Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Penn

My head was killing me.

I guessed when you didn’t go out drinking all that much to begin with though, it was probably ten times worse than you remembered.

Archie, however, was absolutely fine. Or at least, he appeared to be as he waltzed into the shop with a carrier of sweet-smelling coffee.

“Good Morning, Pennington,” he sing-songed, making my headache throb and my eye twitch.

“What’s so good about it?” I grumbled as he set the carrier down behind the counter before heading to grab his apron.

While I’d been away at school, Archie and my dad opened the shop most days, but now that I was home, my dad had taken a step back. He and my mom usually came in later now, around mid-morning. Which meant, for the time being, Archie and I had the shop to ourselves.

Archie pulled out a coffee cup and handed it to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Feeling the hair of the dog, eh?” he poked, flashing me with a smirk.

I grabbed the coffee, breathing in its delicious cinnamon-vanilla scent.

Cinnamon Dolce Lattes fix everything.

Except drunken shenanigans.

I popped open the plastic lid, diving into the frothy cream on top, letting the sweetness coat my tongue and soothe my frayed nerves for a moment.

“More like hungover and full of regret,” I mewled. “Now I remember why I don’t drink.”

Archie grabbed his coffee as he leaned back against the back prep counter, imploring me with his steely amber gaze. His naturally tanned skin stood out like fresh-baked gingerbread against the cool marble and cobalt blue.

The sun was only starting to come up, and as such, lit up the inside of the bakery like the gates of heaven.

“Why? Because you get all flirty and handsy when you’re drunk?” he teased.

My cheeks flushed with heat at his words, and the memory of last night pushed forth all over again.

Mitchell’s hand on my back, his fingertips brushing against mine.

His tongue in my mouth.

My cock awakened at the thought and I gritted my teeth as I focused on breathing.

“It’s not like that. I?—”

I’ve never been kissed by any of my girlfriends like... that.

Archie smiled, shaking his head. “You know what they say? Drunk words are sober thoughts. Maybe your actions are more in tune with what you want than you think.”

“I’m not... gay, or... or bisexual!” I shouted, feeling on the spot. “I’m straight!”

Some of my cream sloshed over the side of my cup from my sudden vibration, my voice echoing off the bakery walls.

Even as I said the words through, I felt like something had shifted. Like a volcano erupts or a glacier breaks away, floating apart from its foundation.

Archie was gay. Loud, out, and proud gay, and so was Mitchell DeVille. I knew that now, and there was no denying it.

But me... surely I would know if I was bi or gay. I mean, a person just knows, right?

I’d looked at lots of girls, and found them attractive. But never had I ever popped an instant boner looking at anyone.

At least, that was up until I’d seen Mitchell at that wedding.

Or until last night... after we sang together... when I fell, and he caught me.

“You trying to convince me, Penn, or yourself?” Archie asked curiously.

“I... I’ve only ever been attracted to women. I have had, like?—”

“Three or four girlfriends? Yeah, how did those relationships work out for you?” Archie asked.

I turned around and instead of looking at him, I focused on stacking the cooler display.

“That has nothing to do with?—”

“It has everything to do with it,” Archie insisted. “The dick wants what it wants. It does not lie.”

“It’s not that simple,” I refuted.

Archie shrugged as he set to making a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls, the first item on today’s calendar prep.

“Don’t believe me, watch some porn. You’ll figure it out pretty quick.”

I huffed in annoyance. “Are you serious? I don’t watch porn, like, at all.”

Archie snickered. “Then what do you have to lose? Consider it research. If you find yourself all keyed up over tits and ass and tight pussy, then by all means, I will leave you alone about this forever. I’ll take your steamy drunk dude make out to my fucking grave,” Archie said.

I turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow of my own. “Promise?”

Archie held his hand over his heart. “Promise. But I have a feeling you aren’t as straight as you think,” he said, turning to roll out the dough, and leaving me to my own devices, just as my parents came in through the door .

What the hell?

They never come in this early anymore.

“Hey, Mom, Dad... Is everything okay?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

“We need to talk about last night,” my dad said, his voice stern, and gruff.

“What?” The blood in my veins ran as cold as a frozen croissant.

A part of me was worried they’d heard us talking, or worse someone might have said something to them. That they might have somehow seen me and my suddenly shifting morals, and that I’d somehow embarrassed not just myself, but my family.

“Well, it’s not often you come home so late, and you did leave all the lights on,” my mom said with a smile as she headed over to grab an apron while my dad settled his arms on the counter.

“The event last night must have been quite a night,” he said with a grin, winking at me.

My cheeks reddened again as I stammered.

“Oh, I can assure you, Mr. Baker, it was,” Archie said with a giggle.

I shot him a glare. I watched as my mother rolled the dough smoothly, passing it to Archie to cut and roll.

“What time is the photographer coming today?” she asked, and once again my blood chilled.

I was a popsicle of fear, embarrassment, and curious desire.

It was Monday.

Mitchell would be coming in today .

Today, the day after I stupidly got drunk and...

Kissed him.

I kissed a boy, and I ? —

My cock twitched as the memory filled my brain. Of his warm, soft lips moving hungrily against my own, of the way my entire body—especially my damn cock—responded to his mouth, the sounds he was making.

The hardness I vaguely remember in my pants.

“Um, uh, I think...” I tried to focus on my words, but I felt like I was slowly slipping beneath choppy waves. “I think Mr. DeVille is arriving around noon,” I finally said.

Archie snickered in the background, and I turned away.

“Splendid!” My mother said with excitement.

“I can’t wait to see what you two come up with,” my father chimed in.

The hours on the clock were like an eternity. Especially those last fifteen minutes. A part of me wondered if perhaps he wouldn’t show. Maybe he too was nursing a hangover, and would want to reschedule.

Did I want him to reschedule?

A part of me wanted to avoid looking the man I’d kissed in the eyes, while the other part of me—a larger part—was curious to see him again. Maybe I could apologize, clear the air.

Away from my parents and Archie, of course, which wouldn’t be too difficult if I could somehow come up with a guise to get Mitchell alone that wasn’t suspicious.

I’d almost sweated myself out of my clothes by the point he actually showed up.

Dressed in tight burgundy jeans and a zebra print button down, his dark hair was gelled back, the lights of the bakery casting a shimmering sheen on his dark locks. Slung across his back was a tripod, and he carried what looked like two giant suitcases. He looked like he was going on a trip to Key West and not a small town bakery to photograph desserts.

Without thinking, I headed toward the door, if only to help him drag in his equipment.

“Hey...” I said as I swooped in to grab the suitcase he gripped in his right hand. “Let me help you with that,” I said.

Mitchell smirked, his dark eyes full of mischief and excitement.

“It’s good to see you too, Cream Puff,” he said, his voice dark and... sexy.

I swallowed harshly as I tried to focus on the task at hand, and not the weird things his deep rumble was doing to me.

For God’s sake, my parents are here!

“You must be Mitchell,” my father said as he came up beside me, extending his hand. “I’m Samuel Baker, co-owner of Penn’s Bakery.”

Mitchell’s smirk shifted into a much more polite smile, his entire demeanor shifting like a chameleon.

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Baker,” Mitchell said as he extended his hand.

Panic laced its way through me.

“And this is my wife, and co-owner, Marissa.” He introduced my mom who shook his hand, smiling ear to ear.

“Nice to meet you both,” Mitchell said, his voice as saccharine as the buttercream frosting Archie was whipping up for this afternoon’s orders.

I forced my legs to move, if only because I needed to get as far away from the Twilight Zone as possible, or I thought I might legit pass out.

Thankfully, my parents had sequestered Mitchell for the moment so I could breathe behind the counter. I dropped his suitcase in front of the display case, figuring it was a good spot. I’d been working on the display practically all day to settle my nerves about this very moment.

Archie smirked at me.

“What’s so funny?” I bit out as the oven timer went off for the three tier cake we were working on for Gloria Tanen’s fiftieth.

The smell of fresh baked vanilla rounds swept through the air, soothing my senses just a fraction.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Archie snickered as he slid me the buttercream.

I shot him a glare as I kept my back to my parents and Mitchell, deciding instead to get lost in frosting the cake rounds.

The rest of the day—which was only about four hours or so—I spent avoiding Mitchell.

Which wasn’t an easy feat, given the size of our shop. But somehow, I managed to busy myself with Miss Tanen’s cake, and spent the last hour doing dishes.

My parents had taken off, and it was just Archie and I. At least, I thought it was just Archie and I, until I came around the corner and ran smack into Mitchell, camera still in hand, taking pictures of the marble and cobalt tile, of the back of the counter. He pitched forward a moment, the snap of the shutter going off as he cursed, finding his grounding.

I looked back and forth, expecting to see Archie, but he wasn’t in the front.

He never usually left without saying goodbye, so I knew he had to be there somewhere.

Hiding in the freezer maybe?

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you left,” I said, startled.

Mitchell set his camera down on the clean counter, raising an eyebrow.

“How could I leave without proper payment?” he said, flashing me a grin.

My cheeks flushed at his insinuation, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been offended or not.

“P—payment?” I swallowed, my mind thinking of his plush lips, his tongue in my mouth...

“I believe you did say there would be desserts involved in this gig,” he said teasingly.

Of course!

I felt like an absolute idiot. He’d offered his services at a discount because I had promised to pitch in some bake shop goodies.

“Yeah... yeah, of course. Uh, so, what, uh, what would you like to take home?” I asked as I slowly ambled backward, away from him.

Mitchell leaned against the back counter, spreading his arms along the ledge. He’d rolled up his zebra print sleeves to the elbow, and the first two buttons on his shirt had been popped.

With the way his dark hair fell in his eyes, and the smirk on his face, I couldn’t deny he looked divine.

Just as delicious as any dessert in my display case.

I cleared my throat as I headed toward the case, grabbing a cardboard box and putting it together.

“I can think of one thing that isn’t in that case, that I’d love to take home,” he toyed shamelessly.

I turned from him, my cheeks heating from his words.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Granted, I’d never been the best when it came to flirting, and I usually despised guys who were so cheesy in their pick up lines when it came to women.

No one had ever flirted with me like Mitchell did.

Man or woman.

Something about that made my entire body heat like a bonfire.

Is that what I want?

I wasn’t really sure what I wanted. I liked Mitchell’s words. I thought he was pretty hot, even in a pink zebra print shirt that totally clashed with our clean and crisp aesthetic.

And I had to admit, drunk or not, I liked it when he kissed me .

No, I liked how he kissed me. Because no one had ever kissed me like I was some princess in a fairytale.

Like a dragon-slaying knight in shining armor.

“I highly suggest the cinnamon rolls. We make them fresh every day,” I said, ignoring his blatant flirtations.

Mitchell didn’t press me. He only hummed in understanding as he responded, “Whatever you say, Cream Puff.”

I turned around, incensed by the moniker he’d gifted me that first night we’d spoke.

It was hard to believe it had only been a few days ago.

I’d messaged him, and he’d been flirty then too. I’d just assumed at the time we were joking around, but if I was being honest, it felt easy then too, talking to him. Letting my guard down.

It was the Internet.

Who didn’t say things they wouldn’t in person on the Internet?

It didn’t mean anything.

It was just... fun, right?

Yet, I couldn’t deny every time he called me Cream Puff , I actually found I kind of... liked it.

No one had ever really given me a pet name before.

Pet names are for people in relationships, Penn.

You are most certainly not in a relationship with this... man. Photographer.

The photographer you hired to help the bakery get some more focus.

Has the buttercream gone to your head?

“That’s not my name,” I touted with annoyance, before turning back to the display to fill the box with half a dozen cinnamon rolls.

Where the fuck was Archie?

Why hasn’t he broken the case down yet?

Mitchell laughed. “I know. But you make it so easy with those rosy cheeks and those pretty rolling eyes of yours every time I do it,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, but he couldn’t see me.

At least, I hoped.

“I take it you got everything you needed for the day?” I asked as I set the last cinnamon roll in the box, sealing it .

I turned with the box in my hand to see him zipping up his camera bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“For the most part, yes. I’ll go home, download everything, and start culling and editing. I should have a couple teasers for you by tomorrow,” he said, his tone changing from the flirtatious, sexy one to the much more cut, dry, professional one.

The tone he probably used for all his clients.

Because that’s what I was.

A client.

Mortification coursed through me once more as I remembered our kiss.

God, he must think I’m a total basket case.

Or a total slut.

Which would be the farthest thing from the truth, but I couldn’t deny that the thought—the wonder about what he thought about that kiss, about me—was just as nerve wracking as the memory itself.

But I also wasn’t the kind of guy who just got drunk and made out with people.

I liked to take things slow. Meet someone for coffee, get to know them, go out on a nice, romantic date, and then, if the moment was right, then I’d kiss them.

And sex?

I didn’t even like to fuck until at least three or four dates in, if we even got that far to begin with!

Most of the girls I’d seriously dated never made it past second base, except maybe Amy, and I didn’t like to think about the one night stands that left me feeling like a total loser.

Like I’d been used and discarded like a napkin without so much as a companion for breakfast.

The thought of my ill-fated love life left me feeling more than on the spot.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks,” I said, clutching the pink box of goodies as I watched him turn his back to me, zipping up his remaining suitcases of equipment.

Mitchell turned to face me, his naturally dark eyes kind, and endearing.

“Of course,” he said, his tone softer. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Penn.”

And with that, he took the goodie box, and headed out the door, leaving me both breathless and feeling guilty as all hell.

How the hell was I going to get through a week of this?