Hungry For Her: A Small Town Mafia Holiday Romance Page 2

  “Big ole nope from me.”

  “Well, you’re weird.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. You need anything? I’m going to start some of the prep work for tomorrow.”

  “I’d take a whiskey on the rocks if you’re asking.”

  I roll my eyes. “Grams.”

  “What?”

  “You’re recovering from major surgery and chemotherapy, that’s what. No booze. Dr. Ellis was pretty clear on that.”

  “Well, if I can’t have some whiskey, Sophie, who knows what I’ll do? I may have to resort to…” she grins at me slyly. “To drugs or something!”

  “Har har har,” I shake my head and smile. Grams cracks up. “You’re hilarious, you know that?”

  “I do, actually. Thanks.” She grins at me. “I’m fine, hon. But thanks.” She smiles warmly.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she sighs through the smile. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” I lean down and give her a long hug. “You’re good?”

  “I’ve got weed and Netflix on an iPhone. I’m peachy, hon.”

  I giggle. “Sounds good. Holler if I can get you anything?”

  “How about a hot young thing with a big dick?”

  “Grams!!”

  She howls with laughter while I blush furiously.

  “Just riling you up, honey. But I would take the teeniest sliver of that pumpkin pie.”

  I frown and winkle my nose. “Actually, no pumpkin pie.”

  “Aww dang, really? Did you go to that new shop downtown? It’s got a funny name I think.”

  “Magpies,” I say quickly.

  Grams rolls her eyes. “What a shitty name for a bakery.”

  I chuckle. “You think so? I think it’s clever.”

  “Yeah, no, I get it. Magpie. Like pie. It’s clever but stupid. Who wants to buy baked goodies from a bird shop?”

  I laugh. “Well, I thought it was cute.”

  “I heard the guy who owns it is a real dick.”

  I blush. “I thought he was nice.”

  “Not nice enough to make enough pumpkin pies,” Grams huffs. She takes a pull from her joint and breathes out slowly.

  “Oh, no, he doesn’t sell them at all.”

  She frowns. “What? He’s a pie shop that doesn’t sell the pumpkin goddamn pies on Thanksgiving?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Well, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  I giggle and lean down to kiss her head. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Have fun with Netflix.”

  “Did you get a different kind of pie then?”

  I frown. Shit. No, I didn’t. Apparently, I was so turned around by the gorgeous, huge baker that I didn’t get a single thing. Pumpkin or otherwise.

  “Crap, no.” I suck on my teeth. “You know what? I’ll go back out and grab something.”

  My heart beats a little faster. Heat blooms in my core. I know I’m being silly. I feel like a teenager with a crush. And yet, I can’t stop.

  “Oh, no! No, Sophie, just forget it. We’ll dig out some ice cream from the freezer for tomorrow.”

  I roll my eyes. “Grams, it’s Thanksgiving. We’re not eating freezer burned chunky monkey.”

  “Well, alright, if you insist.” she sighs. “I’ll drive.” I stare at her as she slowly exhales smoke. She grins and starts to snort with laugher. “Sophie, I’m joking, hon. I’m high as shit. I’m not even leaving this chair for the next three hours.”

  I laugh and lean down. I kiss her head again and smile. “I’ll be back. Any requests?”

  “Yeah, tell him to make a goddamn pumpkin pie,” she mutters. “Besides that, maybe something with apples?”

  “You got it. Love you, have fun.”

  I turn to leave, but she stops me. “Sophie.”

  “Yeah?”

  Grams peers up at me through the haze of smoke. Her brow furrows. “I think you’ve got flour in your hair?”

  3

  Caulter

  “How’s the shop?”

  I lean against the prep table covered with flour and baking powder. I shrug. “Good,” I grunt.

  I’m on the phone with Marshall, my witness protection liaison with the FBI. He’s a good guy, and we connect pretty good. He’s still the FBI, though. I don’t lose a single wink of sleep about what I did. Turning on Donny Pompei and becoming an informant was the only humane thing to do after I learned about what he was doing.

  But I come from Southside. A snitch is still a snitch. I know what I did was right. I know that in my heart. But it does clash with everything I learned and was told growing up.

  “Just good?” Marshall’s calling in for our monthly check in. He likes to make sure I’m keeping my nose clean and keeping a low profile. Well, as low a profile as I can being the tallest, biggest motherfucker in town. The biggest motherfucker in town who also makes cupcakes and savory tarts for a living, no less.

  “Just good. I think the name is throwing people off.”

  Marshall chuckles. “Hey, what’s wrong with the name?”

  “It came from you,” I grunt. “Magpies?”

  “Magpies! Like pie!”

  “Yeah, no, I get it,” I growl. “But it’s still stupid.”

  “Upon this rock, I shall build my church.”

  I roll my eyes. “Been saving that one?”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Marshall chuckles again. “Things are okay though?”

  I frown. “They’d be more okay if your side hadn’t dropped the fucking ball,” I hiss. I’m always a little bit of a grump. But this week I’m a lot of a grump. I’m downright pissed, actually. A week ago, the FBI somehow bungled their entire case against Donny Pompei. Someone didn’t cross the right T’s or dot the right I’s. So the case got dropped, and that asshole is back on the streets.

  I didn’t have much of a life back in Chicago. But I threw it all away to make sure he rotted in jail the rest of his life. Now, he’s a free man. And I’m stuck here as Edward Greer.

  “I’m just as pissed as you are, man,” Marshall growls. “Trust me. We’re looking into it here. Some heads are going to roll for this.”

  “But not Donny’s.”

  “No,” he grunts. “I wish, but no. Not this time anyways. We’ll get him for something else though, you can count on it.”

  “Yeah? I wonder who the next dumbass who you con into witness protection all for nothing will be?”

  Marshall is silent. He takes a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Caulter. I really am. Look, it’s not forever. Give it some time, and we can figure out a way to change things up for you.”

  “My old life?”

  “Do you even want that life?”

  No. But it’s the principle of it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well that I can promise you won’t ever happen. But we can look at shuffling you somewhere else. Just give it some time.”

  “How much time,” I grunt.

  “Five, six years. Tops.”

  I groan. I close my eyes and lean back against the table.

  “I’m sorry, Cautler.”

  “Me too.”

  He clears his throat. “You making any friends?”

  “Lots. Tons.”

  He chuckles quietly. “Any women?”

  “Fending them off with a stick, Marshall.”

  Marshall sighs. “Could be the sparkling personality of yours that’s keeping you alone, Caulter.”

  I frown. “I thought I was supposed to keep a low goddamn profile.”

  “You are. You are. But some human contact might do you good.”

  I just grunt.

  “Come on, man. Big guy with a mug like yours? You’re really not seeing anyone?”

  I hesitate. I can see someone, alright. I can see her clear as day in my mind. So clear she might as well be standing in front of me. I grin, thinking of Sophie. That long chestnut hair, those bright blue eyes. The whole package, really.

  But t
hat’s not real. She’s just another would-be customer I managed to push away.

  “I’m hearing a whole lot of hesitation, Caulter,” Marshall chuckles.

  “There’s no one,” I growl.

  “Alright, alright. You know the drill, right?”

  “Keep a low profile, stay out of trouble. I got it,” I mutter.

  “Talk to you in a month, pal. And hey, Caulter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving. Oh, and I figured you’d definitely be the best guy to ask. Know any good pumpkin pie recipes?”

  I hang up. Fucking Thanksgiving, man. I turn back to the croissant dough I’m trying to get right. Slowly, my mood mellows. My anger subsides. This is why I love doing this. I know, a dude baking. There’s a stigma there.

  I caught shit for it when I was younger, when my grandmother was teaching me to make lattice crusts and how to temper ganache. Then I got older, and got a lot fucking bigger. People didn’t tease me about it. But they definitely gave me shit for it when I wasn’t around. Honestly, I couldn’t give less of a shit.

  Baking soothes me. It makes me think of my grandma, too. She was the one goodness I ever knew in life. So when I bake, or when I’m mixing up some dough? It’s a good headspace for me.

  The door to the shop dings. Goddamnit.

  “Fucking customers,” I mutter under my breath. They can all go to hell. Well, all of them except Sophie. I grin to myself. Hell, I can still feel her hand in mine. I can still feel the goodness radiating off of her like heat. She’s barely been out of my shop an hour, and she’s all I can think about.

  The shop. Right. I have a customer out there. I’m tempted to just yell that we’re closed. Or for them to just fuck off. But I remember Marshall’s plead for me to keep my head down. Five or six years. I could be here for another five or six damn years as Edward fucking Greer.

  On the upside, Sophie Caradine lives here.

  I turn and step through the swinging kitchen door to the shop. “What can I—”

  I blink. It’s like magic; like I’ve conjured her just by thinking of her. It’s Sophie standing there in the shop. Sunlight glows in her hair. Her eyes twinkle, and her lips glisten as she smiles at me.

  “Do for you,” I finish. I stare at her dumbly. I’m not one for lines. I’m not a smooth talker. But hell, I don’t need to say anything when it comes to her. All I need—all I want—is to just stare at her. I just want to drink in her goodness.

  I growl to myself. There’s a beast inside every man. I learned that through my days fighting in the underground rings. And the beast in me wants to do more than look at Sophie. A lot more than that. Just looking at her, I can feel my arousal swelling. My hunger burns hot.

  “Hi again,” she grins. She’s blushing. Or maybe it’s just the cold from outside. I’ve been way too long without a woman. Years. I’m imagining things with her. I’m getting tangled up in her and seeing things that aren’t there.

  “Hi again.” I want to punch myself in the dick. Smooth. Very smooth. Just parrot what she says right back to her, moron, I think to myself.

  “So, apparently people really like pumpkin pie.”

  I frown. “People are disgusting savages.”

  She giggles, and I grin. “Seriously! It’s just smooshed vegetables with some sugar, people. Go have a baked potato!”

  I chuckle. I step closer to her. I almost expect her to move back. But she doesn’t. She just smiles up at me.

  “My grams reminded me that I managed to walk out of here without anything for tomorrow.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Not sure how I managed to do that. Pro-level Thanksgiving planner, right here.”

  I shrug. “Pro-level bakery owner for letting you walk out of here without anything.”

  The thought makes me growl to myself. The idea of not letting her leave—of keeping her here for myself, has me groaning.

  “So what would you recommend? My grams was thinking about something with apple maybe?”

  I frown. “I’d say apple. But I actually really am sold out of those. I was going to bake some up tonight though. If you wanted to come back in the morning.”

  Or stay through the whole night, I want to growl. In my damn bed.

  “Oh, yeah…” she frowns. “I could do that I guess.”

  “You want something now.”

  She blushes. “Kind of. My grams has a hankering. And when she gets a hankering…”

  I chuckle. “I get that, trust me. My grandmother was the same way. Hers was anything chocolate on chocolate.”

  “So, a queen, you mean,” Sophie grins.

  I chuckle. “Exactly.” I turn and nod at the display cases. “I’ve got some apple turnovers with caramel drizzle. Think your grams would take that instead of a pumpkin abomination?”

  She grins. “Definitely. I’ll take two of those.”

  “You got it.” I head behind the counter. I grab two of the turnovers and start boxing them up for her.

  “So, are you from Cold River Falls originally?”

  I shrug while I tie off the box. “Nope.”

  “Me neither. I grew up outside Chicago.” My ears perk. I glance up.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, lived there for a while. Then I came back here to take care of my grams for a little while.”

  I nod. Most of the time, I’m fine being a silent type. But this is not one of those times.

  “So if you’re not from here, what bring you to Cold River Falls?”

  “I used to come out this way to hunt as a kid.” Yeah, that’s bullshit. It’s a line Marshall made me memorize. And I instantly hate lying to her. “Actually, that’s not true,” I grunt.

  She laughs. “Very mysterious.”

  I smile and look up. I hand her the box of turnovers.

  “How much?”

  “This one’s on me.”

  She frowns. “Oh, no, I can’t do that.”

  “You can. Take ‘em, please. My way of apologizing to your grams about not having pumpkin.”

  “As if anyone should ever apologize for that.” She grins. I grin back at her. Goddamn, I want her. I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to taste those lips. Then I want to taste every single other inch of her skin.

  I step even closer to her. She takes the box. I don’t let go, and she doesn’t pull it. We’re barely a foot apart. Her finger brushes mine when she takes the box. I groan. My thickness swells, as does my desire for her.

  Sophie stares right back at me. She bites her lip softly. Christ, it’s almost my undoing. It almost makes me throw the box away, pull her against me, and kiss her until she’s mine.

  “Thanks for these,” she says quietly. I just nod. I let go of the box. What am I thinking? That I could have something with her? I can’t have anything, with anyone. Not as Edward. Not as the old me, either. Because the old me is gone. The new me has to keep a low profile.

  I want to kiss this woman more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life. I want to pull her into my arms and devour her. I want to take her right here on the goddamn counter. But I can’t. I can’t go there, even in my head.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Edward.”

  I nod. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sophie.”

  She smiles, takes the box, and turns. I watch her slip back out the door. I curse under my breath when she’s gone. Goddamnit. I watch her through the window. She’s headed back down Main Street towards a beat up old pickup truck. The sun glows in her hair.

  But suddenly, a black, tricked-out BMW squeals to a stop next to her. I frown instantly. The car is way out of place in a town like Cold River Falls. When Sophie startles and backs away from it, I know my sixth sense is right. Something isn’t right here.

  A slick looking motherfucker jumps out. He starts yelling and pointing a finger at Sophie. My eyes narrow. He moves towards her. My jaw clenches.

  Don’t get involved, I hiss to myself. So there’s a guy. Of course, there is. A girl like that? I wouldn’t have expected an assho
le like this guy. But it means this fantasy can stop here. She’s taken. She’s someone else. I fucking hate how that feels and how it sounds in my own head. But reality is seldom comforting.

  I start to turn away. Best to leave this. Best to try and shove her out of my head. But just then, the asshole shoves her. I bristle, and I snarl. He shoves her again, and I’m moving towards the door. When he winds back and hits her, I’m at a dead run down the street.

  Vapor billows from my nostrils. My snarl catches on my lips. The need to protect what’s mine is overwhelming. Because she is. Sophie’s mine. And whoever is touching and hurting what’s mine is about to get torn limb from limb.

  4

  Sophie

  What am I doing? It’s the second time I’ve asked myself this question. It’s no coincidence either that it coincides with the second time I’m leaving Edward’s shop today.

  I grin to myself. I’m buzzing. I’m literally, actually buzzing and tingling all over. The way he loomed over me in that shop has my heart racing. It’s like he could have just picked me up, kissed me, and done whatever he wanted with me. He literally could have, too. And I’d have welcomed it.

  I don’t know what it is. but there’s something about him that just tugs at me. It’s like he pulls at a thread on me and keeps pulling it. He unravels me. I roll my eyes at myself. Good lord, I met the guy an hour and a half ago. I know nothing about him aside that he bakes stuff. Or that he’s a dick, according to the gossip my grandmas heard.

  But he doesn’t seem like that. He seems quiet; reserved. He does seem a little gruff, too. I wonder how much of this gossip is people’s misinterpretation of him being introverted. I don’t think he’s a dick, he’s just the strong and silent type.

  My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, thinking it’s Grams needing something else from downtown. But when I see the contact number, I pale. I actually stop walking for a second. I feel colder than it is outside.

  The phone keeps ringing, and I swallow. It’s Joey, my ex-boyfriend. Even just getting a call from him makes me feel scared, and sick. I don’t know how we ended up together. Through friends, I guess. It was a mistake from the get-go. At the time, he seemed fancy. He had money, and a slick car. Those aren’t even things that attract me though, so who knows.