Broken Hero

Lucy’s cheeks flush a wonderful bright pink. “It was pretty great.”

“Pretty great?”

She laughs, and the sound eases the last of my tension. “Amazing. Magical. Perfect. What more adjectives do you want?”

“All of them.”

Her hand tightens around mine. “I’ve missed you this week.”

And I’d missed seeing her around. She’s looking at me in anticipation, and I know I need to be brave, tell her what I want.

“I haven’t done this whole dating thing for a long time. But I want to spend more time with you, and I want to do it right.”

Lucy’s smile is sweet, tentative and hopeful, all in one. My heartbeat speeds up in response, fueled by nerves and anticipation of my own. “I’d like that,” she says.

I lift our intertwined hands and press a kiss to the back of hers. “We can be whatever we want to be, Luce,” I say. “It’s up to us.”

I dust my hands off my apron and grab another cellophane bag. I could do this in my sleep by now. Five chocolate chip cookies stacked, a ribbon tied around, a sticker with the By the Rhode logo and boom-another bag finished and ready to sell.

There’s something meditative with the bakery, something I didn’t know I’d missed. The familiar steps to a recipe, the thoughtful process behind each cake, loaf of bread, or cookie. The love that my aunt and uncle pour into their work each and every day. They might not be changing the world, but they’re very inspiring, nonetheless.

Phil gives Claire a kiss on the cheek and gives me a cheery wave. “I’m heading out. See you later, Luce! Take care of the place!”

“I always do!” I smile and wave him off as he gets in his little van, loaded with bread.

My aunt smiles as she continues with her baking. She’s making carrot cake today and the spicy scent is thick in the air. “Every morning, he says the same thing.”

“Well, I might have forgotten, you know. You can never be too careful.”

She shakes her head, but her smile is soft. It’s been amazing to see them like this again now that I’m an adult myself. To see the joy they bring to one another. It’s a love I can’t wait to experience myself-to grow old together with someone and support one another throw thick and thin.

She looks up at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You look great, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.””Much better than when you first arrived.” A hand dusted with flour settles on my cheek, and warm eyes meet mine. “The ranch has done you good.”

“So has the bakery.”

“Yes, well, a few early mornings and the smell of yeast will do that to you. Pass me the salt?”Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

She’s right. When I looked in the mirror that morning, I saw someone I had missed for weeks, with rosy cheeks and happy eyes. It’s a joy to have the old me back. And while her comment wasn’t meant that way… the ranch has done me good.

I can’t help but grin as I package the rest of the cookies. Phil’s round of deliveries includes a stop at Morris Ranch, delivering bread and loaves. I’d slipped a little something into the delivery-a small bag of heart-shaped sugar cookies, tied off with a bow.

It had been an impulse. When I came down to the bakery in the early morning, the familiar crates labeled Morris were stacked in the corner, and I couldn’t resist. I slipped a five-dollar bill into the cash register when my aunt wasn’t looking, to make sure I paid for them.

All the usual morning customers swing by. Mrs. Masters stops by for her banana bread and comments that my hair looks nice today. By that, I figure she means it looks tidy. No strands loose-I’d piled it perfectly atop my head. I’d seen her looking at my messy buns more than once with disapproval.

Oh well. You can’t please them all.

Doubt sets in halfway through the morning rush. What if someone else found the heart cookies? I’m sure Oliver doesn’t unpack his own deliveries. I give myself five minutes to fret before I shake my head at my own silliness. I won’t give in to doubt or fear. He had said it himself-we can be anything we want. No pressure, no constraints.

I’m stacking the shelves behind the counter with fresh loaves when the bell by the door jingles again.

“Hi there. What can I help you with?”

A familiar man strolls forward, a dark cap in hand. “Sure can, miss. My name is Gavin Whittaker.”

It rings a bell. “I think we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed, although it was brief.” His smile is all sweetness, but there’s something off with his eyes. “And you’re Lucy Rhodes herself.”

I smile, a bit awkwardly. “Have you heard the new-girl-in-town talk, too?”

“A bit. Though you’ve made your own mark, too. I’ve seen your flyers.”

“You have?” It’s been weeks since I took those down.

He rests his elbows on the counter. “You work up at the Morris Ranch?”

“I do, yes. Oliver and Sarah have installed a spa and I give treatments there.”

“Do you only accept fancy out-of-town guests, or are locals welcome too?”

“The spa is open for all. You can book through reception.”

He picks up one of the small bags of cookies from the display basket and flips it over with a rough hand. “I might have to do that, then. It’s been a while since I’ve last had a massage.”

“The treatment list is online. Feel free to have a look at the different options.”

Gavin looks up at me, his gaze sly. “I’m sure it would be possible to sort out a more… individual kind of treatment. You know, to treat any special needs.”

Well, he certainly proved my intuition correct. Slimeball.

“The treatment list is online,” I repeat and pluck the bag of cookies from his hand. “There are no extras. Will you be buying that?”

His smile is there and gone in an instant, amused, dismayed, challenged. His features settle into a neutral mask as he fishes out a twenty-dollar bill. “Yes. Keep the change.”

“Oh, but-”

He’s already grabbed the cookies and heads to the door. “Consider it an advance,” he winks. “See you around, Lucy.”

The door shuts behind him and I let out a shaky breath.

It is not the first time I’ve been propositioned like that, by men who misunderstand or mistake what I do for… for something else, but it’s by far the most unsettling. Claremont is small, and it’s welcoming, but it can also be narrow-minded. I turn the volume on the radio up and try to lose myself to the upbeat pop tune. I know my worth. My friends and family know my worth. What other people think is their own concern.

As my mother often said-you can’t control what they think, but you can control whether you let it affect you or not. His opinion only defines me if I let it, and I won’t. Nothing can ruin how I feel now, how Claremont has made me feel. Jerks like him will always circle around this business like vultures.

But I won’t let them affect me anymore.