Page 18 of The Alpha and the Baker

Felicia

A Helping Hand for a Hangover

Oh yeah, I was absolutely right about that hangover. For a while, I was sinking in the blissful nothingness of a hard-earned sleep, but then I was suddenly rocketing upward into what could only be described as pure agony.

Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a little, but it truly was only a little. From the moment my eyes struggled to crack open, I realized I was about as dry as a desiccated corpse, and my head was doing its own impression of an entire drum line.

I somehow made it to my bathroom and downed possibly an entire ocean’s worth of water straight from the faucet. It wasn’t the most dignified thing I’d done, but that and a few splashes to my face made me feel half human again.

But one thing was for certain, I was never touching alcohol ever again.

Or at least for another ten months.

Once the hydration issue was handled, I needed to move on to the pounding in my head.

I struggled for a bit longer than I would like to admit with the child-safety cap on my extra-strength headache meds, but eventually I got it open and poured a thousand milligrams of blessed medicine into my mouth. I washed it down with more tap water.

After that, a nice hot shower and my morning routine helped me feel a little more right in the head. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was nearly three-thirty a.m.. I hadn’t been sleeping for long, but it had been deep.

Too bad it was Sunday, aka my busiest day of the week. I needed to get on my prep ASAP because I hadn’t done much the day before because of the whole cake fiasco.

“Early bird gets the worm,” I croaked to myself as I trudged down the stairs.

Coffee on, list ready in my head, I zombie-walked through most of the prep that I knew by heart, little trickles of my memory only beginning to come to me once I began actually mainlining the coffee.

Once the coffee was all gone, I grabbed a sports drink from the fridge and mixed it in a canteen with Pedialyte.

It was a trick I hadn’t used since college, but it worked a right treat.

I always had Pedialyte on hand just in case I got the flu and couldn’t go out to get something to help.

“God, my fucking head,” I groused to myself for perhaps the dozenth time as I began to boil some bagels. I still didn’t understand how a third of a glass of punch had knocked me so far off my feet. What could they have possibly put in there? Extra-strength Everclear?

Could it have been moonshine? They were kind of country, after all. God, wouldn’t that be hilarious?

Whatever it was, it had definitely been an experience. I didn’t regret it, but my head certainly did. Thankfully, between the warmth of the kitchen, the hydration, and the meds, the headache soon backed off, and I got caught up with my very long to-do list.

“A baker’s work is never done,” I mused to myself, and I was satisfied when my voice sounded a little more normal and less like nails scraping on a chalkboard.

As I was whipping up the filling for my Boston cream donuts, a strange glint caught my eye. Pausing, I went over to my door to see two sets of keys on the ground right next to the little end table that I usually put my keys on.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking up the foreign set and realizing they definitely weren’t mine. And now that I thought about it, how had I gotten home?

Closing my eyes and furrowing my brow, I tried to recall what exactly had happened once the sun went down. I remembered lying with the dogs, then dancing with Cas, and having the most magical time.

And then…

Nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing. There were glimpses of streetlights that streaked golden on the slate-gray of a dark city night. The open road. Some giggling. That was it.

I definitely hadn’t driven home. Not only did I like to think that even inebriated I wouldn’t allow myself to do such a thing, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to even if I’d wanted to.

I’d been so exhausted and so cozy—it was like sleep had had its own gravity that relentlessly pulled me toward it.

“He must have driven me home,” I murmured to myself. My habit of keeping up conversation with me, myself, and I was cropping up again.

But how did I get his keys? Surely he would have noticed them when he got home. And for that matter, how did he even get home?

“He didn’t Uber all the way back just for me, did he?”

That seemed incredibly far-fetched, but what other explanation was there? It wasn’t like he could just walk home considering how far it was. Or run for that matter, even if he and his family were apparently avid runners.

As crazy as it was, I was utterly flattered. He’d already spent a pretty penny on my services, allowed me to spend the whole day partying with his family while eating their delicious food, and then taxied me all the way home. What a gentleman!

And they say chivalry is dead.

The next thing I knew, my phone was in my hand, my thumb hovering over his number in my contact list. Then I remembered it was five in the morning and not the right time to call someone.

“Close call.”

Despite the great pain it caused me, I put the phone down and got back to doing what I was doing.

That lasted maybe an hour and a half before I was right back at my phone, shooting off a text before I could stop myself.

Felicia: Hey, I think I somehow got your keys? Yesterday is a bit hazy, but I don’t recognize these.

I snapped a picture of the keys and sent it.

And then I waited.

Maybe the word waited wasn’t exactly accurate, because I walked a few feet away before returning. And then I did a round of double-checking the ovens, and then I checked it again. I was getting almost nothing done. Thankfully, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I said, even though I knew exactly who was calling. After all, I only knew one Castiel Reunion Client .

“Hey! Those are my keys. I must have left them in the center console when I drove you home. Luckily, they’re just my car and tractor keys. My house keys were in my pocket.”

Whew, that was good. I would hate to think that I’d gotten him locked out of his house after everything he’d done for me. It was so rare in life to meet a true gentleman, and I was certain Cas was exactly that.

“Oh! I must have grabbed them out of habit when I was getting out of the car,” I murmured.

Everything was still so messy and blended together in my head.

But what did stand out to me was our faces close together, his heart beating against mine with the iron bar of his forearm across the small of my back.

I’d never felt much like a leading lady before, but in that moment?

That feeling was seared into my head permanently.

“Did you happen to see what I did getting out?”

“Unfortunately, I was already out of the car and coming around to open your door.”

“Open my door? How chivalrous.”

“I’d like to say my mama raised me right.”

Grinning, I leaned against the counter, my to-do list temporarily forgotten. “So far I’d agree. You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.”

“Please, you’ve seen me way too tipsy to call me ‘ma’am’. It’s definitely Felicia by now.”

“Hah, I s’pose that makes some sense.”

“Are you home now? I can drive them out for you as soon as I close up shop this afternoon.”

I was offering because it was the right thing to do, but also, I definitely wasn’t opposed to seeing Cas again. And maybe any one of the two dozen or so of the working dogs they had on the property. Obviously, I wouldn’t bother them if they were busy.

“Actually, I’m out and about with my friend right now. We can just swing by in a bit. About fifteen minutes?”

“Oh!” So no working dogs, but seeing Cas was still pretty great. “Yeah, that works. I’ll unlock the front door so you can come in.”

“Awesome. See you then.”

“See you!”

I didn’t even try to hide my goofy grin as I ended the call.

It wasn’t like anyone was around to see me.

But that giddy feeling faded pretty quickly when I looked down.

Oh my god, I was a mess. Sure, I’d showered—it had been necessary to feel alive with my wicked hangover—but I hadn’t put on my baker’s uniform.

I was wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants that were now spattered with flour and other various ingredients.

I didn’t want to look like a slob, especially since Cas had already seen me in my baker’s uniform. The logical part of my brain told me he probably wouldn’t even notice, but it was a point of pride.

I knew it was a touch hokey and maybe even a little old-fashioned that I wore a uniform in my own shop, but it was my prerogative.

It made me feel extra proud of my accomplishment, like wearing a personal badge of honor.

Besides, it reminded me of how my mother had hand-embroidered my initials into the very first uniform I ever had, and how she’d clapped with happiness the first day I wore it to work.

Right. I definitely needed to change.

With yet again one more look to make sure everything was good and nothing was burning, I hustled upstairs with only minimal complaints from my stomach, which only gurgled in displeasure rather than roiling outright. A marked improvement from earlier.

It didn’t take me long to get dressed, and I was back downstairs just in time to unlock the front door and straighten my ponytail before anything burned or I got behind.

Although I would much rather not be hungover, I was thrilled at how I was getting through my morning and had almost caught up with my rather sizable to-do list. Proof that I was competent, even if my business wasn’t doing so good.

A knock sounded at the door, and I looked up from where I was arranging my jalapeno-and-onion bagels to see Cas standing at the door.

I waved him in. A quick glance to the clock on my wall told me that he’d taken just a little over fifteen minutes.

Maybe it was the baker in me, but I did love punctuality.