Page 3 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

The front doorbell chimed, and my heart came to a thudding halt. I sucked in a sharp breath and plastered on a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Romero.” I spoke through frozen features. “Ethyl just pulled your cinnamon rolls out of the oven.” I motioned to the big pink box loaded with two dozen pastries. I had yet to close it and add the finishing touch, a pretty red bow with my card reading Des’s Dream Bakery in bold letters.

“Ricardo,” he said as he stalked toward me, running thick fingers through wavy, dark hair. “But my friends call me Ric,” he said with a wink. “I figure we should be on a first-name basis by now.”

I should’ve been emboldened by that wink, as I desperately tried to hold myself together. Ricardo, but his friends called him Ric? Dragon balls! Was I considered a friend or not?

Unsure what I was supposed to call him, and totally no good at making split-second decisions, my frazzled brain came up with a new and idiotic name. “Of course, Rico. You are my best customer, after all.” I inwardly cringed at ‘Rico’ while deciding against holding out my hand which was stained with food coloring. “Luciella Lovelle, but you can call me Luci.”

“Mm.” Seemingly unfazed by my stupid slip of the tongue, he hovered over his box of rolls, inhaling deeply as if the ooey-gooey cinnamon was his own personal crack. “They smell magical, as always.”

He purred as he dipped a finger in the center of a roll, tunneling into it like, like...oh my! Cinnamon-Spiced Latte took food foreplay to a whole new level. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of a pastry. When he pulled his finger out, I thought I heard the roll weep with satisfaction.

I did my best to ignore the wildfire that crept into my cheeks. “Mr....uh Riceeee.” I panted out his name and my knees went wobbly like they were made of soft butter. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Hmm.” He sucked frosting off his finger while looking around the shop. “I, uh...maybe a cinnamon-spiced latte.” Of course. It was his drink of choice and the reason for his nickname.

“Sure thing.” My voice splintered like the snap of hard icing. “Extra froth and cream?”Or you can lick me,I thought. If only I was a cinnamon roll.

“Of course.” He shrugged before assaulting another hapless roll.

Goddess, save me before I expire from pastry envy! I felt like a robot going through the motions as I made his latte, painfully aware of him standing behind me, his larger-than-life presence hogging up every spare inch of the bakery like some Greek god in all his masculine, panty-melting glory.

“Oh, Mr. Romero,” Ethyl cooed in a sing-song voice as she handed him a small pink box topped with a red bow. “Luci made special cinnamon rolls with orange-flavored icing. I already told her they’re divine, but she’s having doubts. Maybe you could do her a favor and tell us what you think?”

I spun around, sloshing foam on my shirt. Wait. What? Orange icing? I had made no such thing. What was Ethyl about?

“Sure.” He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, which were loose enough to give some space in the front which I hoped, prayed, housed an appendage that was equal to his large boots and masculine hands, yet tight enough to reveal a snug, round behind. “How much do I owe?”

“It’s on the house. A ‘thank you’ for being a good customer.” Ethyl toyed with the pentagram charm hanging from the leather cord around her neck. Now I knew she was up to no good. She always played with that charm when she had a secret to hide.

I set down the drink with a shaky hand. Holy hex!

“Are you sure?” he asked as he set the package on the counter while Ethyl wrapped up the much larger box of two dozen cinnamon rolls. “I don’t mind paying.”

“Don’t be silly.” Ethyl playfully swatted the air. “I wouldn’t dream of making Luci’s favorite customer pay,” she said with an exaggerated wink while slanting a sly grin in my direction. “Just tell us what you think.”

My heart thumped out an erratic rhythm when Ric turned to me with an enigmatic smile that hinted at magical nights of tumbling beneath the sheets to the thrumming sound of a Latin guitar.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he purred. “I love everything Luci bakes.”

“Of course you do.” Ethyl handed him a large grocery bag with his pastries while preening like a peacock, a very naughty,devious peacock. “She’s the best baker in Santa Fe, maybe anywhere.”

“Not going to disagree with you there.” He nodded to me as I mindlessly handed him the cinnamon latte with extra froth. “Well, I should get back to work.” He held up the bag as if he’d intended on eating all two dozen plus one pastries by himself.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” Ethyl turned up her chin, mischief sparkling in her eyes which shifted from cobalt to green. Oh, yes, she was definitely up to no good.

“I’m off tomorrow.” Ric took a long drink of his latte before letting out a satisfied sigh. “I’ll be sleeping in.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Ethyl forced her bottom lip out in a staged pout. “I have a feeling you’ll want to come in anyway. These rolls really are too tempting.”

The doorbell dinged and I snapped up with a gasp when I saw a short, stalky figure approach. For a moment I thought it had been the troll Gus, the inspector of the Division of Unapproved Magic, a wing of the American Supernatural Society, or the DUM-ASSes as we liked to call them. Since Gus was always threatening to shut down my bakery, it would be so like him to show when Ethyl was up to no good. I heaved a sigh of relief when another trollish-looking man appeared instead.

“Hey, boss man.” The little guy threw up his hands. “What are you doing here?” His high-pitched, whiny voice resonated through his nose as if he was speaking through a trumpet.

Ric turned on the smaller man with a surprising snarl. “You know I come here every morning, Lenny.”

Ohhh, Lenny, the infamous grandma’s boy? Somehow, he looked just as I had expected, frumpy and pimply with a receding hairline and several months’ worth of Grandma’s chicken-and-dumplings expanding his gut.

Lenny crossed his arms, scowling. “Yeah, and I’m tired of drooling over your cinnamon rolls.”

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