“Granny!” Hannah yelled into my ear. “Put on some jeans and get your ass over here or I’m coming to get you!”
This was a game we liked to play. She knew she’d have to drive over to my apartment to haul my ass out to a bar. Once I was there I usually had a good time. But my motivation level for going out to “whoop whoop get my party on” wasn’t always that high.
I liked people just fine, but I wasn’t exactly an extrovert. I could smile and chat the hours away at my bakery. I enjoyed the constant hum of interactions, the observations about the weather, the light discussions about local gossip or celebrity scandals. But loud parties or crowded bars? Not my scene.
Which was one of the many reasons it was good to have a best friend like Hannah. As much as I grumbled, without her I probably would spend way, way too much time in my PJs with a cozy romantic book or movie. Or visiting the Cordon Bleu website. If only I had a nickel for every time I gazed at the website of that cooking school, I’d have, like, half of the money I needed to pay tuition to attend one of their cooking programs!
But that was the thing about dreams, it didn’t always matter how attainable they were. I could spend hours gazing at the photos on their site, the intricate pastries so light and ornate they looked like wings on a butterfly, and I’d get this dreamy little happy smile I couldn’t seem to shake. It didn’t matter that there was no way I’d ever be able to afford the course to earn a pastry diploma, coming in around $30,000 for tuition alone.
Not to mention I’d have to figure out how I could up and leave for Paris for nine months. Who would take care of my shop? I had an assistant, affable and unreliable. Within the first week she’d probably leave the front door unlocked one night after hours and the place would get ransacked.
And who would take care of my sister? Zoe lived with me while she worked on her nursing degree. And, OK, I cooked all her meals and she didn’t exactly pay rent, but I was really proud of her for getting her degree. I hadn’t gotten mine, and neither had my younger brother, Wyatt, who was living it up as a white water rafting guide in Colorado. True, Zoe was now 21 and still hadn’t gotten in the habit of making her bed, putting away her shoes in the closet, or even setting her dirty dishes into the sink for me to wash later.
But it wasn’t exactly her fault. We didn’t have what you would call conventional parents. You know how some moms and dads bug their kids to brush their hair, take showers and tuck in their shirts? With us it was the other way around. The best way to put it would be to call them free spirits. Both Mom and Dad were artists, following the whim of their inspirations, even when it took them to live in a nudist colony a couple hours away while they still had two kids in school.
“Oh, they’ll be all right!” they’d assured me when I’d listened to their plans, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. I’d been 18, Wyatt still 15 and Zoe just 13. So while they’d gone off to strip down and run around naked in the woods, I’d stayed home with my younger siblings. Instead of heading off to Southern Oregon State, I’d kept house, making sure my brother and sister got to school on time with clean clothes and at least a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. And I’d started working at a local bakery.
If I sounded bitter, I wasn’t really. It wasn’t as if I’d had grand academic ambitions. And it just so happened that my panicked “I need a job, any job” search at 18 had led me to discover my one true, undying passion for baking. I could bake all day long and love it so much I’d go to sleep and still dream about pastries, muffins, breads, scones and cookies. I’d wake up with a new idea or a craving, raspberries and white chocolate with orange shavings, or almond and fig with anisette. Oh the baking I could do.
Which was why it was good to have a friend like Hannah come to my door and drag me out.
“Those aren’t jeans.” She greeted me critically, bustling into my apartment with her usual eccentric style. She took full advantage of working in a vintage clothing store. On a Monday she’d be 50s chic, Tuesday 60s go-go glam, Wednesday 70s lounge lizard, Thursday 80s pop. Friday could mean everything all at once. Today she looked a lot like Cindi Lauper from Girls Just Wanna Have Fun with a poofy, multicolor party dress, bright blue eye shadow and a red streak in her hair.
“You sure you want to go out?” I tried, already heading back into my bedroom to change.
“Granny!” she called after me, walking toward my fridge to help herself to some food.
Five minutes later I had on fitted (much less comfortable) jeans and a T-shirt, plus some high-heeled boots. I needed more heels in my life. I’d felt so short next to that big CEO earlier today. Colton Kavanaugh.
A shiver ran down my spine. Not the kind I should be having, revulsion for his evil greedy corporate ways. No, more like a shiver of “Oh My.”
He’d exuded such power, seemed so driven and confident with that strong, determined jaw. And the way he’d looked at me, practically licking his lips. It should have pissed me off. Instead, it had made me a little wet.
“You ready for the meeting tomorrow?” Hannah asked as I drove us the short distance to our favorite local establishment. The town of Redwood Bay didn’t have too many choices for an evening out. All bars were of the dive variety, but the one we preferred had fantastic wings and nachos. Offer me good food and I was in.
“No, I’m not ready.” I answered honestly.
“You want to practice with me?” she offered, turning down the music slightly and seeming in earnest. She was cute. She didn’t want to listen to talking points about endangered lichen any more than I wanted to give them.
“No, it’s fine. The environmental group organizing all this gave me some slides. I’ll just put them up and read from the script.” I’d hoped Nora, our local environmental expert, would do the presenting, but she spoke in a near-whisper and never made eye contact even when ordering a muffin to go in the morning. Standing up and making a presentation in front of some aggressive businessmen from New York City? Not gonna happen.
“Bring some scones,” Hannah suggested.
“I definitely will.”
Because, honestly, I couldn’t even really pronounce all of the words in the script they’d sent me. Bryoria pseudocapillaris was one of the endanger
ed species on our coastline from the epiphytic lichen family. I was supposed to say that a resort would change the local hydrology, threatening habitat integrity. The part where I’d finally burst out laughing was when I read that I had to cite the federal Special Status/Sensitive Species Program, or SSSSP for short. Try saying that ten times fast.
This meeting tomorrow was going to be a disaster of epic proportions. Add to the tongue-twisters that I was supposed to deliver, the fact that Christian Grey would be sitting there watching me with his cool ice blue eyes. That smirk playing at the corner of his lips, like he was thinking all sorts of devilish, dirty thoughts. And he knew I’d like every one of them.
“You’re going to kick ass,” Hannah assured me.
Not a chance in hell, but she was a good friend.
“So tell me, how did the protest go?”
I mumbled non-committally. I guessed we’d attracted some attention from the press, which had been our intention. But I’d also attracted some attention from exactly the wrong man, and worse still was how attracted I’d felt right back.
“How hot was he?” She turned to me, a gleam in her eyes. I flushed, knowing instantly who she was talking about. News traveled fast in our little town.
“What?” I asked lamely, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Really?” she responded, as if I’d answered her. “That hot? So hot you can’t talk about it?”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” I tried, but I couldn’t help it, this was my best friend and I started to laugh a little.
“Ben’s sister was down there and she told me he looked like Christian Grey.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I gave in. “For starters, he’s much bigger than the guy they have playing him in the movies.”
Hannah squealed and gave my shoulder a shove, her way of telling me “more, tell me more.”