Page 5 of Bears & Bakeries (Sweet & Stocky #2)

FIVE

Locating the Problem

L ocky blinked. Not because it was bright—it rained overnight, and the early morning was thick with fog, drifting in cold and muggy.

The blink was because this first location was awful .

The warehouse was painted the world’s dirtiest yellow, with concrete rendering so lumpy it might have been applied with a frosting knife. The windows were high and small, matted with grease so he couldn’t even see inside. Pipes snaked around the front, weather-worn and dripping green moss over a faded sign reading Big Pete’s Paints .

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Benedict, adjusting his purple silk tie. “But trust me, this place has charm.”

Benedict’s sister snorted. “This place doesn’t have charm. It needs a charm to vanquish the monsters.”

“Tris! Stop making me look bad in front of my new client.”

“Apologies,” she said without emotion, flicking through her folio. “For your enjoyment, valued human, feast your eyes on this well-equipped commercial building in charming Bret Harte.”

“Isn’t that a pro wrestler?” said Locky, recalling scratchy images from nineties television.

Tris didn’t look up. “Such humor you have. Almost as abundant as the amenities of the surrounding area—such as broken streetlights, cracked pavements, and best of all, rabies.”

“Tris!”

“What? This place is crap! I’m only showing it because you wanted the cheapest place on my books.”

Locky bit his cheek. This whole situation was pointless. Adriana and Jared from his old work were coming around tonight to talk interview tactics—with both of them already back on the job market. Meanwhile, he was out here wasting what little time he had left.

Plus, things between Benedict and him were... strange. The relaxed, supportive guy who’d watched him bake cookies had vanished, replaced by the tight-laced businessman who’d first walked through his door.

Locky pulled his hoodie closer. The quicker they got through this, the better. “Can someone please explain why we’re in an industrial estate?”

Benedict placed a hand over his sister’s mouth before she could speak. “Gladly. Consider this location an imperfect?—”

“He means hideous,” said Tris, muffled.

“ Thank you . Consider this a hideous example of a bigger concept. If you want to maximize value, then old industrial zones are perfect. You get lots of real estate for a fraction of the cost. The parking is phenomenal. And the atmosphere can be truly unique.”

Locky looked around. “I think the atmosphere might be unique here for a reason.”

Just as Benedict was about to respond, Kai’s silver Audi pulled into the driveway, the headlights diffuse in the fog. He stepped out, Armani loafers dangerously close to a shattered beer bottle.

Evelyn stumbled from the passenger side, gasping. “Air! Sweet air!”

“Shut it, old woman! It wasn’t that hot!”

“ Picciriddu , help. He was trying to roast me alive!”

“If you want roasting, I’ll show you roasting,” grumbled Kai, struggling to button his trench coat through mitten-covered fingers. “Fuck! Satan, just take me now! At least Hell has a fire going!”

“Bah. You know nothing of the cold. Back in Sicily?—”

“If you mention Sicily one more time!” snapped Kai, breathing hard onto his hands. “And I know Sicily is one of the hottest places in Europe, by the way!”

Evelyn ambled over, dragging Locky’s face down for a wet kiss on each cheek. “You see how he treats a feeble old woman?”

“Feeble? I’ve seen you punt a mugger in the balls!”

Locky sighed. It had been a mistake to put Kai and Evelyn in the same car. He’d originally thought to stuff everyone into Tris’s car, but he’d realized too late that it was an eco-friendly micro hatchback with a Let’s Get Realty logo on the door. Tris, Benedict, and himself were already swelling into each other’s space. And it wasn’t like Locky could drag everyone around on his bike.

He could feel a headache coming on—alongside the desire for warm jazz and the smell of vanilla. “Where did you both go?”

“Don’t blame me,” said Kai. “For some reason, the satnav thinks this whole street has been condemned.”

Tris coughed. “Funny you should say that...”

* * *

Benedict and Tris were a few paces ahead of the group, walking to the next warehouse.

“Seriously? A condemned street?” Benedict hissed, flicking through the property folio.

“It’s not condemned , condemned. The appeals have been stuck in Town Hall for years. It’s still leasable, just on a month-to-month basis.”

“You could have warned me! Look at this listing: A charming slice of post-modern chic, for those wanting an industrial edge to their brand ?”

“Good, isn’t it?” said Tris over to the click of dagger-sharp stilettos. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

“Who’s they ? You own the company.”

“Me, then. This is why I pay me the big bucks.”

Benedict groaned. “What a way to screw up a morning.”

“Bro Bot, what did you tell me? Make it cheap, cheap, cheap. Well, I lined up a dirt-cheap property with a very convenient rent structure. No lock-ins and no risk. Isn’t that what your precious client wanted?”

“You don’t understand. He’s already nervous about this process. I just want to make it easy for him.”

“Or make it hard for him? Like, really, really hard?”

“Jesus, Tris. No , I obviously don’t want?—”

Benedict looked up and was confronted with a startling flashback on the road ahead.

The truck.

The cracked street crossing.

That particular shade of navy on the warehouse.

Zoe’s Planet of Plants!

Without input from his brain, Benedict spun on his heels, his voice a tiny squeak. “I think the next street over would be faster!”

Locky was too busy keeping Kai and Evelyn from fighting to notice the sharp shift, but Tris chuckled under her breath. “What’s the matter? You don’t you want to see Zoe?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, whacking her arm with the folio. “Or I’ll tell Mom and Dad that you’re asexual.”

“They know, remember? I told them last Easter? That dinner you thought would be full of shouty fireworks? They literally just shrugged and said, that’s nice dear ?”

“Oh, damn. It was so uneventful I forgot. Fine, shut up or I’ll tell Mom that you bought her Cartier watch at a half-price sale.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

* * *

Locky dodged a blow-up skeleton. The rubber was half deflated, making its sinister grin look more glum than menacing. “Pretty sure someone’s already renting this place?”

“Correction,” said Benedict, standing beside an obnoxiously large 80% Off sign. “Someone was renting this place. But it’s a week after Halloween, and they’re clearing out, ready for the next tenant.”

“And that tenant could be yooou ,” said Tris, flatly. She grabbed one of the movers, dressed in dirty overalls. “This crap better be out by dusk. If I see one fucking cobweb, I will charge you for another day.”

“Ah,” said Evie, from by the front door, holding a plastic pumpkin bucket. “This would be perfect for dolcetto o scherzetto. ”

Kai groaned, his large frame squashed between two cauldrons. “Why do you do that? It’s trick or treat . You know it’s trick or treat. You’ve lived in this country for almost forty years!”

Locky did his best to ignore them. Five warehouses they’d been to, each one filthy and cold and tainted by their constant bickering. The headache that had started at Big Pete’s Paints was now a deep throb in the back of his skull. One that wasn’t helped by all the questions that Benedict and Tris kept asking.

Do you love this place?

Is it big enough?

Is this the kind of street you’d like?

What decor ideas do you have?

What do you want?

What do you want?

What do you fucking want?

Locky stifled the urge to sob. It felt like pop quiz he hadn’t prepped for. Because he’d never sat down and figured out costs—he did enough of that at work. Just like he’d never thought about footfall, and parking density, and profit margins, and whether he was clustered with the right kind of stores .

Because he hadn’t thought about the bakery at all.

It was just a dumb idea.

A half-formed thought.

And it was becoming really clear, really fast, that this wasn’t enough—no matter what Benedict said. Because everyone kept expecting him to walk into these places and get inspired . To say things like, yes, marvelous, we’ll hang the chandelier over there and deck the counter in rich mahogany .

And Locky wasn’t getting any of that. The only thing he was getting was an increasingly panicked sense of emptiness.

“Another day ?” Locky asked, once Tris had unhanded the mover. Despite the hot prickles up his neck, he was trying to play along with everyone’s effort. “You rent this place out by the day?”

“Of course,” said Benedict, his shoulders stiff. “If warehouses aren’t your vibe, then pop-ups might be the answer. They’re perfect for testing an idea out. You build buzz, get lines around the block, and then clear out before the interest dips. All upside, no risk.”

Benedict stared at Locky, expectantly. His eyes were hard but sparkling, as if saying: Isn’t this perfect?

And it was. Of course it was. It was everything Benedict had promised him. No risk. No lock-ins.

And yet, the thought of leasing somewhere like this made Locky’s stomach churn. Because each dragged-away decoration revealed what this place really was—a white, soulless box, stripped clean and made ready for its next tenant.

That image gave Locky a sense of dread, at just how easy it was to unpack a dream. Merchandise that was once hand-picked and fawned over, being tossed into a grubby truck and hauled away.

Locky didn’t know what he wanted the bakery to be, but it wasn’t this —some disposable novelty, swept aside and forgotten like a one-night stand. It was just... wrong . And worst of all, he didn’t know how to make it better. Because he didn’t know what to ask for, or what he could afford, or what his dreams even fucking were. Because those dreams were supposed to be vivid , and all his brain was serving was slack-jawed drools.

Benedict’s glow dimmed. “Damn. Another miss?”

Locky swallowed. “No, it’s brilliant. You’ve done a great job. Why... why don’t you show me around?”

* * *

Benedict’s heart sank as he dragged Locky around the city, doing everything he could to find a good match.

But nothing seemed to work.

Locky kept saying he was fine when he clearly wasn’t—looking detached and defeated all through the afternoon.

And as they walked side-by-side, with Locky’s shoulders slumped and his gaze trailing along the footpath, Benedict kept having the strange urge to hug him again. To tell him that it was normal to feel overwhelmed. That they’d look back on this moment in a few weeks and laugh.

But Benedict fought back those instincts.

Because he needed to keep himself in check.

* * *

Locky’s kitchen was a blessed relief after the day he’d just had. And it was made even better by the company.

“What was wrong with that answer?” whined Jared from across the counter, looking like he’d stepped out of an MTV audience from the late 80s.

Adriana stirred a big pot of asopao de pollo , a Puerto Rican chicken stew with peppers and olives and swelling grains of rice, filling Locky’s kitchen with the heady aroma of herbs and salt. “For the last time, dummy, you have to talk about what you did. Stop talking about me and Boss Man and the rest of the team. It’s all about you, you, you.”

“But... it wasn’t just me. The whole team worked on that project.”

Locky laughed as he buttered some copper ramekins for his dark chocolate and chili lava cakes. “I know, buddy. But that’s not how job interviews work. They want to know what your skills are. That you didn’t rely on other people.”

Jared stared at his meticulously prepared notes. “But I did rely on other people!”

Adriana took a sip on her red win. “ ?Ay bendito! This is going to be a long night.”

An outsider might have considered that rude—drinking alcohol in front of a sober person—and it was definitely something Locky had wrangled with over the years. But the truth was, situations like this were complex and deeply individual. It depended on so many things, like what stage of recovery someone was at, and what their triggers were, and their personal preferences.

Some sober people avoided temptation entirely and asked others to do the same. Which was totally fine.

Others would feel awful if Aunty Pat couldn’t whip up her famous eggnog for the rest of the family at Christmas, or if their cousin tried to make their whole wedding dry just to accommodate them. And that was also fine.

Because everyone was different, and that was the point.

Kai had been sober since he was fifteen and had no issues with people drinking in front of him. If anything, he thought those long, boozy lunches made for better negotiations, sipping on seltzer while his rivals slurred their way into bad deals and unintended revelations.

Whereas Evelyn was the opposite, avoiding any scenario where alcohol might be present.

Locky usually found himself somewhere in the middle. Every year he treated Evelyn to a nice dinner out rather than attending the work Christmas party, with that level of debauchery being too much even for him. But having a friend enjoy a few glasses of wine on a relaxed evening—particularly when Adriana asked every time if it was okay—was something he’d grown comfortable with.

And that was the right word to describe the evening.

Comfortable .

The candlelight was as warm and sparkling as the conversation. Jazz swooned around them, adding a husky magic to the air. Jokes came as easily as the food, hot and spicy then sweet and tempting, spoonful after delicious spoonful, until all three of them were contented puddles on the couch, laughing off recent events and reminiscing on shared memories.

And in that moment, a certainty washed over Locky—that this was what he loved about baking. The comfortable and the inviting. The ability to make people feel special and loved and welcome.

And there was no cold warehouse or white-walled pop-up that could give him that feeling.

So why even try?

“And what have you been up to, Boss Man?” said Adriana, slipping him an elbow to the ribs.

He hadn’t told either of them about his business exploration. And right now... well, there wasn’t any point, was there?

Locky smiled back at her, suddenly more certain than he’d been in weeks. “Just a dumb side quest. But it’s over now.”

* * *

Pier 7 was one of those San Francisco gems that always made Benedict feel conflicted. During the day it was overrun with people. But right now, just before dawn, it was beautiful and peaceful and almost meditative—with the neatly spaced lamps washing across weathered wood and wrought iron. In the distance, the lights of the Bay Bridge twinkled over an expanse of calm water, the sky blushing from inky blue to dark peach.

Because, on the one hand, Benedict wanted to tell everyone about this place. About how perfect it was to just sit and think, feeling that curious mix of connected and disconnected.

And yet, the more people that knew about it, the more it would lose the calm that made it so special in the first place.

Not that he was experiencing much calm right now. Not with the email he’d woken up to.

The one he hadn’t responded to.

The one he couldn’t stop staring at.

Benedict,

Thank you for taking the time to discuss options with me. Sorry again that I’ve been such a mess.

I’ve decided against doing a business plan. I really hope you don’t think it’s about you. You’ve been way more patient than I deserve.

It’s just not the right time, and it probably never will be.

~ Locky

Benedict read it over and over, uncertain why it was hitting so hard. Because clients came and went. Some lasted a few days, some stayed for a few weeks, and some never called back at all.

And that was fine.

In some ways, it was better.

But Benedict didn’t feel fine about this, tapping his phone whenever the light faded, making the words stand to attention against the dark.

He kept doing that for another half hour, until the bench creaked beside him—the arrival of the only person Benedict could think to call.

“What kind of hour do you call this?” said Kai, stretching out and catching his gym shoes on the rails. “And this better not be about a loan. If you’re stupid enough to work with small businesses, that’s your own fault.”

Benedict relaxed at the arrival of his old friend—their interactions still familiar despite their time apart. “Oh please, new money . My trust fund could crush your salary any day of the week.”

Kai’s shoulders bounced in little laughs. They sat in silence for a while, the stars fading against golden clouds. “Locky bailed on you, huh?”

“He told you?”

“Nah. But you don’t live with someone for seven years without picking up on things. And he seemed way too happy when I got home last night.”

Benedict stared at the lapping water.

Eventually he handed the phone to Kai, who gave a low sigh. “Yup, he’s an idiot alright.”

“So that’s it? It’s over?”

“If it was me? Sure. But brooding on a pier suggests you’ve got other ideas?”

“I just... I don’t understand why he’s so reluctant to follow his passion? He’s obviously trapped in a career he hates, just so he can make money he doesn’t want to spend? Seriously, what’s that about? And I’ve seen him bake—he’s clearly creative and loves doing it. But that creativity doesn’t extend to imagining what his bakery might look like?”

Kai tapped his sneaker against the railing, sending a dull pulse through the beams. “He’s a complex guy, Benny. I had to nag him for years just to talk to someone like you. It sucks that he wants to bail, but he’s a big boy and it’s his call.”

Benedict stared at his old friend. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Lots of stuff? It’s not my place to spill someone else’s trauma.”

The word hit Benedict like a punch. Trauma? What the hell had Locky gone through to make him like this?

Even though the silence grew around them, there was nothing quiet in Benedict’s head now. Because one line from the email kept looping over and over.

It’s just not the right time, and it probably never will be.

That line scratched beneath Benedict’s skin. Because it didn’t feel like a delay. It felt like an execution. Like this was a crossroad that would affect the rest of Locky’s life. Like if he didn’t take the chance now, he might never do it.

And even though it went against every defense mechanism Benedict had built—even though he knew it was risky and stupid—he couldn’t stand the thought of Locky walking away from his dream forever.

Not like this .

Not without asking him to reconsider.

Before Benedict could respond, Kai groaned. “It won’t make a shit of difference, but he’ll probably be at the Chat Street Diner tonight. He heads there most nights with some of the regulars.”

“He won’t take the night off? Even after this ?”

“He never misses it. Honestly, that group would fall apart without him.”

Benedict scoffed. “I just figured he’d be hiding under a pillow or something.”

Kai stared for a long time across the water. “No, Benny. He got more than enough of that shit as a kid.”