4. W I L K S

FOUR

W I L K S

I’ve grown up in Crawley my whole life.

I know this place like it’s the back of my hand.

Everything around here is familiar.

The streets.

The stores.

The fields.

There’s not a single thing in this town that I’ve overlooked, and although I don’t pride myself on having the best memory, there’s one thing that I will never forget.

A face.

Especially not one that looks like hers.

“ Well… hello there .”

With her round cheeks she flashes me an impatient scowl, tapping her foot in a repetitive motion as she stares me down through the crack in the doorway. “Can I help you?”

Fuck, can she ever…

I suck in a deep breath. I hadn’t realized that one look of her had the power to rid my body of its ability to breathe.

Who is she?

“I, uh…” I’m tongue-tied as I speak. It’s an unfamiliar feeling.

Wilks doesn’t get tongue-tied.

Gary does.

Snap out of it.

I straighten my spine. “Can I…” I attempt to clear my throat. “Come in?”

Her baby blue eyes scan me up and down and without sounding like a pompous twat, it’s an action I’m of course no stranger to.

Yet, the way she’s looking at me is different. She’s not dissecting my frame like I’m used to. Instead, her eyes halt over my chest, a stare that forces a rush of confidence—I knew all my push-ups would come in handy someday.

I flatter myself, ready to take in the glorious view until I’m quickly humbled. Shit, she’s not looking at my chest because of my killer pecs. No. She’s looking at my chest because I’m covered in bloody frosting.

Great.

I can’t help but see this as an opportune moment to crack a joke—when in doubt, spew some humor out.

“Like what you see?” I rid myself of my embarrassment and I re-find my confidence as I puff my way forward. “Because if you do, there’s much more to unravel if you care to indulge...”

Her eyes dart up with a disgusted look written along her face. Now this, this I’m unfamiliar with.

“Yeah, right.” She rolls those pretty little eyes of hers to the back of her skull, attempting to slam the door shut.

I stop it.

“Hey.” I use my hand to keep the door from closing. “Hey, I’m sorry. Alright?” I drop the charm. “It’s a force of habit. I just… really need a cake. Okay?”

With one hand on the door and the other placed on the side of her hip she scoffs. “Looks like you’ve already got one all over yourself.” Her voice is as sweet as it is sour, I’m a fiend instantly.

I can’t help but play along. “Well...” I attempt to pick the frosting from my jumper. “Shouldn’t that tell you why I’m here, darling ?”

With some unease she re-adjusts herself—displacing her weight from one leg to the other as she leans into the doorframe. “Don’t you know how to read?” She snaps out of it, gesturing yet again to the tortuous sign on the window—“closed”.

I briefly entertain the point she’s arguably trying to make and follow her gaze to the sign, though in the back of my mind, a part of me can’t help but wonder why she’s continuing to entertain this conversation if she’s so adamant that she’s not going to help me.

My mind is electrified with ideas.

“I don’t know.” I lean up against the doorframe, an action that prompts her eyes to wander towards my biceps.

Perfect.

“Maybe I uh—need a few lessons,” I propose. “Think you can help me out?” I rub my thumb along my bottom lip in temptation as she appears to ponder the thought—boosting my already inflated ego.

I knew I could work my charm on her.

“You know what…” She opens the door fully, folding both arms across her full chest. “Sure, I’ll give you some lessons.”

I’m caught in a daze, left scolding my wandering eyes from staring down at her cleavage before they widen in disbelief from her words.

“Wait… really?” I can’t help but question her receptiveness. “You will?”

I don’t have much time left until I have to be back at the baby shower, but lucky for her, I’m a quick learner— if you know what I mean …

“Mhm.” She nods her head, prompting a few strands of her ash blonde hair to fall in front of her face before she pushes them back. “In fact, how about we start now. You ready?”

Like a school-aged boy I nod my head enthusiastically, gleaming down at her as she interlaces her delicate hands as one.

“Okay,” she speaks with confidence. “I want you to try reading my lips. Think you can do that?”

I’ll admit, I’m not much of a reader, but seeing just how perfectly plump her lips are, suddenly it’s about to become my new favorite hobby.

“I think so,” I throw back at her confidently.

“Perfect.” She nods. “Let’s begin. We …” she mouths.

“We,” I repeat back to her.

“ Are …”

“Are.”

“You’re getting it,” she says with assurance, smiling with delight. “Good job. Last part, okay?”

I get caught up in just how rosy her cheeks are as I nod my head and reciprocate the smile. At this point, I don’t give a toss about Coach’s so-called timer. I’m getting taught a lesson by the hottest girl in Crawley. Give me detention for all I care—as long as it’s her who’s supervising it.

“ Closed !” she shouts, catching me off guard. “We. Are. Closed. Got it?”

The door slams shut and before I know it, off she goes, away from the doorway and back into the kitchen, beating me at my own Goddamn game.

Shit.

I walked myself into that one, better yet, talked myself into it.

My mind works in spirals.

What do I do?

What do I say?

I need a cake.

I can’t leave here without a cake.

I got it.

I’ve mastered two things in my life, first my charm, but my ability to guilt trip? It’s an honorable second.

“You know what?” I linger by the front door, speaking loud enough so that I know she can still hear me. “I guess I’m just going to have to tell my sister …”

A little white lie won’t hurt for now. Sorry, Delaney.

“That she won’t be getting another cake for her baby shower after all. She felt awful, you know.” I frown. “When she accidentally dropped it all over me. But what can you do, right? You’re closed.” I slump my shoulders, kicking the pebbles beneath my feet in defeat as I solemnly peer towards the ground. “I suppose I’ll just have to tell her that I tried going to Ruby’s Bakery to get her another, but they said ‘too bad’, ‘tough tits’, ‘sucks to be you?—’”

“Are you always like this?” Like a mouse falling into a trap she’s back at the door, her voice tense—loud, as she peers down the street for any passer byers.

“Handsome and sexy?” I shoot her a cocky smirk, placing my hands into either one of my pant pockets. “Most days,” I self-proclaim. “But today, you’re just getting lucky.”

Less than amused she bites down on the inside of her cheek. “I meant annoying and persistent .”

“Well that’s the thing…” I take a prideful step forward. “I can be whatever you want me to be, baby, but right now, I really need you to help me out. Think you can do that?”

She swallows, huffing out a breath of frustration until she relaxes her shoulders and turns swiftly on her heel. “What kind of cake do you need?” she calls out while making a beeline back into the kitchen.

It worked.

Oh my God, it worked.

But wait, what now?

Do I follow her?

Do I stay?

Do I?—

“Well, don’t just stand there!” she answers my question for me as she tightens her apron around her waist. “You were begging to come in a minute ago, weren’t you? Now, c’mon, I don’t have all day!”

I gulp.

There’s nothing hotter than a woman with authority. Especially when it’s this woman.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, darling .” I step in through the front of the shop, closing the door carefully behind me as I assess my surroundings.

I guess I was wrong when I said I knew everything about this town. I’ve never been to this bakery before. The cake Warren and Delaney ordered was from a different shop. Why haven’t I noticed this place? But more importantly, why haven’t I noticed her?

“Like what you see?” She stands restlessly, watching as I take in the space around me.

I scan her up and down—she can’t be anymore than five-foot-four. I tower almost a foot taller than her, yet that personality of hers makes me feel like she towers over me.

I’ll keep that visual for later.

“Very much so.” I confidently lean against the counter. “And I’m not just talking about the shop.”

She rolls her eyes, murmuring, “I should’ve seen that one coming,” under her breath before she reaches for a bag of frosting and surveys it against my jumper. “By the looks of it…” She cranes her neck from side to side. “It’s vanilla frosting. But what about the sponge?” she probes. “Was it chocolate? Vanilla? Half and half?”

Heat rises to my cheeks as I attempt to recall Coach’s explicit instructions.

Was it chocolate cake with vanilla frosting?

Or vanilla cake with vanilla frosting?

I rub along the back of my neck, peering up at the ceiling like it holds the answers I’m hopelessly searching for.

“Let’s go with chocolate,” she suggests confidently as I struggle to remember. “I’m sure your sister likes chocolate. Right ?”

I cock a confused brow before I nod my head in agreement—Delaney’s my “sister”, right...

Wait.

Would that make Coach my brother-in-law?

I chuckle at the thought, an action that prompts her to flash me a look of concern.

“You alright over there?”

I snap back into it. “Yep. All good here, though…” I assess her face much more intricately. “Why haven’t I seen you around before? You must be new to town.”

“Am I?” She tilts her head. “Maybe I’ve just been seeing refuge away from the guy who likes to show up at bakeries and demand a cake at the very last minute. Have you heard of him? Is this a habit of yours?”

I bite down on my lower lip.

She’s warming up to me.

“This isn’t a habit.” I break the space between the two of us with a confident stride forward. “But I can make it one if you like?”

There's a pause in conversation as she gazes up at me and now that I’m this close to her, I can’t help but grow even fonder.

She’s got freckles. Sporadic freckles, ones I’d love to spend all day connecting the dots to.

She has baby blue, almost icy eyes, yet somehow, there’s a tinge of green in them, too. But it’s not the color of her eyes that leaves me stumped; it’s the look behind them.

The look that tells me she's as equally intrigued by me as she is closed off—she doesn’t trust me and I can tell that's beyond just that of me being a stranger. There’s more. There has to be.

She doesn’t respond, instead she tucks some stray hair behind her ear before turning on her heel and making a bee-line back into the kitchen.

I take short steps to follow her behind the counter, yet the sound of my footsteps is enough to halt her in place.

“You can’t come back here!” she commands firmly, prompting me to remorsefully stumble back. “You stay here behind the counter and I’ll finish the cake, got it?”

I have to bring my fingertips up to my mouth to suppress the smirk that dares to break free.

Yep, bossiness is being added to the kink list.

“Whatever you say, darling ,” I murmur. “I’ll just wait out here.”

She exhales a troubled breath before she paves her way into the kitchen. “Please. Don’t keep calling me that.”

I prop myself up onto the countertop so that I can peer in on her through the kitchen. “No problem, love. How about you tell me your name, and I’ll call you that instead?” I propose flirtatiously.

I can see on her face that she’s about ready to scold me for my new-found chair, but she holds back, refocusing her attention on piping the cake instead. “I don’t talk to strangers,” her voice is hardly above a whisper.

“Well then, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Wilks.” I place a hand on my chest. “See?” I shrug. “Now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“Wilks?” She stops piping and tilts her head to the side in disbelief. “That’s your name? Really?”

It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve had to formally introduce myself to someone. Typically I don’t require an introduction. Everyone knows me. That or they’ve heard of me before.

“Not quite.” I toy with the thought in my mind. “My name is actually Gary. Gary Wilkinson. Wilks is just my nickname. It’s what everyone calls me. It’s what you can call me too if you like. Unless of course you’d like to call me on the phone, which I’d gladly give you my number to.” I wink.

She shakes her head, a playful smirk on her lips as she smooths out the frosting. “You really don’t let up, do you, Gary?”

Gary.

CHELSIE

I’ve had my fair share of men stride their way into this bakery looking for a whole lot more than to satisfy just a sweet tooth, but none have been quite like Gary Wilkinson.

I’ve heard his name before. That or I’ve seen it somewhere. I’m positive. I just can’t put my finger on it.

Usually when I’m pestered by persistent men my quick witted responses throw them off, but amongst all of my comebacks, nothing seems to stump the man ahead of me quite like calling him by his first name.

Gary.

I prefer it to Wilks. Wilks seems like an act. A ploy. The guy he wants people to see versus the man he actually is and not so deep down, I can’t help but believe that’s true.

A quiet falls between us and frankly, it’s peaceful given the absurd number of emotions I feel as a result of his high-spirited energy.

Who does he think he is? Striding his way in here with such an abundance of confidence? All the while, stripping me of mine with one flash of that smile.

I know better than to spend more than a split second fantasizing about just how downright enticing he looks.

Tall.

Fit.

Full of himself.

Fuck … he’s just my type.

But if there is one thing that I know about my type it’s that what you see on the surface does not remotely equate with what lies within.

If I’ve learned anything about guys like “Wilks”, it’s that this is what he wants. He wants me to be over here daydreaming about how fit he is as I’m doing him this so-called “favor”. Hell, he’s probably going to use it as an easy scapegoat to say, “let me make it up to you”.

This pattern is what he wants.

It’s probably what he’s used to.

Good thing breaking free from bad habits has been my thing lately.

I finish piping the perimeter of the cake with the burning gaze of his deep brown eyes staring into me, trying my best to focus. “Do you, uh…” I have to scold myself for getting distracted by his charm. “Want me to write anything on it? A message of some sort?”

Gary juts out his bottom lip, rubbing alongside his forehead as he looks up in thought. “Maybe ‘Welcome Baby Park’?” he suggests.

I nod my head, reaching for my selection of frostings. “Do you know the sex?” I wonder if I should go for the stereotypical pink or blue.

He shakes his head. “They’re keeping it a secret. I think something neutral would be best. The baby shower theme is ‘soon to bee family of three’. So maybe a shade of yellow? I don’t know. I trust you.”

There’s something enticing about the way he says he trusts me, not to mention the sincerity I see in his face confirming it to be true.

With a nod of my head, I suppress the lump in my throat and pipe what he asks across the top of the cake, even throwing on some sprinkles that mimic those of a bumblebee before I proudly display my creation.

“Good?” The one syllable is all I mutter out as I patiently wait for his approval.

A smirk rises to his lips, and before I know it, he looks me deep in the eyes instead of peering down at the cake, and mutters, “ Beautiful .”

I get tangled in his stare as I turn over what exactly he’s using that adjective to describe. The cake or… me ? I shrug off the thought and quickly turn around, reaching for a box so that I can safely tuck the cake away.

“I promised you a hundred quid.” I’m overwhelmed by the sight of Gary counting out notes from his wallet as I step out of the kitchen. “ And I’m a man of my word, so here you go.” He gestures the notes in my direction.

I shake my head, attempting to place the cake into his grasp. “No, it’s okay.”

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?” He refuses. “I owe you for the cake, don’t be daft, just take it. I insist .”

This time I’m more forceful with my step ahead as I firmly press the box against his chest. “I insist. It’s a gift for your sister. That is if you told her that you dropped the other one, of course.”

Red rushes to his cheeks, confirming my suspicion that he was the culprit for the original cake getting ruined.

“How did you…” his words trail off as my lips rise into playful curl. “You’re cheeky, you.” He gently takes the cake from my grasp with a coy smirk. “But you’ve saved my arse. So, thank you. I mean it.”

I pull back, creating some distance between us as I brush my hands along my apron. “Don’t worry about it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, literally . I’m knackered, so in the nicest way possible, get out .”

Gary stifles a laugh, securing the cake firmly within both hands as he makes his way over to the door.

“Try not to drop this one.” I follow closely behind him, ready to lock up. “Because next time, I’ll definitely be closed.”

He steps outside, lingering as if there’s going to be more to this goodbye—like he’s surprised I’m sending him on his way like this.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you something?” he asks, a pleading look on his face.

“I insist,” I tell him, clutching onto the door. “It’s my treat. Really.”

He exhales a breath. “Fine, but let me make it up to you another way then...” he offers with a suggestive look in his eyes. “What do you say?”

Instantly, my heart sinks. He was doing so well. I almost felt guilty for assuming he would use that clichè narrative on me, turns out it was only a matter of time.

“That won’t be necessary.” I resist the urge to throw up and attempt to close the door. “Have a nice day, Gary?—”

“Wait!”

I stop, leaving a faint crack in the doorway as I’m compelled to hear what exactly it is he has left to say.

“At least tell me your name.” The question is genuine as his eyes fill with interest. “Please. Just your name, that’s all I ask.”

I toy with the thought, turning it over in my mind before subconsciously the answer to his question escapes my lips.

“Chelsie,” I say before closing the door firmly shut. “My name is Chelsie Windsor.”