10
Mini Bakery
W aking up from the deep depths of slumber after running all night and then Jay promptly fucking me to sleep is a monumental task. My eyelids are heavy and gritty, and suddenly, I am overwhelmingly hot and sweaty underneath these covers.
That is what makes me get up and haul myself into the shower. When I'm clean, I dress for work in jeans with a mesh bodysuit under a cut-off Coyote Bills tee and boots on my feet. By the time I'm done getting dressed and slapping a bit of makeup on my face, my hair has dried enough that using the blow dryer for the rest of the way won't be an hour-long ordeal. Unfortunately, after doing all of that, I barely want to make an effort to do anything with it other than have my hair out of my face, so I settle on doing a pair of messy space buns.
The buzzing of my phone on the nightstand is a slew of messages from Jay.
Good morning, Gorgeous.
I'm still at the Packhouse.
I don't know if I'll make it to CB tonight
Morning? It's the afternoon, Jay.
That's okay, but I'll miss you handsome.
It's morning for you, though.
Fair enough, Big Guy.
When I emerge from the room Jay and I share, I hear and smell Saint in the kitchen. It's not until I descend the stairs and see him around the corner that I know he's not cooking; he's baking up a storm. Strewn all across the counters are cooling racks filled with cupcakes, cookies, and pastries. The oven light reveals a few pies inside. On my second glance down the counters, I notice a delicious-looking Apple crumble. Or at least, I think it's Apple. I'll have to taste it to be sure. Among the cooling confections lay bowls of frostings and toppings.
Saint's hair is tossed up in a very messy bun, his curls slipping free around his face and at the nape of his neck. He's clothed today. However, it's just a pair of silky gym shorts slung almost scandalously low on his hips. They're dusted with flour in some areas.
"Well, good afternoon, Cinnamon." I drawl, strolling up to the island where more sweets are arranged neatly. These are all decorated with little pumpkins and leaves in various shades of orange, yellow, and red.
"Good afternoon yourself, Tiny," Saint quips back, grin firmly in place and electric green eyes dancing in the kitchen light.
"What's with the mini bakery?" I ask, reaching for a sugar cookie decorated like a leaf.
"I do it every year, Tiny. Most of this is going to the Packhouse," Saint nods at me in approval while I swipe my cookie.
"Aw, so I won't get to try the crumble?" I pout, taking a dramatically sad bite of the cookie. It's delicious, just like all his food is.
"I said most of this was going, not all. Don't worry, tiny, I bake for the house, too."
"So what stays?" My cookie is rapidly disappearing.
"Some cookies, a crumble, cinnamon rolls, and danishes." Saint lists the confections while glancing around the room.
"Where are the danishes?" I demand, looking around the kitchen. If they're the cream-filled ones, I'm going to fucking lose it.
"Are those your favorite, Tiny?"
"Depends on which type you made," I reply, dusting the remnants of my cookie crumbs from my shirt.
"Kagecreme and strawberry."
"I'm telling Jay you're not allowed to leave. Ever."
Saint throws his head back and roars with laughter. It makes his chest and curls bounce, his throat working with the sound. When I'd first moved in here, I'd assumed he was some jock douche simply for not moving out my way, but I can't think of anywhere this wolf is better suited for than the kitchen. He comes alive in here like I do in the forest. I can't say what comes over me, but I march over to him, throw my arms around his middle, and hug him tight.
"Thank you for being you," I mumble before withdrawing and saying, "Can I have one of those Danishes for the road?"
"Are you going to eat something substantial at work?" Saint asks, lowering his eyebrows.
It takes me almost half a minute to control my scowl before I can say " Yes."
"You'll have to send me a picture of it, or I'll hide the rest and swear the boys to secrecy," Saint warns, giving me a solemn look.
"Jay would never hide anything from me," I assert, hand propped on my hip.
"You're right…" Saint grumbles, and I almost let out a hoot of delighted victory. "I'll just take everything to the Packhouse then," Saint asserts, crossing his thick arms with a smirk.
"You wouldn't dare," I seethe, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Oh, I absolutely would. Everyone there would appreciate some pastries. I don't make them every year for the gatherings," Saint smirks, leaning his hip against the counter.
My internal debate lasts all of a heartbeat.
"Fine. I'll get real food at work. Where is my Kagecreme pastry?" I demand, extending a—surprisingly—manicured hand. Sam and I had gone together before opening the bar the other day.
" And you'll send me a picture so I know you actually ate it," Saint asserts, turning and grabbing something from the back shelf.
" Yes, yes. Stop holding my sweet treat hostage, Cinnamon!" I demand, making grabby hand motions at him.
Saint merely chuckles at me before dropping a napkin laden with the most beautiful-looking golden, crispy pastry in my hands. A small puddle of Danish sweet cream lies amid the pastry, and a delightful drizzle across the top.
"That there is a motherfucking work of art, Saint," I murmur, taking a moment to snap a picture of it and send it to Sam with a drooling emoji.
"Thank you, Tiny," Saint replies as Sam's text comes through. She wants to know if there are any other flavors, specifically and coincidentally, strawberry.
"Anytime, Cinnamon. Can I bring one to Sam?" I ask, holding my phone out for him to inspect and see Sam's reply.
"Yup. But you need to prove it got to Sam, and you didn't just eat both."
"That's a bold accusation," I reply while Saint pulls a paper takeout box out of the cupboards, unfolds it, and places a strawberry pastry inside, just as Sam asked.
"Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll take it back."
I merely narrow my eyes at him and say he'll get his pictures. Saint places my pastry inside the container with Sams, depositing the box into my hands moments later.
"Have a nice night, Artemis."
Suddenly, I'm thrilled that he's not entertaining Angel. Selfish as it is.