Deep, Deep Donuts by Megan Wade
Tamara
He’s missed out on meeting me?
A massive smile creeps over my face and the heat in my cheeks feels like I’m about to catch fire. I've never had a man talk to me like that before—I’ve never had a man reach out and touch me like that either. Especially not one I’ve been salivating over from afar.
Is it even possible a man like him could like me? Surely no. He must be playing some kind of game, toying with my emotions to get me back for driving off with him hanging out the back of my truck—not to mention all the times I left and he didn't get himself a donut.
I know, I know. I sound like a total cynic. But if my twenty-five years’ worth of life experience has taught me anything, it's that hot, muscular men don't chase after big, overly curvy girls. It doesn't matter how pretty her face is.
As my emotions wage an internal war, I turn away, putting my focus into the donuts as they flip over the automatic turner and make their way to the drainer, which is a little conveyer belt that takes them to a tray filled with my own special blend on cinnamon sugar.
“That smells wonderful,” Officer Lee says, inhaling as the little motorized arm lifts out of the tray then showers the top half of the donuts with sugar. I love this little machine. It makes baking perfect donuts foolproof.
“I add a touch of vanilla bean to the mix. It’s what gives them that divine smell and makes them taste extra decadent.” I pick up my tongs and a greaseproof bag, dropping two of the donuts inside. “Here you go, officer. Your donuts.”
“Mmm.” He takes the bag from me, his dark brown eyes shining like an excited puppy. It makes me almost chuckle. This big brawny officer is actually quite adorable. And when he reaches in and takes a donut out, lifting it to his mouth and taking a big bite, his resulting moan has all of my insides clenching and my ovaries in particular taking the podium in an effort to convince me that the touch to my chin was no joke. ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you know,’ she whispers, making me feel all warm and hopeful inside.
“Good?”
He swallows as he nods. “Amazing. Everything I was promised and more. Don’t ever stop making these.”
“Yeah? So they have the cop tick of approval?”
He chuckles. “They certainly have this cop’s tick of approval.”
“Well, in that case, I’m glad. Thank you.”
“Thank you. I can die a happy man now,” he says around another mouthful, making me laugh.
“We wouldn't want that,” I say, buying him carefully as I test the flirty waters. “After all, we only just managed to meet, right?”
A slow grin curves his mouth and if I'm not mistaken, his eyes drop a little lower than my eyes. “I would definitely like to see more of you, miss...er?”
“Tamara,” I say quickly. “But you can call me ‘Mara’ that’s what my friends call me, anyway.”
“Mara.” He smiles. “I like it. Suits you.”
“Thanks, officer.”
He laughs. “You’re gonna have to stop calling me that. My name is Wes.”
“Wes Lee?” My brow shoots up as the entirety of his name settles in.
“I know—never trust a man with two first names, right? But I promise you, I was born like that. I can’t change it.”
“Oh no. I wasn’t thinking about it like that. It’s just that my favorite movie, The Princess Bride, has a character called Westly in it. And it made me think of that.”
“Hope he’s the good guy,” Wes says with waggle of his eyebrows.
“He’s kind of all the guys.”
Wes frowns. “OK.” He drags the word out.
“It’s a good thing. He’s my favorite character.”
He thinks for a moment then nods. “As long as he’s not the villain, I’m good. I’ve copped enough flack for my name over the years. But my sister got it worse. Her name is Millie Lee. I’m not sure what my parents were thinking.”
I can’t help but giggle at that. “That is a bit of a mouthful. Your poor sister. Are you two close?”
“Decently. She's an artist living in Whisper Valley. So I don't get to see her a lot. But we see each other as often as we can.”
“That sounds really nice. I always wish I had siblings but there was always just me and my mom.”
“Are you close with your mom?”
“I was close with her. But she passed away when I was in college. Brain aneurysm. It was very quick and a bit of a shock. But I had my friend, Sasha, to help me through it all. So in a way I do have a sister. I just got to choose her instead of being born into the same family.”
West smiles. “A sister from another mister, huh?”
Laughing, I nod. “That's what the kids call it.”
“God, that probably makes me sound so old,” he says, lifting a hand to rub the back of his head. I like the sound of his dark, close-cropped hair scraping against his rough palm.
“Who’d want to sound young? All that angst.” I feign a dramatic shudder. “No, thanks.”
Wes pops the last of his second donut into his mouth, then sucks the excess sugar off his fingers. It’s possible I moan a little and lick my lips while watching, because when I look up to meet his eyes it’s like they’ve somehow darkened with the knowledge of what being this close in a cramped space with him does to me.
“Can I put an order in for tomorrow?” he asks as he balls up the bag and drops it in the trash bin under the counter. I hand him a napkin for his fingers and step back a little, this shift to business talk making me realize I’m being too obvious.
“Ah…sure.” I look around for a pencil, even though there’s no way I’m going to forget this. “What would you like?” I glance up at him eagerly with my pencil poised over a folded paper bag.
“Do you have a favorite creation?”
“Blueberry and cream cheese.” I’m mesmerized by the way he licks his lips at the thought.
“Then two of those. Please.”
“My pleasure,” I whisper, out of breath suddenly. “I’ll have them ready and set aside for you.”
“Maybe I can give you my number so you can text me to tell me where you’re set up?”
“OK.” I move to hand him the paper bag I wrote his order on before snatching it back quickly, realizing I drew love hearts around his name. “What is it?”
As he rattles off his number, his eyes drop to the paper, and I try to angle it so he can’t see. Although, I think he gets a peek since he’s got a dimpled smirk going on. I feel like I'm in junior high again, making doodles with my crush’s name. Thank God I didn't practice writing something stupid like ‘Mrs. Tamara Lee’. That would have been a little hard to explain. He’d probably cart me away for being crazy.
“OK. I’ve got it. I’ll message you tomorrow morning.”
“Great,” he says, moving to the back of the van so he can exit. “Now, I think I’m gonna head home for a shower since I seem to be wearing the remainder of your donut flavors.”
“Oh gosh,” I say, reaching out and brushing some sugar off his polo shirt. “Can I drop you off somewhere? I’m sure you don’t want to walk the streets like that.”
“I’m fine. I could do with a walk after the donuts.” He pats his rock-hard belly, and I wonder what he thinks about my soft and squishy one. I never go for a walk after I eat donuts—maybe that’s where I’m going wrong?
“OK. Till tomorrow then.”
He pushes the rear doors open and hops out into the street. “Don’t forget to get that permit sorted, by the way. I’ve got a friend down at town hall, so I can get a rush on the paperwork for you.”
“For real? That’d be great. Thanks.”
“No problem. See you, sweets.” With a salute and a grin, he turns away, starting to walk back toward Lovers Lake while I close myself inside the van and hug myself happily. He called me ‘sweets’.
