Don’t Go Away Mad by Lacey Black
Chapter Six
Lyndee
Friday night.
Just another day of the week to me.
When I was in school, I wasn’t a partier. I was too focused on getting through school and helping my mom where I could. That often meant working extra shifts as a waitress at a barbecue joint not far from campus. Friday and Saturday nights meant late ones, but for a whole different reason than other college students.
After I graduated, I went home and worked in a bakery. For nine years, I devoted myself to the business. I watched as employees came and went, most using it as a stepping-stone until something bigger and better came along. What could possibly be greater than the scent of baking breads and scrumptious sugar desserts?
Nothing.
I loved my job. The owner, Mrs. Edwards, was a widow who had been so supportive during the loss of my mother. She gave me the time I needed off and allowed me to grieve at my own pace. She stepped into the role my mother had been in my whole life, giving me a shoulder to cry on and accolades when I deserved them. She was even amazing with Dustin, not saying a word when he would come to the bakery and just hang out for hours on end.
Until one day, a year ago, she blindsided me with the news she was selling. Her niece was purchasing the business but didn’t have the same vision Mrs. Edwards had. Within a month, the bakery became a sandwich shop, serving deli fresh meats and cheeses and fresh bread using Mrs. Edwards’ recipes.
I tried to stick it out. I really did, but it just wasn’t in my blood. Sure, I helped baking bread every day, but it wasn’t the same. In fact, I hated it. I wanted to make sweet jams and the creamy frostings. I wanted what was in my heart and soul.
Dustin was the first one to suggest we move. At first, I brushed off his comments, scared to step out of the comfort zone of home. Yet, on a Friday night, one not too dissimilar from this one, he came to me and said he needed a change. He was sad living in the house without Mom. He wanted a fresh start, something we could build on together.
That was when I realized he was right. I wasn’t happy at the sandwich shop and the house just didn’t feel the same. It was empty, and even though we had thousands of memories keeping us comfortable within those walls, it didn’t feel like it was ours anymore.
It took us a week to settle on our new location. Dustin stumbled upon a book about Stewart Grove at the library. This town was built on a feud between two men, both claiming they were the founding settler of the land. Dustin absorbed every word written in that book, often reading sections of it aloud to me at night. I don’t know what it was about it, but I was intrigued and excited to know more. We started looking at rental options on the internet, pleased to find the one we’re in now at a price we could afford.
The day we settled on Stewart Grove is the day Dustin found the building for my bakery. It wasn’t in the plan to start my own business. After searching help wanted ads and not really finding anything in my preferred field, I was preparing to settle for a job at the local furniture store, just to ensure we’d have enough income to pay the bills.
But Dustin wouldn’t hear of it.
He made a presentation. One night after work, I came home to find his laptop open and the listing for the small available storefront building front and center. He had researched leasing and buying options, equipment purchases, insurance rates, and even demographics for the town we were getting ready to move to. Using the money we’d make from selling the house, we had more than enough for the down payment, as well as what we needed for collateral. We also had a little money left in my savings account from Mom’s life insurance, which, coupled with Dustin’s state money for his disability, would be plenty to cover moving and living expenses until we got the bakery operational and profitable.
It wasn’t an easy sell.
No way did I want to risk all of our savings for something that may not be successful. What if it failed to take off? What if there was a reason for no other bakery in Stewart Grove? I’d invest all of our savings, time, and energy for what? To still have to find a job flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant or selling couches and dining room sets at the furniture store?
I was terrified.
But Dustin wouldn’t let me say no. He wouldn’t let me fail, even though the risk was high. He was just as invested in this project as I was, and it wasn’t even his dream. He had my back one hundred percent, just like I have his. He’s my brother. The same blood runs through our veins. He was one of the only living relatives I had, and I’ve never been closer to anyone else. Not even my girlfriends back in high school. They never understood why I’d rather sit at home on a Friday night, watching television with Dustin, than out sitting in the bleachers at a football game. Because ever since Dustin was born and we discovered he had a disability, I felt some sort of responsibility for him. He was my flesh and blood, the one who relied on Mom and me to help take care of him. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I’d rather spend time with him, soaking up his goodness and his generosity, than doing anything else in this world.
“I’m getting hungry,” Dustin announces, putting the last of the clean dishes away on the shelves.
“Me too,” I reply, realizing my stomach has been growling for a while, but my nerves got the best of me today.
We wrapped up training with Daisy, who is eager to start Monday morning when Sugar Rush opens its doors for the first time. We kept our focus on the front end of the business, which, fortunately, she picked up quickly. She’ll be in charge of the cash register and filling orders, with the help of Dustin. Together, they’ll serve coffee, tea, or any of the other bottled drinks we’ll carry. Eventually, I’d love to add more specialty drinks like lattes and espressos, but it’s just not in the budget right now.
Also today, the front door and windows were done, complete with a new Sugar Rush logo front and center. I opted to include our hours on a sign positioned by the front door instead of having them added beneath the logo on the door, mostly because they may change once we get going. It all depends on how busy we are.
Or aren’t.
But I won’t think of that right now. My anxiety is already through the roof, and the last thing I need to focus on is the what-ifs.
The health inspector also made his final inspection, giving us full approval to open our doors. Holding that piece of paper was probably the proudest moment I’ve had since beginning this venture. It means we’ve met all of the criteria for health and safety to serve food to the public. The moment he left, Dustin helped me frame the certificate and position it on one of the shelves near the front door.
Now, as we finish cleaning the kitchen for the night, I’m finally able to let go of the stresses of the day and focus on putting some food in my stomach.
“Can we still order burgers from across the street?” he asks, his face lighting up with excitement.
“Sure,” I mumble, tossing my washcloth in the bin I’ll take home tonight with dirty towels and rags.
At the mention of burgers, my mind instantly goes to Jasper. I haven’t seen him since he stormed out of here Tuesday morning, which suits me just fine. He has this uncanny ability to easily get under my skin, and the last thing I want or need this week is added anxiety. Plus, though I’d never admit to this out loud, I’ve thought of him plenty throughout the last several days and have been struggling to evict him from my daydreams. His handsome face. Those dark, alluring eyes. Big hands that promise amazing skills in the kitchen and dirtier ones in the bedroom.
Seeing him would only make those images worse.
I walk up front, double-check the lock on the front door, and flip out the lights, leaving only one strip on, over the counter. Isaac’s the one who actually suggested it when he stopped by yesterday to see the progress. They’re directly over the cash register, plus shine just a touch in the kitchen. If someone was inside, they would be easy to spot from the road. Makes complete sense, and I’m incredibly grateful for the suggestion.
Before I head back to the kitchen, I can’t help but stop and stare at the name on the window. I can’t believe it’s finally here. All the planning, the tears, the apprehension. The late evenings, early mornings, and sleepless nights. Worrying and wondering if it would ever come together, and now it’s time. In just three short days, the doors will be open, and I’ll be selling my own baked goods to the residents of Stewart Grove.
I catch movement across the street and turn my focus to the couple walking into Burgers and Brew. There’s a group of people standing by the door, clearly waiting on a table. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll eventually have the same kind of success. Customers lining up, waiting for their chance to have a table. Only my customers will be vying for one of my gooey cinnamon rolls or a slice of my famous pecan pie. They’ll be lined up to the door, spilling onto the sidewalk out front.
Hey, a girl can dream, right?
“I check their social media page, and tonight’s hamburger special is called the Panty Melter. It’s loaded with four kinds of cheeses. Can we eat there?” Dustin asks, his brown eyes full of anticipation.
“They look pretty busy, Dust. It may be easier to take it to-go,” I suggest, but the moment I see disappointment in his eyes, I wish I could recant my statement.
“Oh, yeah, you’re probably right. It’s seven on a Friday,” he concedes, turning to grab his coat off the hook by the back door. I can tell by the way he’s walking he overdid it today. Dustin worked hard and only took breaks when I forced him to sit. Now, he’s relying on his walker more and could probably use his wheelchair.
“Well,” I start, glancing across the street through the front window. “We could see how busy they are. If there’s only a short wait, we can stay.”
He offers me a big smile. “Deal.”
“But I think you should take the chair, Dust. You busted ass today.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I can tell he sees merit in my suggestion. “Yeah, all right,” he replies, reaching for his chair and getting himself settled. He wheels himself to the door and waits for me.
I button up my peacoat and wrap a scarf around my neck, grateful for the touch of warmth it provides. After slipping my gloves on my hands, I open the door so Dustin can exit and make sure it’s locked behind me.
We head down the alley to the sidewalk. Fortunately, there’s no snow or slush left, just bitter cold temperatures. There’s little traffic, so we’re able to cut across the street quickly. I pull open the heavy wooden door and am greeted with warmth, laughter, and an amazing aroma.
I step aside, making sure Dustin gets in with his chair. The couple I watched walk in earlier moves a little, allowing my brother to easily maneuver the entry.
“May I help you?” the hostess asks with a friendly smile.
“How long for a table for two?” I ask, glancing around the room.
“Not long at all,” she replies, glancing at her computer screen. “I have a handicap accessible table being cleaned now. Five minutes?” she offers, earning me a nod in reply.
The couple waiting is taken to a booth, leaving just my brother and I at the front. “Only a few minutes,” I tell Dustin, earning me a smile in return.
I take in the ambiance and the fast pace of the restaurant. Dark woodwork, with a combination of booths and tables. There are three or four servers taking care of them, most of which are filled with happy customers. The food, from what I can see from here, looks amazing and smells even better, causing my stomach to growl loudly.
This burger joint is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
“If you’ll follow me,” the hostess suggests, grabbing two menus and making her way down the wide main aisle. She leads us to a small table for two along the wall, one of the chairs already removed. It’s near the wide doorway that leads to the bar, so there’s plenty of room for my brother’s wheelchair at the table, and we don’t have to worry about anyone sitting behind him. “Tonight’s special is the Panty Melter burger, hand pressed and grilled to order, topped with cheddar, Monterey Jack, colby, and smoked Gouda, served with freshly cut steak fries. Your server will be with you shortly.”
The moment she leaves us, I moan in pure pleasure. “That sounds amazing,” I mumble, praying no one else heard my excited little noise.
“That’s what I’m getting,” Dustin informs, but peruses the menu to be sure. After only a few seconds, he busts out laughing. “Lyn, check out the names of the burgers.”
I open my menu and gasp. They’re so…sexy. Strip and Go Naked, Ride A Cowboy, and “Up All Night” are the first three on the list, and I find them fascinating. “Holy shit,” I whisper, scanning the rest of the selections and taking in their ridiculous names.
“Right? What a brilliant marketing plan,” Dustin boasts.
“Thank you.”
Startled, I look up into Jameson’s hard, dark eyes. Though, once I give him a slow smile, he seems to relax those stress lines. There’s something different about this man. You can tell he’s gruffer, and quite possibly had a rougher life than most. He wears his no-bullshit demeaner like a protective shield, one that tells people to stay back and leave him alone, but I don’t think that’s who he really is, what he’s really about. Of course, I have only two small encounters to base my opinion off of, but I really don’t think he’s as bad as he leads people to believe.
“Though, I can’t take credit for the names. It was actually Jasper’s demented mind that came up with them. Numbers was afraid they were too risqué, but turns out, we live in a town with a bunch of dirty bastards,” he adds with a crooked smile.
Dustin and I both chuckle. I also notice the use of the nickname they gave Isaac years ago. Jameson told me about it after they helped us move the furniture at the bakery. Over a chocolate scone, he informed us about Isaac’s passion for numbers, which ultimately led them to giving him the nicknames Numbers or Newton, for Isaac Newton.
“They’re definitely clever and unforgettable,” I agree, closing my menu and setting it aside.
Just then, our server arrives at the table. “Hey, guys. Welcome to Burgers and Brew. Can I get you a drink?” she asks politely, giving Jameson a quick nervous grin.
“I’ll have an ice water, no lemon,” I tell her.
“And for you?” she asks my brother.
“Bud Light, please.” He glances up at me. “You sure you don’t want a drink? One won’t hurt, especially this early.” I know he means well, but his suggestion slices at my heart.
Dustin and I have gone round and round about this in the past. When we go out somewhere, I don’t drink. I refuse to get behind the wheel, even after having just one sip. I won’t risk him or anyone else on the road for a beer or a glass of wine. Not when my whole world was shattered by someone who thought it was okay to drink and drive. That will never be me.
“I’m okay, thank you,” I reply politely, hating the way my heart thunders in my chest.
“Okay, I’ll be back with your drinks,” she states, turning to head away.
“Bring them some of the curds, will ya, Jani?” Jameson suggests to the server.
“I’ll put in the order, Tank.” Then she disappears toward the back of the restaurant.
“Tank?” I ask, a hint of a smile on my lips.
He shakes his head. “Nickname. My last name is Tankersley. Everyone calls me Tank but the guys. Oh, and don’t worry about the curds. Those are my treat.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I argue, but am cut off.
“My treat,” he replies with a little more authority. “They’re my favorite, and I don’t just buy curds for anyone, you know. They’re Wisconsin cheese curds with a zesty ranch dipping sauce. Way better than that wing franchise has,” he states with a grin. “You don’t drink?” he asks casually, leaning against the doorway behind my brother.
“Oh, uh, I do,” I reply softly. “Our mom, she, well, she died four years ago from a drunk driver. I only drink at home.”
He nods in understanding. “I get that and totally respect it. Sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes locked on Dustin’s. Neither of us are big drinkers, but my brother does enjoy a beer every now and again. Since he can’t drive, he has a little more liberty to do so than I do, which suits me just fine.
“Hey, have you met Walker yet?” Jameson asks, standing up straight and turning toward the bar. “Yo, Walk, come here a second.”
I glance around his big frame to see another man get up from a pub table and head our way. He’s tall, dark, and quite handsome, really, but what catches my attention is the woman and small girl still sitting at the table.
“Walk, this is Lyndee and Dustin from the bakery across the street,” Jameson says. “This is Walker Meyer, the fourth owner we told you about. He runs the bar side of the business.”
Walker steps forward and holds out a hand. “You made that basket of goodies? I had to tackle this guy just to get my hands on an éclair,” he says with a laugh.
I shake his big, warm hand and return his chuckle. “Well, thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Definitely. Jameson and Numbers raved about them when they returned. Sorry I couldn’t help that morning. Lizzie had a dentist appointment and was nervous, so I went along,” he says, pointing over his shoulder to the little blonde with curly pigtails. She’s dipping fries in ketchup and offers a wave. “I’ll introduce you to Mal and Lou before they leave. Mal has been dying for you to open since I told her about your bakery.”
Before I can respond, inviting them all over for free pastries whenever they want, as a thank you, another shadow falls on our table. “Hey, I thought that was you two. Welcome to Burgers and Brew,” Isaac says, squeezing my brother on the shoulder.
“Thanks!” Dustin replies eagerly. “We’re excited to be here.”
Our server returns with our drinks, but it’s a tight fit. She has to carefully maneuver her way through the growing crowd around our small table of two. But even though there are people standing around us, it’s not overly crowded. They’re not overshadowing the tables around us, making anyone uncomfortable with their presence. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
“We are,” I state. “I’ll have the Panty Melter.” My cheeks blush under the watchful eyes of the owners.
“Me too,” Dustin adds, handing off our menus.
“I’ll get those right in. And your appetizer will be out any moment.”
We chat for a few minutes, the guys falling into an easy teasing as they tell my brother and me more about opening the business. Jameson even elaborates with greater details about the brewery next door. Their excitement and energy are contagious, and as someone who’s been embarking on the exact same journey, I feel a kinship to these men. They understand.
Just as they start to tell a horribly embarrassing Jasper story from college, a fourth shadow falls over the table. “Well, I should have known I’d find you all standing around, not working.”
My wide eyes fly upward and slam into dark, mesmerizing ones. They’re narrowed into slits and radiating enough annoyance to power a submarine. Yet, when my heartbeat kicks up, it’s in elation, not displeasure. Plus, my breathing does that weird little hitch it only does when he’s near. Everyone around the table says something, but I don’t hear their words. All I can do is focus on the imposing, gorgeous man standing beside me.
Jasper’s here.
