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He rolled down the window. “Yes?”
She clenched her fists. She had to be polite, even if she didn’t mean it. “It’s going to get cold, and you won’t know if my alarms go off until it’s too late. Would you like to come upstairs or at least inside?”
His scowl deepened. “I’m fine. I’m not sleeping, and if I was, this seat is more comfortable than a Striker.”
She had no idea what a Striker was, but it didn’t matter. “That might be, but you don’t have people sharing your watch. And you have jobs to do tomorrow, right?”
He grimaced. “It won’t be the first time I’ve worked without sleep.”
“But if you slipped because you’re tired and injured yourself, I’d feel terrible.” Which was true, even if she hadn’t asked for his help. “If you’re insisting on guarding my business, which for the record, I don’t think is necessary and I didn’t ask, you can at least stay warm and comfortable, and maybe get some sleep.” She clenched her fists and gritted the words out. “Please?”
He glared, then nodded. “Step back.” She did, and he opened the door. From the back seat, he pulled a large dark green bag, closed the doors and locked his truck with a beep. A big, black holster secured an equally big, black pistol to his muscular thigh. “Lead the way.”
Grimacing once her back was turned, Deb opened the door, letting him in. She locked it behind him and entered her alarm code. The tiny landing at the bottom of her apartment stairs was much too crowded with Michael’s wide shoulders. No matter how she tried to squeeze closer to the keypad, her backside brushed against him. The alarm system flashed and beeped—she’d entered the wrong code. Carefully pushing each button, she entered the right number and jumped when it flashed “Alarm On.” She sucked in her gut, and turned to face him, regretting it instantly.
Michael glowered down at her. “Can I open the door to the bakery now?”
“No, I have to unlock it.” Deb winced at the anticipated awkwardness and shuffled to her left. He slid to the right, trying to keep his giant bag from knocking her over.
Despite their care, every inch of her brushed against him, trying to send shivers down her spine. But she was in control and she wouldn’t let his body affect her. She opened the inner door to the bakery, her tension fading with the comforting scent of flour, sugar, butter and vanilla. Skittering away, she waited until Michael stepped inside, then closed and locked the door. She swallowed, wishing for a glass of water. “Do you want to stay down here, or upstairs?” She didn’t want him in her apartment, not one little bit.
“I wouldn’t be effective up there.” He turned a full circle, then glared down at her again. “Can I get the alarm codes and a set of keys in case I need to go outside?” He walked toward the dining area, pulling cooling racks out of their neat rows, making her move around them. After she grabbed one and stopped him from blocking her, he growled. “I’m trying to create obstacles for anyone coming in the back.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, tell me where you’re headed, and I’ll get in front of you.”
He snorted, stepped back, and bowed, sweeping an arm out to the side. “Yes, milady.”
It was her turn to glare. “Look, I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want you here. But I’m not going to leave you outside either, so can the sarcasm.” She marched in front of him, stopping at her decorating table, which stood at the end of the divider between the sales area and the bakery. Customers liked watching her decorate; sales had increased when she moved her table to that location. Plus, it was right under an air conditioning vent, so it was a double win.
Michael stopped right behind her, blocking her between his body and the table. She stepped to the side and turned.
He surveyed the space and turned back to her. “I’ll stay here, between the two areas, where I can hear and see everything. Give me keys and codes, and you can go.”
“Oh, thanks for dismissing me from my own business.” Deb marched to her safe, opened it and pulled an extra set of keys, throwing them at him and glaring harder when he caught them easily. “I’ll send the codes to you on a text. I hope your phone is properly secured. I’ll be back here at four.” She walked away, wanting to get back upstairs.
“Four in the morning? That’s when your day starts?” His voice sounded incredulous.
Like so many, he probably thought baking was easy, but she worked really hard for her success. “Yes.” She spoke over her shoulder, not wanting to spend even one more second with him.
“Right. See you then.”
She marched to the stairway, not looking back, and after locking and alarming every door, she retreated to her apartment, trying to calm her nerves. Men came in, took command, never listened, and blamed the female when things went wrong, no matter how many times they were warned. She paced the small floor space between the kitchenette and island and texted him the alarm codes. At least he was down there, not up here making everything worse. He’d undoubtedly make fun of her décor and lack of space, and complain about her lack of a television.
Her rugs would be softer than the sealed concrete floor of her shop. But no, he didn’t belong in her sanctuary.
Deb untied her robe, draped it over the footboard of her bed, turned off the lights and climbed into bed. No matter how angry Michael made her, she still had to work very early tomorrow morning, and if she didn’t want to waste hundreds of dollars in ingredients, she had to sleep.
After a restless night of tossing and turning, and wondering far too much about Michael, Deb rose. She dabbed on extra concealer; dark circles stood out against her pale skin, and that didn’t match her bright and bubbly image. Happiness sold more cupcakes.
Precisely at four, she turned the alarm off and unlocked the deadbolt on the shop’s back door. Her morning employees had keys to the doorknob, but they wouldn’t show up for another hour. Inside, she put on her apron and slid her cell phone in the pocket, checking for all her other necessary items. She pulled the rack of already decorated cupcakes, cookies, and other breakfast items from the big walk-in cooler, and rolled it to the front, pushing the Michael-created obstacle course of cooling racks aside.
Standing next to her decorating table, Michael stuffed a dull green sleeping bag into a smaller bag. A thin, red mattress with more holes than cushion was on the floor next to his feet, a bright green pillow on top of it. Maybe she’d worried for nothing. Erin had said something about Ryan taking his backpacking gear with him last week, because plain cots weren’t very comfortable for a full week of hard work. But that mattress looked too thin for concrete, though.
Well, no matter how lousy her night had been, she could be polite. “Good morning.” She rolled the rack past him, flipped the coffee maker on, and loaded trays into the bakery case. “Help yourself to anything in the back, and coffee will be ready shortly.”
“Thanks, but I’m going home to get a little more sleep, and I can’t eat this sugary stuff anyway.” He rolled and stuffed the rest of his things into his duffle bag, then walked away without another word.
Deb finished loading her trays, careful not to slam them into the case. The last thing she needed was broken glass. She placed bread into baskets, letting the loaves fall with a little more force than necessary. How dare he dismiss her products as “sugary stuff” when she had so much more. She made a great selection of gluten free products and low sugar products, too. The guy was determined to be nasty; at this point, mustering gratitude was far beyond her capabilities.
