“I want to know more about you, Jayme. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to you, maybe part of it is because you took pity on a hungry bachelor, but I am. You probably think I’m a creeper now, and that sucks, but if I left here without letting you know I’ve had a wonderful evening so far, and that I’d like to see you again, take you out on a date, I’d never forgive myself. So…yeah, everything about you is interesting to me. Including how you ended up here.”
The second he stopped speaking, and she remained silent, Rocket wanted to kick himself.
He was an idiot. He’d never been all that good in social situations, and this was why. He tended to say what he was thinking, even if it made him look like a weirdo.
Still berating himself, he held his breath as he waited for Jayme’s response.
Chapter Three
Jayme stared at the man sitting nearby. He was in the easy chair her grandpa had always sat in, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes focused on her.
She hated to learn that people treated him badly simply because of his size. Interestingly, she hadn’t been leery of him at all. Even though he was a foot taller and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Maybe it was because Memaw trusted him. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at her grandmother with respect.
“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I’ll head on out now,” Rocket said after she remained silent too long. He shifted to stand.
Jayme’s hand shot out before she could think about what she was doing. She touched his thigh, just above his knee and he froze comically, half-standing, half-sitting.
“Stay,” Jayme said quickly.
Rocket slowly lowered himself back into the chair, and Jayme could feel his muscles under her hand shifting as he moved. She licked her lips and reluctantly took her hand off his leg and gripped her teacup once again.
It had been a long time since a man had intrigued her as much as Rocket. He looked nothing like the men she’d dated in the past. He wasn’t as refined. Was more…wild. Rougher. But she liked that about him.
Swallowing hard, she said, “I was an idiot. That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Rocket said without hesitation.
“Thanks, but I was. I worked at a small bakery out in Seattle for ten years. The owner, Claire, was an older woman who reminded me a lot of my memaw in so many ways. When I first started working at The Gingerbread House, she was my mentor. She taught me a lot about owning a business. We would get to work at four-thirty and spend the time before the doors opened baking and laughing. She knew me better than anyone else. She was like a second mother to me.”
Jayme stopped and took a sip of her tea, wishing she didn’t feel as if she was on the verge of tears. She should be angry about what happened, but instead she was heartbroken.
Rocket didn’t push her to continue. He didn’t rush her at all. When Jayme glanced over, she saw his eyes were focused on her. He wasn’t fidgeting or looking bored. It was a heady feeling to be the center of this man’s attention.
“Anyway, over the years, things slowly started to change. Claire didn’t come to work in the mornings until we’d been open for an hour or so. More and more of the everyday operations fell to me. I was okay with that though, because I was under the assumption that the store would be mine someday. Claire and I had talked about it, and she’d told me that when she was ready to retire, she’d sell the store to me.”
Jayme stopped talking again, but this time it was because her throat had closed up. Thinking about what happened was as painful now as it had been three months ago…the day Claire had said she needed to talk to her.
Jayme felt the cushion next to her depress, and the next thing she knew, Rocket was sitting next to her. He took the cup out of her hands and placed it on the coffee table. Then he took both her hands in his and simply held them lightly.
She could smell his citrusy scent, and she had a feeling she’d never smell lemons again and not think of this man. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
“Take your time,” Rocket told her gently.
It took another few moments before she could speak again. “I was doing most of the work at the store. I was in charge of all the employees, ordering supplies, making sure everything got baked in the mornings. So when Claire asked to speak to me, I was sure she was going to tell me that she was retiring and wanted to discuss terms to sell the store. But instead, she told me that her nephew would be taking over. That she was selling The Gingerbread House to him.
“I was so shocked. Her nephew had only been in the bakery a few times that I knew of in the entire time I’d worked there. She apologized and told me she hoped I stayed on as manager. She wanted me to teach her nephew the ropes.
“It hurt. Bad. I’d put a decade of blood, sweat, and tears into that bakery, only to have my hopes and dreams ripped out from under me. Still, I didn’t want to let Claire down. I tried. I really did. But her nephew is an idiot. He doesn’t care about the bakery or the loyal customers. All he wants is money. He fired a few of the staff and cut so many corners, the tried-and-true pastries we’d offered for so many years no longer tasted the same because of the generic ingredients he insisted we start using. I couldn’t take it any longer and finally quit.
“I couldn’t bear to stay in Seattle after that, so I asked Memaw if I could come stay with her a while until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.”
“I’m sorry,” Rocket said.
Jayme appreciated his simple but heartfelt sympathy. “Me too.”
“This might be overstepping my bounds here, but as someone who’s appreciated your culinary talents firsthand…why don’t you open your own bakery?”
Jayme studied him. She was all too aware he hadn’t let go of her hands, and she wasn’t in any hurry to have him do so. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s a lot of work.”
“And operating The Gingerbread House wasn’t?” Rocket countered. “It seems to me that the best things in life are those that are the hardest to obtain. You said you were practically running that bakery in Washington by yourself. Managing the staff, ordering the supplies, actually baking the goods…you already know how hard the job is and what’s involved.”
Jayme bit her lip. She did know. She’d put her heart and soul into that bakery in Seattle and when it had been taken from her, she’d grieved. But it had been months now, and she was officially bored. She loved her memaw, but she needed to do something.
“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ve already thought of the ins and outs of this,” Rocket said, loosening his hand.
Jayme tightened her fingers around his, refusing to let him pull away. “I think I’m just scared. What if I fail?”
“Then you find something else to do,” Rocket said, simply and without judgement. “But for the record, if tonight’s desserts were anything to go by, you aren’t going to fail. In fact, I think if you find a place right here in Killeen, you’ll succeed beyond your wildest imagination. There are a lot of guys like me—single and with a horrible sweet tooth—who would love to be able to get some homemade goodies whenever we wanted. And not just guys, of course; I’m sure women would bend over backward for some wholesome treats too.”