Page 30 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)
FOX
Plainview, in total, is about as big as a dozen New York City blocks, and most of the town itself is huddled within a three-block radius—the grocery store, library, police station, hospital, and Franky’s school—all just minutes from each other.
So although I have a car to use, I find walking from one destination to the next and enjoying the spring weather makes living here just a little more tolerable.
Snow stuck to the ground—according to Alana—all winter long. Several feet deep and heavy enough to make the old roofs creak. But spring is in full swing, and with it, beautiful flowerbeds and lush green grass.
I suppose, if I must acknowledge anything positive about this town, it would be that spring makes for a stunning backdrop, and waking on the lake, enjoying a coffee on the porch with fuzzy socks wrapped around my feet to keep them warm makes for a good way to start a day.
Those Watkins brothers knew exactly what they were doing when they graduated from boys to men, buying up all the good real estate before anyone else thought to slide in and take it.
Now that it’s Monday, life restarts despite the woman still recovering in her hospital bed.
Chris woke at stupid o’clock this morning, escaping Tommy’s house before the sun truly came up, and went about his routine of tiring himself out before his actual job of working out begins.
Franky whined about school and how he shouldn’t have to go— because he wants to see Hazel —and I…
well, I have a bookstore to manage, and I have to do it knowing I didn’t listen the way I should have when Franky was teaching me the ropes.
But none of that really matters right now, because I doubt Mondays are particularly busy in the book world. I walk Franky to school and leave his pouty-butt behind with a smirk plastered across my lips and a skip to my steps, and wandering Main Street, I discover the bakery by following my nose.
Curious and desperate to taste the coffee that corresponds to the delicious scent of roasting beans traveling along the street, I step inside, only to smack my toes on the tiny lift in the tiles only a local would know about.
I hiss and hold my breath, gritting my teeth and counting through the twenty seconds of pain that ricochets throughout my foot.
Tears well in my eyes, and when I bring my gaze up, I find a bakery bustling with chaos.
And unfortunately for me, thirty stares pointed back at me.
Customers place their orders, some line up for service, and others sip their coffees.
They gossip and smirk, whisper, and blatantly talk about me like I’m not here.
Pastries exchange hands, and to-go cups are filled, and though my foot aches, I shake the pain away, determined to join the end of the long line that moves surprisingly fast. And though my heart pounds, I lift my chin and pretend that I don’t care about the small-minded idiots who refuse to stand too near.
Do I have leprosy or something? Fuck.
I wait patiently and move closer to the front counter, and when it’s my turn to be served, I smile at the attendant and note her youthful face. She can’t be more than a teen, surely . “I’ll have whatever that garlicky-smelling pastry is, please. And a cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing. You’re Fox Tatum, right? Alana’s friend.”
“I am.” I cock my hip and rest against the stainless-steel counter. “People usually say it like ‘ you’re that Fox Tatum, aren’t ya? From New York.’ ” I add a nasally drone to my voice. “‘ We don’t like you, ‘cos you’re not from ‘round here.’ ”
She snickers, bagging my breakfast with a fast flip of her wrists.
“People around here can get a little funny about city folks.” She sets my pastry on the counter and slides across to begin steaming milk at the industrial-sized machine.
“I’m not eighty-seven years old, though.
And I’d kill to live in New York. There’s a saying about attracting flies with honey, no? ”
“How old are you?” I snag my breakfast and tear off a little of the garlicky bread. “High school, right?”
“I’m in tenth grade.” Her eyes swing to the clock above the door, her cheeks warming because we both know she’s late. “I have a study period first thing on Mondays, so I stay here a little longer and help my mom and dad. I’ll walk to school soon.”
“What do you want to do when you get to New York?” Screw anyone still waiting to be served; this kid might become my only friend inside this town other than Alana, so I settle in and nibble while she works. “Will you go to college?”
“I would love to get into the Fashion Institute so I can design clothes.”
“For the runways?” I take another look at her outfit, all but hidden behind a flour-covered apron, and find cute black cargo pants with silver chains hanging from her pockets and buttons pressed along the legs.
She wears a chunky belt, almost two inches wide, and a form-fitting black shirt that leaves an inch of her stomach showing and boasts what I think might be a unicorn riding a rainbow right across her chest.
She’s got a rainbow-magic goth look going on. And hell, maybe it’s not my kind of look, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t a look.
Like her, it’s cute as hell and makes a statement.
“I think you already have a firm stance on fashion,” I decide, “and you should totally explore that more.”
“My parents don’t like what I wear.” She speaks, not with a disappointed lilt in her voice, but with the clear, concise repetition of facts.
Seems she’s accepted their opinion. “They think I should stay here and take over the bakery so they can retire. But I dunno.” She shrugs, switching off the steamer and pouring hot milk into a to-go cup.
“I appreciate getting to work here because I’ve been saving my money. But it’s not what I want forever.”
“I understand that.” I tear off a little more pastry and set it on my tongue. “I think everyone should experience life outside their small town at least once.”
She scoffs. Not my parents.
“That doesn’t mean you have to stay away. But there’s a whole wide world outside of Plainview. It would be a shame to never see it. I feel kind of lucky because I’ve traveled almost everywhere in the last few years.”
Her eyes widen, brimming with excitement.
“It’s beautiful out there,” I sigh. “I cherish my memories and the photos stuck in my cloud storage I’ll probably never look at again.”
She snorts. “You’re kind of my hero, and we hadn’t even met five minutes ago.”
“Well, you know my name, and you probably know where I’m staying.
I’ll be at Happily Ever After from nine till five, five days a week.
I bet there are books there about the Fashion Institute of Technology.
And France,” I tease, since any aspiring designer dreams of visiting Paris in the spring.
“You should drop by, since you’re literally the only nice person I’ve met here besides my best friend. ”
She sprinkles a little chocolate on top of my milk froth and caps the cup, then she slides it across the counter and taps my purchase into the register. “My name is Raya. Collins,” she adds as an afterthought. “I might swing by the bookstore sometime.”
“Good.” I wave my card over the reader and wait for it to beep and take my money, then I set everything back in my bag. “Oh, and since you’re nice and all that, you should know about the party I’m planning for Alana.”
“A party?”
“Mmm. The baby’s here, and it serves as no surprise whatsoever that those Watkins boys didn’t even consider a baby shower to honor her. So a month from now, I’m having a little shindig over at the gym, and since I don’t hardly know anyone, I’m inviting you.”
“At the gym?” She squeaks. “The war room gym?”
“Uh…” I wrap my hand around my coffee and carefully drag it closer. “I thought it was called Love & War?”
“It is.” She waves me off. “But locals call it the war room. You’re having a party there? Where the Watkins twins will be?”
“Well, one of the Watkins twins is the baby daddy, so… sure.” I flash a teasing smile.
“It would be best if he were there. And while we’re on the topic, Chris Watkins is in charge of ordering a cake.
I’m told this is where he’ll come, and he swears he’ll take care of it.
But if he fails to do what needs doing by the end of next week, maybe you could let me know?
” I lean against the counter and roll my eyes.
“He’s allergic to talking to other human beings, I think, and he might let this detail slip.
I’m not his mother, which means I refuse to nag him.
But if he fumbles, give me a head’s up so I can take care of it. ”
“Sure.” She brushes flour off her apron and massages her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ll keep an eye on the situation.”
“Excellent. Oh, and do you know any handymen around town?”
She frowns. It’s entirely possible she considers me insane, jumping from topic to topic. “Uh, I guess I’d have to know what exactly you need help with.”
“A mini-bathroom renovation.” My stomach tumbles, and my pulse quickens because, damn, I still feel Chris Watkins between my legs.
I feel his cock filling me all over. His hands on my flesh.
I feel the bruises he left behind, and, more importantly, the absolute knowledge he knows how to destroy me in all the best ways.
“I need tiling repairs,” I mutter, brushing a hand over my lips to muffle my words from listening ears.
“And a new shower door installed. The sooner, the better.”
“Well…” She nibbles on her pinky finger. “I’m not sure. But I’ll have a think about it and let you know.”
“You’re the best.” I glance over my shoulder and find a long line of customers tapping their toes and not-so-patiently waiting for their turn to be served. So I grin and bring my eyes back to Raya. “Thanks. Do you work here every morning?”