hand slips behind her neck. I slide the band off her ponytail to let long locks of soft blonde hair fall over my wrist. When my fingertips move up to graze her scalp, soft mewlings of satisfaction rise from her throat just as softly as she rises onto her toes. I lower my face toward hers because of fucking course.

I may be grumpy, which she never fails to remind me of, but I’m not made of stone. My entire being comes alive with her proximity.

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