Page 12 of Property of Scythe
My biker.
He’sreal.
How is this possible!?
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle ya,” he says with grit, and a deep, rich baritone that nearly knocks me to my knees. He sounds as wild and sexy as he appears, wearing dark jeans, a black leather vest, and a dark gray shirt that fits him like a second skin. It’s not tight per se, but molds the contours of his body and the muscles without clinging, hugging his bulging biceps as I lick my lips.
I’m ogling him like a tasty treat I can’t wait to devour.
Shit. Did I forget to answer him?
His eyes darken slightly and seem to glitter with humor. “After you.”
As he opens the door, I step inside. “Thanks,” I manage to squeak out.
This is mortifying.
“Welcome to Butter Bliss,” a friendly voice greets us.
“Afternoon, Granny Jo. Been thinkin’ about your cinnamon rolls all day,” the biker announces.
“Then get over here so I can box some up for ya.”
I walk toward the glass display case, taking in all the rows of treats and baked goods. Brownies, donuts, muffins, cupcakes, decorated cookies, and pastries all fill the interior. I smile when I see a section of finger sandwiches and petit fours. Mymom and sister would love this bakery. I’ll have to bring them for tea when they visit.
Someone clears their throat, and I glance at the biker, then the sweet smile of the older woman with white hair behind the counter. They must have asked me a question.
“Sorry. I missed whatever you said. I’m trying to decide which of these scrumptious desserts to snatch up,” I admitted with honesty.
“Take your time. I’m Josephine Bliss, founder and owner of the Butter Bliss Bakery, but everyone just calls me Granny Jo.” She pauses to give me a once-over, assessing me in a way that’s invasive but not unfriendly, like she’s trying to figure out who I am and where I came from. “You’re new in town.”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Well, dear, the first order is my treat. Pick out whatever you want to try most.”
“That’s so kind of you. I know I want the finger sandwiches, but I’ll pay for the desserts.”
“Deal,” she confirms with a polite nod.
While Granny Jo boxes up a variety of finger sandwiches for me, she chats with the biker. He leans against the counter, facing me as he discusses the weather, his growling stomach, and Granny Jo’s granddaughter who lives in L.A. That piques my interest. My sister might know her.
“I’m so proud of her, Scythe. She won!”
Scythe? That’s his name?
“Tell Cami I said congrats.”
“I will. She’s worked hard on that baking show. I’m so happy she finished in first place.”
Wow. A baking show contest.
Scythe accepts the box of cinnamon rolls and a coffee, taking his time as I finally decide on what I want to purchase. I give my order to Granny Jo, and she drops extra cookies along witha cinnamon roll into my container. She’s got the cutest logo, and all her orders are packed with care, the baked goods resting on a pretty parchment liner stamped with the design. Each item has its own delicate paper cup to keep it separated from the other sweets.
When I pay for my order, she pats my hand. “You’ll be back. I think it’ll be the finger sandwiches and the cookies.”
“For the reason I can’t resist?” I ask with a laugh.
Her warm smile makes me feel at home. “Of course.”
