Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
I checked my phone as it buzzed.
“The guys are out front,” I said, and that seemed to ease some of the tension in Shale’s shoulders as we all climbed out. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” I said as I stood behind her while she unlocked the back door.
“So, will there be any snacks?” Barry asked, oblivious to the tension as we moved into the back room.
I made Shale and Barry stand by the door as I moved through the back room, checking every nook and cranny, inside the walk-in, then through the front of the store to check around there as well.
“All good,” I called, and Shale and Barry moved into the dining room as I unlocked the front door, letting in the three bikers and my cousin.
“Shale, this is Malcolm,” I said, waving to the giant wall of a man. “And Niro,” I said, gesturing to a guy who looked like his old man who looked a bit like a young De Niro in Taxi Driver. “And… I don’t remember your name,” I admitted as I looked at the last biker.
“Dezi,” the heavily tatted biker said, but was hardly paying me any mind as he stared at the dessert case. “So, ah, are there going to be any sweets?” he asked, eyes bright.
“Yes. I have to make them first, though,” Shale said, giving him a warm smile. “I do have coffee brewing, though.”
“Jackson,” I said to the final man. He was as tall and wide as Malcolm, but was the only non-biker of the group. He had tan skin, light green eyes, and a chiseled jaw. Once upon a time, his old man had been a gang leader before he got out of that life and became a tattoo artist. As for Jackson himself, he took a page out of both his dad and my dad’s books as well as his boss babe mom. He tattooed at his old man’s shop on a guest basis, but he also did some random enforcing work for ‘fun,’ when me or my dad had something going on. But his official day job was running one of the biggest art galleries in the state. “Thanks for coming,” I said, doing a quick handshake.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said, nodding his chin toward Shale.
“Yeah, she is,” I agreed.
“So, are we here because you’re fucking her?” he asked.
“No,” I said. Then, to his dubious brow raise, “I would be if Barry wasn’t cock-blocking,” I told him jerking my head toward where Barry was fawning over the bikers. Maybe he would take a fancy to one of them, and I could get a night alone with Shale.
“You gonna introduce me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, walking him over to the counter. “Shale, this is Jackson. Jackson, Shale.”
“Thanks so much for coming today,” she said. “I will make sure you have unlimited free coffee.”
“He can pay,” I insisted.
“They’re all doing me a favor,” Shale insisted.
“And they all can afford it. Trust me. Especially this fuck,” I said, jerking my head toward Jackson.
“If you don’t let me pay, it will go in the…” he started, looking down at the tip jar sign, “Just the Tip jar.”
“Okay. Well, the coffee is brewing,” she said, giving him a smile. “But I have to go get a head start on the baked stuff,” she said, gesturing toward the back of the store.
I went into the back with her, not wanting her out of my sight, just in case. Even though the back room was thick-walled and windowless.
“You can never get enough light in here,” she said as she flicked on every light before warming the oven, then gathering supplies to start making… something.
She didn’t even use a recipe.
“What?” she asked, making me jerk, realizing I’d been staring at her.
“You do that on autopilot,” I said.
“Oh, well, once you’ve made about ten thousand batches of cookies, you kind of don’t need to think about it,” she said.
“What are you making?”
“Giant chocolate chip cookies are usually a big hit,” she said. “Then some loaves—brown sugar cinnamon and banana. I’m trying to think of what is easiest and will partially fill the case without taking forever. Oh, cupcakes,” she said, throwing up a hand like she was a fool for not remembering, accidentally throwing some flour into the air. It hung around her in a little cloud for a second before it fell.
“We could have come earlier if you needed more time.”
“It’s okay. I can get a lot done in a short amount of time. I work well under pressure, she claimed.
“I’ll shut up then,” I said.
“Actually, put some music on,” she said, pointing toward the wireless radio on a shelf. “The wifi password is DejaBrew213. The day I opened,” she explained.
With that, I connected and picked a playlist based on the usual music I heard in the cafe. Which was mostly a mix of chill rock, emo, alternative, and indie music.