Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
He nods approvingly. “Good. And Kelly? Are you both still working too hard?”
I smirk. “Always.”
Before he can respond, the phone on the wall behind the counter rings, its sharp jingle breaking the early morning quiet. I wipe my hands on my apron before grabbing the receiver.
“Frosted and Filled, this is Ally. How can I help you?”
A woman’s voice, warm but rushed, filters through the line. “Hi, Ally! It’s Jessica Taylor. I know it’s last-minute, but I was wondering if you could do a birthday cake for my husband’s party this Saturday?”
I grab my order pad and pen, already flipping to the weekend’s schedule. “Let me check,” I say, scanning the orders. It’s a busy week, but I can squeeze in one more. Jessica is always down to the wire with her orders, but she uses me for every holiday, event, special dinner, and sometimes just because she wants something sweet. When she orders late like this, she tips extra. “I can do it. What were you thinking?”
She exhales in relief. “You’re a lifesaver! He’s turning fifty, and he loves your bourbon brown sugar pecan cake. Could you do a two-tier, maybe with a little gold detailing?”
“I can definitely do that,” I assure her, scribbling down the details. “How many servings?”
“About seventy-five.”
“Got it. I’ll have it ready for pickup any time after noon on Saturday.”
She sighs in relief, “Perfect. Thank you so much, Ally!”
“Anytime, Jess,” I say with a smile before hanging up.
I turn back to my grandfather, who’s watching me with a proud glint in his eye. “You work too much,” he says, but there’s no real reprimand in his tone.
I roll my eyes. “You sound like Kelly.”
As if on cue, the kitchen door swings open, and Kelly bustles in, already tying her apron around her waist.
“Morning, boss,” she says, grinning. Her dark curls are piled on top of her head, and her hazel eyes are bright despite the early hour.
“Morning,” I reply, watching as she takes in the scene. “You’re just in time. Dedushka is giving the Medovik his weekly approval.”
“Ah,” she teases, leaning against the counter. “The ultimate test.”
Konstantin chuckles, tapping his fork against the plate. “Perfection, as always.”
“Everyone loves your treats. What happened to the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? What do you think, Stan?” Kelly shoots me a look as I fight back the same laugh every time these two are together. Only she calls him Stan and why she ever started that, I don’t know.”
“I think my dearest Alaina is too precious for any regular man. Although, I will say I’m not getting any younger, a chance to hold a great grand-baby before I join my Sasha again would do an old man’s heart good.
I smile at my grandfather, “some days, any man would do,” I joke with them both.
Kelly laughs, “And yet, you’re still single. And not for a lack of options.”
I groan. “Don’t start.”
My grandfather’s lips twitch, amused but saying nothing. He’s been dropping hints about my love life—or lack thereof—for months now. I can’t blame him. At twenty-five, I should probably be dating, but I’ve been too focused on the bakery, too comfortable in my quiet life here. In high school, my grandmother’s illness was a distraction. I kept my attention on school and her, I didn’t have a sweetheart or boyfriend even.
“Speaking of single,” Kelly continues, “you know the Kings have been stopping by more often, right?”
My brows furrow. “They have?”
“Oh, come on, Ally,” she huffs. “You’re telling me you haven’t noticed the leather-clad giants ordering pastries like it’s a regular coffee shop?”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe they just like my baking.”
Kelly scoffs. “Please. Big bad bikers do not randomly develop a love for lavender shortbread and honey cakes.”
My grandfather listens quietly, his expression unreadable. I know he’s aware of the Kings—everyone in town is. They’re respected, in this untouchable kind of way.
“They keep to themselves,” I say, brushing off Kelly’s insinuation.
“For now,” she singsongs. “It’s okay, you don’t want one, I’ll take him. Ya know take one for the team. Or two or three. I’ve read those reverse harem books. Maybe I can have my own reverse harem of bikers. Is that a thing?”
“One will be enough, young Kelly,” my grandfather tells her with a soft smile.
I shake my head, unwilling to entertain the idea of any Kings of Anarchy member having an interest in me or Kelly for that matter. I like my life the way it is—simple, quiet, and predictable.
But as I turn back to my Medovik cake, smoothing out the last layer of frosting, I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to change.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
CHAPTER 3
DAMIAN
The scent of salt and diesel clings to the air as I step onto the dock, the metallic groan of cranes shifting overhead echoing through the quiet night. The Gulf breeze rolls in, thick and humid, but I barely notice it. My focus is on the shipping container in front of me, freshly offloaded from a Panamanian-flagged cargo ship just hours ago.