Butcher(2)By: LeAnn Asher
I am on break and I need to go back to my bakery, which is right down the road from Blue’s. Shaylin’s Sweets. How original, right?
ME: What’s his name?
Well, that’s a different name for sure. Looking at my rearview mirror, I notice that he is so close to the back of my car that if I hit my brakes he would slam into me.
It seriously makes me wonder what this man wants. MC men are totally different from your everyday man. These men are a different breed altogether, and I feel like this Butcher is on a whole different level from them.
When I step out of my car in front of the bakery, I see Butcher pulling in. I stand still and watch as he pulls in right beside where I am standing. Butcher turns the bike off and stares at me intensely. He doesn’t say a word, but we begin a staring match. I gulp and open my mouth to say something but close it instantly.
What do I say to this? What do I do? Do I tell him to leave? But I feel like that won’t work. I’ve got to admit that I find him extremely attractive. I have a thing for bad boys, and this man isn’t a boy but something else entirely—which makes it so much better.
So I don’t say anything. I turn around and walk straight through the front door of my bakery. Mary, one of my workers, pops out from the back, takes off her apron, and hangs it on the hook. “I am going to lunch now,” she says without looking at me. Mary is my best friend. We have been friends since I was a baby. Her mom used to watch me when my dad was busy. Usually I was taken to the club with him, and one of the other MC men, who I call my uncles, would watch me.
Mary finally looks up at me and smiles, then her eyes pop open and she drops her purse. I crane my neck around to see what’s the matter.
He is standing behind me, and I can see why she would have a reaction like that. He doesn’t look like a cuddly teddy bear. This man looks like he could kill you with his pinky—hell, if his permanent glare didn’t kill you first.
“You will be okay?” She lowers her voice almost to a whisper. Her eyes go from me to Butcher, who hasn’t moved.
I smile and nod. “Yes, I will be fine. Go on.”
She nods and walks past us, her head down as she passes him. Mary may be my best friend, but she hasn’t been around the MC life like I have. She saw them in passing, but that was really it. She was never someone who wanted to be a part of that life.
I watch as she hurries to her car, and I laugh under my breath. Butcher still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I don’t even think he blinks. I walk into the kitchen to start a birthday cake.
I gather the ingredients and measure everything out before setting it down on the counter. I place all the wet ingredients in the mixer before adding all of the dry.
I feel like I am being watched. I peer over my shoulder, and I jump at the sight of Butcher sitting in a chair next to the entrance to the kitchen. His eyes are still on me and he doesn’t move.
I go back to working on my cake. This man is intense. Very intense. He doesn’t say anything—the only thing he does is stare and stare. I want to say so much and, most of all, I want to ask what the eff he is doing.
I pour the batter into the floured cake pans and slip them into one of my many ovens. I stand back and clap my hands together to rid them of extra flour before heading to the sink to wash up.
I love this place. It’s everything I dreamed of—and I got it. I went to school for years, perfecting my craft. I have been baking and cooking since I was a small kid, I used to stand in a chair so I could reach the counter. I know my concoctions were far from edible back then, but my father and brother never complained. I even took my baked goods to the clubhouse, and all my “uncles” claimed they were the best thing they’d ever tasted. Big softies, every single one of them.
Butcher still hasn’t moved. The bell above the door dings as someone walks inside. I untie the string behind my back and slip my apron over my head before hanging it on the hook on the wall beside the door.
I walk out of the kitchen to the front of the bakery. Henry is standing in front of the counter. Henry is someone I can’t describe. I get major creepy vibes, because he is like a dog panting over me. I feel like he is harmless, but he is annoying nonetheless.
▶ Also By LeAnn Asher
- · Butcher