I wouldn’t let him help me bake my orders. His beard was a health code violation, and that notion made him grin.
“I’m a health code violation,” he repeated, like his status was something delightfully ironic. I caught on, remembering one of our early conversations about being a discriminate baker and avoiding those with health code violations.
Just past 11:00 PM, as he was helping me put the ingredients away, he jumped out of the back pantry, and snapped his fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
“What?” I was wiping down the counters. The cleaners would be by before 3:00 AM to sterilize the space, but I liked to leave things tidy. My batter was prepped for the next day and all the dough was ready for the early morning crew.
“Jennifer Anne Sylvester,” his tone was exceedingly formal and made me grin, “will you do me the honor of accompanying me to my brother’s wedding?”
“I would be—”
“And thereby withdrawing your promise to the contemptible and itchy Jackson James.”
I pressed my lips together to show my disapproval, bringing my hands to my hips. “You need to re-think what you’re doing to Jackson.”
“I can’t. It’s already been done. And I’m not sorry. He deserves his plagues. I lived with a bully for many years, undoubtedly, Darrell Winston has shaped who I am. I cannot abide people taking advantage of positions of power for their own petty wishes.”
“Do you think Jackson is evil? Irredeemable?”
He didn’t answer right away, instead choosing to scowl at me. So I scowled back.
Finally, he said, “No. But he’s too big for his britches. So I made them itchy.”
“You can’t know what your actions may cause, how they might affect someone. And consider this: what if you talked to Jackson? What if you talked it out and established peace? You’re taking the choice away from him, and not giving him the benefit of the doubt. How about, instead, you try talking to him first? Then, if he refuses to hear you or he acts like a bully, then unleash your plagues. Go ahead. You’ll even have my blessing.”
We traded scowls again, but he blinked first.
“Fine. I will pause the plagues. I will talk to Jackson James. I will give him the chance to choose.”
“Good.” I suppressed my smile of victory, instead giving him a placid head nod.
“You never responded to my original request.”
“Which request?”
“You. Me. Jethro’s wedding. Drinking a little too much. Making sweet love in my room while other people dance the funky chicken outside. That request.”
“Oh, yes. The answer is yes. I called Jackson last Saturday and broke the date.”
His eyebrows jumped, showcasing his surprise. “You did?”
“Of course I did.” I gave him a disbelieving once-over. “I can’t even fathom it. I’m afraid everyone else is tedious in comparison. That’s like offering me frozen chicken nuggets when I could have sausage pie.”
Cletus’s smile claimed his features slowly and his eyes moved over me, warming greatly by degrees until he was beaming. He closed the distance between us and gathered me in his arms. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, like I was something wonderful and amazing.
“I’m madly in love with you, my Jennifer,” he said.
I opened my mouth to tell him that I was in love with him, too. But he stopped me with a slow, cherishing kiss.
A kiss that made my knees weak.
A kiss that made my tummy flip.
A kiss that made my world better and brighter than it had been before.
Cletus Winston is madly in love with me.
***
Cletus walked me to my car and watched me drive away. My lips were still tingling from his excellent kisses. I both loved and hated that every time he kissed me, I couldn’t wait for him to do it again. Just like every time we left each other, I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Despite always wanting more of him, I still floated on a happy cloud and couldn’t stop grinning. I felt so blessed, so lucky. I had to be up in less than three hours, but I didn’t care.
I’d been sleeping for twenty-two years. I felt like, for the first time in my life, I was finally conscious. Life was finally happening. I was making it happen.
I quietly removed my shoes at the front door and tiptoed into the house—much like I’d done the night before—but was surprised to find my father awake in the kitchen. I frowned at him and he frowned at me from his spot at the table.
I glanced around the room, searching for some sign as to why he was awake. My father had to be at work by 6:00 AM and I never saw him up this late.
“I called Momma and left a message earlier,” I explained, feeling the urge to defend myself proactively. Staying late at the bakery was not unusual. As long as I called, I didn’t wake my parents to let them know I was home. “I told her I would be home around midnight.”
He nodded once, two unhappy lines bracketing his mouth. “I know.”
I frowned my confusion. “Is everything okay?”