Bliss (18 page)

The tourists skedaddled the moment the way was clear, muttering about wild, depraved beasts and vowing to go in search of more civilized shopping. The
placita
's front gate clanged pointedly behind them. Aruni and her class gave the dog wranglers deep bows from prayer position, while Mr. Yazzie clapped politely.

“Which one's yours, lass?” Malcolm asked as he reached Sera's front porch, hefting both pup and prop.

“Um, neither, really,” she said with a blush. “But I'll take that one from you,” she said, nodding for the toy.

Malcolm's mustachios twitched. Sera couldn't tell whether it was irritation or amusement. “Guess that makes the pooch yer property, Asher my boy,” he said, passing the panting pup to the taller man.

Asher accepted the runt, crossing quickly to deposit him in the doghouse with Sascha and the others. Sera saw Lupe peeking out from one of the shop's windows, her pouty lips pursed as she caught sight of Serafina. Sera saluted the saleswoman, struggling to keep the snark out of the gesture.
Bet Asher never kissed
you
during a magical evening of dancing under the Fiesta lights,
she thought smugly. But then again, maybe he had. Sera had no way of knowing what sort of romantic escapades her landlord got up to on his own time. He might mumble cryptic hints about his lack of recent action, but how could she tell if he was being honest? Blake Austin had once had her convinced of his fidelity, after all. She wasn't exactly the world's best judge of character when it came to men.

Sera's smile faded, and she forced herself to focus on her new pie maven/construction foreman.

“Thanks for coming, Mr. McLeod,” she said, reaching to shake his hand.

Malcolm didn't take it. Instead, he brushed right past her, entering Bliss without a backward glance. “So this is the space, is it?” he asked.

She followed him inside, tossing the toy back in the box with its brethren and wiping her slobbery hand on her jeans. She slanted Asher a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at Malcolm's rudeness. His reply was a rueful shrug as he entered after them. Malcolm was stomping about, his wavy white hair trailing down the back of his weather-beaten coveralls, portly belly proceeding him. He knocked on the mahogany counter, wiggled the recessed shelving, and banged on the whitewashed adobe walls, muttering to himself. After a minute, he gathered himself and leapt into the air, coming down hard with both feet on the scuffed pine floorboards.

Sera gaped. He looked like one of the Mario brothers trying to smash a Yoshi. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

“What's it
look
like I'm doing? I'm checking the floors for soundness. If I'm to be taking this shop from dump to dream, I'll need to know what we can count on, and what'll need replacing.”

“Well,
count
on is fine.
Pounce
on is something else,” Sera replied. She stuck one hand on her hip and gave Malcolm her best
you're not bossing
me
around
glare.

“Who's the expert here, girlie? Me or ye?”

“Did you just call me
‘girlie'
?” Sera hissed.

Asher stepped between them. “Play nice, Malc,” he warned. “Remember what I told you.”

Sera reminded herself of the vow she'd made to herself not to let the pie maker get under her skin. “What exactly did you tell him, Asher?” she asked.

Malcolm's face reddened even more, but Asher's eyes were innocent. “I told him you were a nice lady who knew what she was doing and that he was a… how do you call it? A dipshit, and one who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Ah.” Sera felt herself grow warm. “And when did you tell him this?”

“We had a quick chat over the weekend,” Asher said, waving as if to say it was nothing.

Sera wondered if anything else had come up during their “chat,” such as that stunning—and stunningly awkward—kiss she and Ash had shared. She decided she didn't want to know. “Right,” she said briskly, hopping up to sit on her counter and give herself some height and distance from the men. “So, guys, I asked you here to talk logistics and make sure what we're planning is kosher with everybody. Can we get down to business, Mr. McLeod, or do you have any other obnoxious remarks you'd like to offer that'll make me reconsider my decision to hire you?”

Malcolm scowled, crossing his arms combatively but keeping a lid on his comments. “Let's talk turkey, lass. I've got a rented lorry full o' fixtures and it's costing me a bloody fortune by the day. I'm no more eager to pussyfoot about than ye are.”

“Okay then. Let me show you what I had in mind.”

And Sera outlined what she wanted done. She'd drawn up diagrams as best she could, showing where she envisioned her ovens and storage areas, where the prep counters should be, and how she planned to partition off the working areas from the serving and dining spaces. Both men listened intently, Asher taking a backseat while Malcolm put in far more than his two cents.

“I want a wall here,” Sera said, gesturing demonstratively. “It should separate the prep area from the front. And I want a giant window in it, with one-way glass so we can see what's going on up front and still maintain a bit of privacy while we work. I want to be able to keep an eye on my customers and counter help, without them having their eyes on me.”

Malcolm chewed on his yellowish mustache and made a
“hmphing”
noise. He eyeballed the space. Took out an electronic tape measure from one of his overall pockets. Strode over to one side of the store and aimed the device's laser sight across to the other. Made a note on one of his crinkly order pads. “With the light streaming in, it won't be completely one-way,” he warned. “At least in the afternoon, that glass'll let folks see in somewhat.”

“That's okay,” Sera decided. “It'll give people a taste of what we're up to back there without letting them gawk
too
much. And the mornings are when we really want to focus on working undisturbed. Afternoons, we'll probably be up front half the time anyhow, or just frosting cakes and such in the back.”

“Or cleaning,” Malcolm muttered. “Feckin' dishes never do themselves, do they?”

“I plan to hire help for that,” she assured him. “And a barista for the coffee bar, who can help out at the register. But my aunt Pauline will be the main counter person.”

Malcolm's face reddened again.

“You mean to have some doddering old tart bumbling about while we're working the breakfast rush? Are ye daft?”

Sera drew herself up, taking a deep breath to remind herself—
again
—of her vow not to let Malcolm infuriate her.

“There's a lot you need to know about my aunt Pauline, Mr. McLeod. So listen up.” Sera stared him down until she was sure he was paying attention, obscurely comforted to catch Asher's smile out of the corner of her eye. “Pauline Wilde is an extraordinary woman, capable of just about anything. She's no more in her dotage than you are, and twice as energetic, if that gut of yours is anything to go by. Not to mention, she's light-years more charming. And yeah, maybe just a little bit of a tart.” Sera let a grin peek through her stern demeanor for just a second. “Anyhow, my hiring her isn't a matter for debate—though my hiring
you
is. Got it?”

Malcolm looked as if he might roll up his mustachios and storm out, but Asher slapped him on the back and gave his shoulder a companionable shake. “You'll love Miss Pauline, Malcolm,” he assured the stubby Scotsman. “She's one of a kind, just like you. The two of you will get along beautifully.”

Sera privately doubted that. “Back to the plans,” she said. “Now, Asher, you're okay with us installing the ovens and sinks and refrigeration units along this wall, is that right?”

Asher nodded. “I can show Malcolm the electrical grid and get him the specs he'll need to learn the wiring before he goes knocking holes in the walls.”

“Great,” said Sera. “I'll also want a second bathroom installed and the one that's there now renovated to accommodate greater traffic.”

“What about back there?” Malcolm asked, pointing toward the bead-shrouded back room. “Why not just put the loos in the rear?”

“Unfortunately, that area is sacrosanct.” Sera put on her no-negotiating face to cover the mischief that wanted to shine through. “Why don't you go have a look at what's back there,” she invited, waving Malcolm toward the beaded curtain.

Malcolm went, muttering about women and their cryptic ways.

He returned with a pinched look on his face.

“I dinna want tae know,” he said tightly, his brogue thickening to porridge-like consistency. His red-apple cheeks were fairly glowing. “I kenned ye were a strange bird the minute ye darkened m' doorstep, lass. But if yer money's green and yer cookin's half as good as ye boast, ye could stable a barn full o' leather-clad llamas back there and ol' McLeod wouldn't blink. Just
dinna,
for the love o' heaven, be asking me to bake ye any o' them…
ahem…
anatomically shaped desserts. We clear?”

“We are clear, Mr. McLeod,” Sera assured him. “Crystal clear.”

After that, the plans went smoothly. Less than a half hour later, they were rolling up their drawings and Sera had sealed up Big Mama for the trip to her temporary storage at Pauline's. She felt fairly confident she'd gotten her ideas across to the irascible Scot, and Asher appeared on board. Her heart lifted and a thrill of excitement raised goose bumps on her skin.
It's really starting to happen,
she thought. Her heart did a happy dance.

“So what's next?” she asked, stuffing her notes back in the messenger bag that served as her purse.

“What's next is
ye
make yourself
scarce,
” Malcolm said, already turning back to his graph paper and pencil stub, measuring tape in one hand.

“Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me. Get out. Come back in six weeks, and I'll have something to show ye.” He scratched his thick mane of hair with the blunt end of the pencil stub. “More'n like, I'll have finished the whole works by then. But don't ye be bothering me before then.”

Sera stiffened. “You want me to leave.”

“Ye slow, lass? Be
gone.
Vamoose. Take a hike. Literally. Yer surrounded by mountains and trails here, so why don't ye get lost along some of them, and find yer way back here 'round the first week of November, like. I won't have ye hovering over me like a hen with only one egg the whole time I'm working in here. I don't work well around persnickety women.”

Persnickety?
Sera thought.
Is he kidding with that shit?
“And I should—what, just leave the store to your tender mercies during that time?”

“Something like that, aye.” Seeing her ire, Malcolm sighed. “Look, lass. Ye just got to our fair city a wee bit ago. Ye probably haven't had much time to sniff around; get to know what she's all about. But ye need to understand this place to become a part of it. Ye need to feel it in yer bones and yer heart. Ye can't do that while yer breathing plaster dust and getting in my way.”

“Wow, that was… unexpectedly poetic, McLeod,” Sera said with a grudging grin. “But I'm guessing you're a lot more concerned about me being underfoot than fearful for my spiritual welfare.”

“Believe as ye will,” Malcolm grumbled. “Just don't be blundering about whilst I'm working.”

“And you?” Sera asked, looking over at her landlord. He stood slightly to the side, with his arms crossed over his chest, making his knit shirt pull indecently across his corded arms and pecs. “What do you think about all this?”

“I think Malcolm has a point, actually,” Asher said mildly. “This may be your best chance to acquaint yourself with your new home before you become too busy to take advantage of its offerings. Besides, there's little you can do to help with the renovations, Bliss—unless you're adept with power tools or drywall?”

Sera had to admit she wasn't.

“Then I suggest you go explore our fair city. I'll happily keep an eye on our contractor friend, since I'm just next door. And of course, I'm sure you'll be stopping in frequently to check on Malcolm's progress. Malcolm, surely you have no objection to that?”

“I suppose not,” he grumbled. “So long as the lass ain't planning on telling me how to install my own ovens.”

Sera stopped to consider. She'd pictured herself wading knee-deep in the renovations, maybe wielding a hammer or painting walls—at the very least, supervising the contractor and his assistants daily. But she had to admit, she'd probably be more in the way than helpful, considering her utter incompetence with power tools. Maybe her pie Nazi did have a point. Maybe she
could
afford to take a small step back here, just for a little while. Once the bakery opened, Sera would be on her feet night and day, baking and serving from 4 a.m. 'til 4 p.m., then handling shop business until she collapsed. She was more than willing to put in the hours to make her dream come true. But Malcolm was right. She knew less than nothing about drywall, nail guns, and electrical engineering. If she hovered over the construction like a hen with just one chick, she'd only get in the way. For sure, she didn't intend to traipse off on a Caribbean cruise for the next month and a half while her half-crazed contractor bashed down walls willy-nilly, but he was right—better take advantage of this last hurrah to see some sights and get to know her new home.

“You'll really help me keep this wild man on a short leash?” she asked Asher.

“I will—if you'll promise to take his advice and go explore Santa Fe while you have the chance.” He drifted closer, until Sera could smell a hint of that special Asher scent—clean cotton, hot metal, and man, man, man. “Perhaps you'll let me show you some of my favorite spots,” he offered. “It would be my pleasure, Bliss.”