Broken Hero

I flip through the small black book next to the register. “And you come to pick them up daily? I thought my uncle delivered?”

Oliver’s jaw tightens. “I’m here to pick them up myself today because of their meeting out of town.”

“Okay. Let me just find the logs. One moment, please.”

My heart rate rises with every passing second as I search for the plastic binder I’ve seen Phil handle a million times before. It’s nowhere to be found. An order this large must be recorded… and it’s done daily? To the Morris Ranch? They didn’t mention before they left.

Oliver is quiet, watching me search through the shelves behind the counter. His coiled impatience is palpable.

“I know the order by heart.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it!” I’m pretty sure I won’t. “Let me just give my uncle a call, and we’ll have this sorted out in no- Hey!”

Oliver opens the counter hatch. “Twenty-eight whole-wheat rolls, thirty white ones. Two trays of cornbread.”

He strides through the back door and into the kitchen, but I’m right behind him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there!”

He keeps on walking.

Up close, it’s striking just how tall he is, and so broad across the shoulders. If he felt too big for the bakery, he’s definitely too big for Phil and Claire’s little kitchen.

“Look, sir, I’m sorry about not being prepared for your order, truly. But I can’t have you in the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t even look at me.

“There are rules about this sort of thing. Health codes, and…and… I’m sure we’re violating a dozen regulations right now.”

“I’m sure.”

“Will you please get out of the kitchen? I’ll make sure you get your order.”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“Lucy.”

“Um, yes?”

“This is what you were looking for.” He hands me a handwritten note. I read it once, twice, trying to make sense of Phil’s scribble as Oliver bends to lift a stack of bread crates. My uncle had very clearly set them aside beside the refrigerators, the note pinned on top.

“Oh.”

Oliver lifts all the crates at once. “They were hidden in the back. Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I’m not ashamed. I would have found your order in due time.”

I see his lips twitch, but he doesn’t respond.

“I can help carry.”

“It’s fine.”

I follow him in silence as he strides out of the kitchen and through the open counter hatch. His arms bulge around the heavy weight he’s carrying, his legs long and strong. There’s so much of him.

I open the front door for him and follow him out onto the sidewalk, because how could I not? The man has a dish named after him. He’s a legend, apparently.

Oliver sets the crates down carefully next to the pickup truck parked outside and opens the passenger seat.

“That’s a lot of bread,” I say.

“Mhm.”

“So, this is for the bed and breakfast you run?”

He starts loading the crates. “Yes.”

“Do you get a lot of guests up there?”

“A fair bit.”

I purse my lips at Mr. Monosyllabic. “Are you always this talkative?”

He doesn’t even look at me. “Are you always this interrogative?”

“Only when customers take it upon themselves to do my job for me.”

Oliver looks at me over his shoulder. His eyes are filled with challenge, and briefly veiled… contempt? Disappointment? I can’t tell what he’s feeling.

“Then don’t give them a reason to,” he says.

The nerve! I watch in silence as he walks around the truck to open the front door.

“The Morris special is terrible,” I blurt.

He stops with a hand on the door. “At Ricky’s?”

“Yes.”For several heartbeats, we just look at each other. I think I’ve managed to surprise him. He’s not looking away, and the weight of his blue gaze is heady.

But then he smirks. It’s a small smile, but it transforms his face and gives life to the otherwise Adonis-like face.

“I know.”

He closes the door behind him and I watch as he drives away, disappearing down Claremont’s Main Street and out of sight.

The famous Lucy Morris, the diamond-in-the-sky Lucy, is a mess. A blabbering, unorganized mess.

I entertain myself the whole drive back to the ranch with thoughts of her. I bet she’ll last a week in Claremont and not a day more.

I had paid very little attention to the Rhodes’ descriptions of her, but whatever I had expected… well, it wasn’t that. Even frazzled and covered with cake mix, she was gorgeous. Blonde hair tied up with a few loose tendrils around her face. Quick eyes and a bee-stung mouth.

If I hadn’t been… who I was now, I know exactly what I would have done. Offered to show her around town and give her a proper Claremont welcome. But I’m not relationship material, and she’s too young and too good for a man like me.