Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out that we might benefit from a merger of sorts with the bakery. However, the Hendersons had been a staple in town for decades, and they really didn’t have anything to gain by giving us a few of their pastries to sell. At least that was how they’d felt four years ago.
Maybe they’d reconsider now that we’d proved ourselves in the community.
Rise and Grind’s streamlined menu offered the highest quality products possible—the freshest coffee beans, an eclectic variety of loose-leaf teas, and yes…we carried soy milk, almond milk, oat milk, and even coconut milk. In a way, we were a pioneer enterprise connecting Elmwood with the rest of the world. I was proud of our efforts, but we could do more.
“Are you okay? You’ve been distracted all morning,” Stacy commented, fitting the slew of lattes I’d just made into a paper tray.
“I’m just engrossed in my job,” I replied, adding, “You know…we should think about selling real pastries here. Not just prepackaged chocolate wafers. Maybe we should talk to the Hendersons.”
She frowned. “We did. If you remember correctly, they wanted to take over our business. Are we ready to sell or—”
“No way, but maybe it’s time to draw up a new plan. Or…maybe I’m just restless.” I pointed at the tray of drinks in an attempt to change the subject. I wanted to do a little research before we discussed this in depth. “Who are those for?”
“Ronnie, Vinnie and Riley, and a couple of coaches at the rink. Nolan was going to pick them up, but he must be running late. They’re going to go cold if he doesn’t hurry. You could deliver them,” she suggested around a yawn. “We’re slow at the moment anyway.”
I narrowed my gaze at her pinched expression. “Are you okay, honey?”
Stacy waved off my concern as she perched on the stool behind the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired. I used up all my preholiday energy this morning, and I need more time to regroup.”
Actually, she looked beyond tired. She had circles under her eyes, and her skin was paler than normal.
“Good thing I have enough for both of us,” I replied, infusing extra lightness into my tone so she wouldn’t catch on that I was low-key worried about her. “Is it too early to hang our snowflakes?”
Stacy smiled wanly. “Yes, it is. Take the drinks, Ive.”
“Okay, but only because I know Mazie is on her way here. The second she walks in the door, go home and rest.”
“Maybe I will.”
I drove like a snail across town to Elmwood Rink in an effort not to upset the tray on the floor of the passenger seat and arrived in less than three minutes.
Hustling into the darkened lobby, I strode purposefully toward the empty reception desk. It had a “not quite open” vibe, but I could hear music and laughter from somewhere nearby.
I paused outside the rink entrance, balanced the tray in one hand, pushed the door open and—ran into a brick wall of man.
Not just any man.
It was Court.
Court Henderson, the six-foot-three hockey hunk of my youth.
And what happened next was your classic textbook clusterfuck.
I tried to right the tray, he tried to help, but we were working against each other and this wasn’t going to end well.
Sure enough, the tray tilted, wobbled, then fell with a theatric whoosh and splatter. Five piping hot lattes went flying, spraying my jacket, my shoes, and the rubber mat floor.
But Court got hit the hardest. His shirt was drenched and his crotch…
“Ow, fuck!”
I gathered whatever napkins were still dry from the mess on the floor and manically patted his sopping wet pullover. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. My dick just got singed, and I probably don’t have any chest hair left. Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, ineffectively swiping at his chest until he finally grabbed my wrist.
“Stop.”
I forced myself to make eye contact and gulped. “How bad is it? Your…you know.”
He pulled the napkins from my hand and took over cleanup duty. “My what?”
“Your privates, your johnson, your…thing between your legs.”
“My dick hurts,” Court snapped. “I’ve been fucking scalded.”
“Right! Yes, I know. My bad,” I babbled. Ugh! I had to fix this. “Stay here. I’m going to find salve or…something.”
He shook latte from his hair like a duck in a pond. “No, don’t worry about—”
“It’s no trouble at all. I insist.”
With that, I marched to the ice and waved my arms over my head to get the attention of the posse of men bent over a clipboard on the opposite side of the rink.
“Help! Urgent! Stat! Where’s the first-aid kit? We have a penis situation, gentlemen!”
3
COURT
A penis situation?
Holy fuck.
This was a new one.
“Ivan Carmelo, right?” I winced as I pulled my shirt from my chest, catching his gaze in the bathroom mirror.