AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’d nearly paid with his life, and he’d gotten away with nothing more than a handful of ugly scars and progressive hearing loss—and both of those were nothing more than proof he had survived.
He’d taken his trauma, his increasing deafness, the rift with his parents, and his fear of ever being touched again, and he threw them all into something new. Weeks after he was released from the hospital, he set foot on the community college campus with a bag on his shoulders and a firm set to his jaw, determined to find something that made him feel like he could breathe again. Something that had no connection to his former life. Something that could redefine the man he’d become, shaped by the events of his past, controlled by himself and himself alone.
He started with culinary classes on a whim, but after fucking up his seventeenth poached egg, he was ready to put his spatula through the wall and never look at a boiling pot of water ever again in his life. He didn’t even fight it when the teacher, eyes full of pity, laid a hand next to his on his prep table and said just loud enough for him to hear, “I don’t think this is for you.”
And it wasn’t.
He finished the culinary class scraping by with a C, and while he knew he should throw in the towel and never look at the inside of a kitchen again except to open and microwave ramen, he decided to go forward. He was anything but a quitter, now more than ever with a fire in his belly to prove to himself that he was capable of being something else. And even if he failed spectacularly, he found triumph in how hard he was trying.
The next class, it turned out, was baking.
He walked through the classroom doors with a cheap cake decorating kit from Michael’s, and somehow, his life was transformed. He wasn’t terrible at decoration, and he could pick up the technical side of creating a frosting swirl. He had a knack for flavor combinations, and he managed gluten-free bakes that didn’t taste like they’d come right from the floor of a sawmill.
Suddenly, the world started making sense again.
He could stand in the kitchen and bake, create new flavors, and lose himself to the rhythm of whipping ingredients to make something beautiful, and he wouldn’t need to think. He wouldn’t have to feel the echoes of his mother’s disapproval for his entire existence, he wouldn’t have to feel the crushing weight of his PTSD, or feel the tingle in the scars Scott left behind.
He was just Wilder—quiet and reserved and a little scared. Unloved and starved for touch, but he wanted it that way.
It was years later, with thousands of miles between him and the people who had hurt him, and he was more himself than he had ever been in his life. Enclosed in the walls of a former kosher bakery, he put his mark on the people in the city—and they made him feel like he belonged there. They gave him space, and peace, and sanctuary where no one ever had before.
As Wilder eased the dropper to the side of his bowl, the light above the swinging door flashed. It could only mean one thing, since Whipped was two hours from opening and Dmitri was an hour from his shift. He didn’t bother moving, because only one other person had keys to the front door, and a minute later, Jayden Bruster swaggered in with a grin on his face.
“Guess what I heard.”
With his hearing aids off, Wilder couldn’t make out most of what he’d said, but he had long-since learned to read those words on Jayden’s lips.
Wilder sighed and reached to his ear to turn them on, then he pressed both hands to the wooden baking table. “Who’d you catch on a date this time?”
“No, I didn’t catch someone. I have news,” Jayden said. He grabbed a stool and set it down next to Wilder, reaching a finger for the frosting before Wilder caught him by the wrist and gave him a flat look. Jayden scowled, but wrenched his arm away and shrugged. “Are you going to guess what it is?”
Reaching for a spoon, Wilder scooped up some of the frosting on the side of the bowl, dipping his own finger before passing it over. It smelled right, but he wasn’t sure yet. “Is there any chance in hell I’m going to guess right?”
“Probably not.” Jayden shrugged, then shoved the whole spoon into his mouth before his eyes went wide. “What is this?”
“It’s going to be banana cream pie,” Wilder told him. He tasted the frosting. Not quite there, but almost. Too little flavor was still fixable, and he had a pot ready to start his custard filling. ‘Tell me,’ he signed as he reached for the dropper again, then hip-checked Jayden out of his way. Three drops were enough, and he turned the mixer back on, which forced Jayden to lift his hands, the spoon hanging from his lips.
‘Adriano’s brother is in town.’
Wilder had met Adriano three times over the last two years he’d been in Savannah—the first time was the day Wilder signed the lease for the bakery, and the next two had been over holidays when Noah had returned to spend time with his brother. He liked having Adriano there—it filled in some of the emptiness he felt leaving his small Deaf community behind, but he didn’t regret his choice to settle in Savannah.
He also didn’t know Adriano well, so the idea that his brother was around didn’t mean much.
‘And?’
Jayden rolled his eyes. ‘A hot porn star’s brother comes into town? That doesn’t interest you?’
Wilder turned the mixer off and grabbed another spoon to test it. Close enough, he decided, for an experimental bake. “Did he say why he’d be here?”
Jayden shook his head. “Knox and I ran into Nellie yesterday. The guy rented out the entire fucking top floor of Augustin House.”
Wilder knew about the old Victorian house that had been transformed into apartments upstairs, with small shops and a salon below. Jayden had lived there for a while before he moved in with Oscar, and Wilder liked the place, but it had always been a little too posh for him.
He’d grown up simple—easy. They farmed their own vegetables, and chickens laid their eggs. He’d never been impressed by the idea of wealth.
Whipped did well, but he wasn’t swimming in cash. He made enough to exist happily—to not worry where the money for his bills was coming from. He didn’t have to check his bank account when he shopped or when he filled his car with gas, and that was plenty. His biggest splurge was the fancy hearing aids that were four grand a piece—the kind with Bluetooth so he could listen to his classical music on electric guitar, and he could filter out screaming babies—and Jayden, when he wanted to spend the afternoon complaining.
But he wasn’t rich. He didn’t want to be rich. And Adriano’s wealthy brother held no real appeal for him.
