Page 14 of Bears & Bakeries (Sweet & Stocky #2)

FOURTEEN

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A ll the ingredients were laid out before Locky, ready for opening night.

He’d love to say that the bench looked cozy, but it didn’t. There was simply too much stuff, industrial quantities stacked high.

On the steel bench was a whole sack of baker’s flour, so heavy he could barely lift it. Alongside that was huge white tub of superfine sugar and a teetering tower of butter sticks, alongside container after container of carefully labeled white powders, all to ensure he didn’t confuse his cream of tartar with his baking soda.

And yet, clinical as it was, the sight still made Locky stand a little straighter. A little prouder.

Because this wasn’t meant to look cozy . Cozy was an aesthetic for an amateur baker. And, quite by accident, that wasn’t who Locky was anymore.

He’d become a professional.

Strictly speaking, he didn’t need to start baking this early—just after eight in the morning, and especially not when he’d be staying up until God knew what hour in the evening. For the next few months, his normal days would start around midday, baking and cleaning and doing the books and getting everything ready until 7 at night, when he would ride the eight blocks to his nightly meeting, back in time for an 8:30 opening.

Still, despite not needing to be here this early, he definitely preferred it. He had thirty pies to make today, with enough time for everything to set and cool and be ready to slice. And the last thing he wanted was to be running late on his very first night.

An unfamiliar feeling spread through Locky—nerves, yes, but also a sense of excitement. Because that urge to be here early, that urge to prepare, wasn’t out of fear. Shockingly, there was no panic to the process. Only power. Familiarity. The knowledge—strange and new—that he could do this. That whatever might come on this night, these months, he would find a way to push through.

Because he’d proved that.

Benedict kissed the back of his neck, wearing a plain white t-shirt beneath his own apron, looking relaxed and weekend perfect. “A few more ingredients than your old Sunday bakes, huh?”

Locky clicked his tongue. His old Sunday bakes? It was hard to believe it had only been a few months—working at SunSpark for long weeks. Stealing a few moments on the weekends to find some peace. Being single and chaste and trapped in his little world of shame.

“You know you don’t have to help out?” said Locky leaning back into the Benedict’s warmth. “If you’ve got other things you need to do?”

Benedict slid his hands under Locky’s apron, making a contented little noise as he held him close. “But then I’d miss out on all the fun. Besides, I have to support my client on his big night.”

Locky placed his own arms over Benedict’s, skin and fabric melding together. He didn’t want to ruin the mood, but he knew how big a test the opening would be for Benedict. “How are you feeling?”

Benedict rested his head on Locky’s shoulder. “It’s weird. Part of me is scared. But I feel like a bigger part of me is excited? Because tomorrow is literally a new year. I can take on new clients and start doing things properly again. No more rejections. No more distance. I know I’ve got a long way to go—there are so many people I need to make things right with—but tomorrow is a new start. And that feels kinda nice, you know?”

Locky rubbed the back of his head against Benedict’s chin. Because he did know. With every fiber of his being, he knew.

“And I was thinking,” said Benedict. “Maybe I could host a get-together here down the line? Create a regular networking event with my former clients? That way they could help each other out—share all the expertise they’ve acquired from their own businesses—rather than me thinking I have to do it all for them?”

Locky turned his head and kissed Benedict softly, proud as hell that he was still pushing himself into uncomfortable spaces. “I think they’d really appreciate that, Benedict.”

* * *

As the morning drifted on, the two of them moved around the kitchen in a slow dance, side by welcome side. They kneaded and mixed and rubbed in unhurried sways. Flour into butter. Cinnamon into sugar. Spice into cream.

There was no rush to their routine. After all, there was enough time to take the necessary care. To put love and attention into each and every dessert.

Eventually, Locky shuffled the final pie dish to the countertop, the lattice crisp and golden and stained a beautiful indigo from the still-bubbling juices.

Benedict mopped his brow with the skirt of his apron. “That’s the last of them, right? For the love of God, tell me that’s the last of them?”

Thirty pies were laid across the counter. Red glistening cherry and toffee-rich pecan, meringue-topped lemon and deeply spiced pumpkin. They’d made them in record time, doubling up on the flavors most likely to go first. Admittedly it had still taken close to six hours , but the time had flown in the pleasant warmth of each other’s company.

“I hope so,” said Locky. Even with his love for baking, the effort had been quite a haul. He’d never done so much in one stretch before.

“Thank God. I’m steaming.”

“And so are they!” said Locky, checking his watch. It was just after two, giving them five hours until he would head over to the nightly meeting. “But they should have plenty of time to cool.”

“And when are Artair and Luca coming in?”

“Four?”

“So... we have a few hours alone?”

Locky chuckled. He definitely liked where this was going. “I suppose so? What were you thinking?”

Benedict waggled his eyebrows. “That we should add some cream to these pies?”

“We probably shouldn’t cum on the desserts.”

“What? No! I just meant... oh, shut up and fuck me.”

Locky ran a finger down Benedict’s chest. “I was thinking, Mr. Owens, that we could maybe go the other way round this time?”

* * *

Benedict was honored to see Locky lead a meeting. Yes, it was Tuesday night, open night, and he could have just wandered in anyway, but it was still sweet of Locky to invite him—wanting Benedict to see this side of him for the first time.

The room was packed, so full that they’d run out of chairs. It was a crowd that seemed to shock even Locky, although Benedict figured that New Year’s Eve was probably a complex night for this community, and there were lots of people looking for support.

And he had no doubt that Locky would provide it. He had a unique ability to make people feel welcome. To make them feel wanted.

Benedict wasn’t disappointed in Locky’s performance, although he was a little surprised. Because here, in this place, Locky spoke just like he did in the kitchen, clear and comfortable with his topic, authoritative and warm and with a surprising amount of humor, drawing great laughs from the group in well-punctuated beats.

It was the same after the sharing was over, when the group broke into coffees and conversation—things Locky could have excused himself from, given the rest of his night. Instead, there was no apprehension, no checking the time. The people came to Locky in singles or groups, seeking out his guidance and his advice. And even though Benedict couldn’t hear what they said, Locky radiated strength. The handshakes and hugs seemed to come effortlessly. Strangers greeted like old friends.

And in that moment, Benedict realized that Locky hadn’t really changed over these last few months. He’d just become the person that was always there, waiting for him.

It was only when Locky looked over to Benedict, stealing a little glance, that the shy smile emerged. Benedict returned it, his chest swelling at the slight blush that kissed Locky’s cheeks.

And Benedict’s breath caught at a strange realization—at the way Locky was looking at him, so different to everyone else in the room. Benedict wasn’t sure why he’d never made the connection earlier, given he knew there were two different versions of Locky, the confident one who baked and the turbulent one who hadn’t let himself explore his dreams. But Benedict hadn’t realized how deep that duality ran.

Because this, right here, was the version of Locky that most people saw. They didn’t think of him as quiet or nervous or scared. To his group members, his employees, Locky was the confident teacher. The powerful guardian. The pillar of strength to all those around him. The one who soldiered on when others fell. The one who would carry the fallen, even if it broke him down.

Because Locky didn’t show most people that other side of himself. He wouldn’t allow them the burden of worrying about him.

But he had shown Benedict.

If only through unexpected circumstance, Locky had revealed a side of himself—a deep and honest aspect of his soul—that perhaps no other person on the planet had ever seen.

Benedict’s heart pounded as the implications overtook him. Because Locky wasn’t the sort of man to explain the significance of what he’d given Benedict, the insight and the vulnerability that he’d entrusted him with. Because Locky was too selfless to acknowledge how precious and how fragile a piece of himself Benedict now held. It was delicate crystal in a world full of smashing strikes.

A shiver went up Benedict’s spine. And right now, with Benedict cradling that delicate crystal close to his chest, he knew that he would guard it with his life. Because he would never, ever , let anything hurt Locky again.

The voice came low beside him—in height at least, if not volume. “He’s quite something, isn’t he?” said Evelyn. “He is lucky to have found you.”

Benedict shook his head. “Not as lucky as me.”

Evelyn patted his forearm, bony fingers against broad muscles. “On that matter, I understand you take new clients from tomorrow?”

“I will indeed,” chuckled Benedict. “And let me guess, you’ve spent long enough volunteering for other people’s causes, and you’ve received a stock payout even bigger than Locky’s? So now you’re thinking about starting your own charitable organization?”

Evelyn led him through the throng. “You’re even better than my little goat said, Mr. Benedict.”

They ran into a familiar figure among the crowd. Kai greeted Benedict with a slap on the back and gave a surprisingly restrained eye roll toward Evelyn. “Well, I’ve done my bit. Packed to the rafters, and with more on the way.”

Benedict took a second to realize that Kai wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to Evelyn.

She turned up her nose, although Benedict could have sworn that her heart wasn’t completely in it. “ Congratulazioni . But I think my efforts will yield more fruit.”

Kai plucked a stray piece of lint from his suit. “We’ll see, old woman.”

Benedict swiveled a finger between the two of them. “What’s going on here.”

Kai and Evelyn looked briefly toward each other, before snapping their heads away in a mutual huff. “Consider it a temporary truce,” they said, in unison.

* * *

“Kai! I told you not to make the meeting come!” said Locky, loud enough that his best friend could hear him, but hopefully quiet enough that the horde of people behind them wouldn’t. Almost every single person from the meeting had joined the procession, with a good number of them apparently hoovering up tickets to the event long before they’d sold out. “I didn’t want anyone to feel obligated!”

“Who’s obligated?” scoffed Kai, jamming his hands under his armpits against the cold. “This isn’t communism, buddy. You’re offering a service that people want to experience. And you’ve been all over the news? Most of them already knew this was happening.”

“Yes, but?—”

Benedict gave him a playful shoulder shove from the other side. “I think this is where you say thank you, dear.”

“Yes, sorry, thank you, Kai.”

Kai gave a self-satisfied snort. “Oh, don’t thank me until you’ve seen the rest of it.”

“The rest of it? What’s the rest of?—”

As they rounded the last corner, they were met by a wall of a cheer.

Locky gasped, his mouth hanging open.

There were hundreds of people. Maybe a thousand.

First were faces he recognized from the nightly meetings. Those who didn’t attend all the time, and others who usually went to different locations around the city.

Beside them was group who were even more familiar. Half the employees from SunSpark had to be there, with Adriana and Jared waving through the crowd.

And then, somehow even larger, were people he’d never met before. Crowding around the entrance and thronging the street—packed so tightly they were flowing between two different news crews that were setting up out front, turning on big camera lights and conducting interviews with excited patrons.

Locky gaped at the impossible scene. His first feeling was guilt, that so many of his old coworkers, so many people from the meetings, had been forced into supporting him. “You didn’t... you didn’t need to...”

Evelyn rubbed his back. “ Piccirudu , for seven years you were there for them, celebrating every birthday and every anniversary and every single promotion. Remembering when others didn’t. Asking nothing in return. Believe me when I tell you, I didn’t have to twist any arms.”

A tear rolled down Locky’s cheek. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

Benedict squeezed his hand. “I think, Mr. Sorenson, you should declare the city’s first nighttime bakery officially open.”

* * *

Locky rested his head against Benedict’s chest, turning slowly alongside the music—soft as the night, warm as their embrace.

It might have been one or two or three in the morning. Locky didn’t know for certain, but it was late enough that they’d sold out of practically everything. Late enough that Luca had insisted Locky get out on the floor and enjoy his opening night.

Around him, the room glowed with the sound of laughter and music and happy memories being spun into stories—stories that they’d created together.

Benedict pulled him close as they swayed to the song.

Their dance wasn’t perfect, with fumbled feet and tiny trips. But that didn’t matter. Because, in so many ways, things where better when they were a little messed up.

“I love you, Mr. Owens,” whispered Locky, rubbing his forehead into the space between Benedict’s neck and shoulder. The safest place in the entire world. The safest man who’d ever lived.

Benedict placed a long kiss into his golden hair. “Not as much as I love you, Mr. Sorenson.”

And then, hand in hand, they danced through moonlight.