Baking Me Crazy Read online

  Joss gave me a curious look when I held out my hand. Even that, the question in her eyes, had my heart doing a skip-stutter.

  "Levi Buchanan," I said. "It's nice to meet you, Joss."

  Then, then she gave me a real smile—white teeth, pink lips, tiny dimple on the right side—and I never, ever got my heart back.

  Chapter 1

  Jocelyn

  “Arm porn" was a trendy term I wouldn't mind getting rid of. It'd gotten a little out of hand if you asked me. Don't get me wrong, I could, objectively at least, understand why you'd turn your head at a completely impossible angle to catch a glimpse of a nice bicep, the kind that looked like someone shoved a softball under a guy's skin.

  It was the double standard that irritated the shit out of me. Probably no woman in Green Valley has stronger arms than I did. Without breaking a sweat, I could probably crack a walnut with my forearms.

  It was the happy by-product of:

  1- Being confined to a wheelchair for the past seven years, thereby relying on my arms to power all my forward motion.

  2- Discovering that baking was the second greatest love of my life after my dog, Nero.

  Trust me, kneading bread was a better workout than just about anything.

  But no one was waxing poetic about the rippling muscles in my forearms.

  "Careful, the steam coming out of your ears might mess up your hair," my best friend, Levi, said from behind my chair.

  He sounded bored, which didn't surprise me. He'd heard this rant a time or seven.

  Immediately, my right hand came up to double-check that every blond curl was in the same place that it was when I left my house.

  Whew. Not a corkscrew springing out anywhere. Very I'm ready to bake bread and muffins and cupcakes and cakes and all the delicious things. Or at least, that was how it felt when I studied my own reflection just before Levi picked me up.

  "You see the issue, though, right? I've seen women practically wreck their cars when you roll up your sleeves."

  Levi laughed easily. He did everything easily, the asshole. His hand landed on my shoulder in a condescending pat that had me rolling my eyes. "Of course, I see the issue, my little feminist warrior princess."

  As he spoke, I aimed my wheelchair slightly to the right when a guy walking his dog refused to concede any space. He also refused to make eye contact.

  I called those people The Blinders. For the most part, people's reactions to someone in a wheelchair—especially a young someone with incredibly sexy arms—fell into two main camps.

  The Blinders and The Pitiers.

  The Blinders pretended they couldn't see me, which I often attributed to the fact I made them uncomfortable. They could walk around just fine. Staring at a young woman stuck in a metal chair might force them to come to grips with their own mortality, their health … the things most people take for granted on a daily basis.

  The man walking his dog might have looked at me if I was pre-TM Jocelyn. The fourteen-year-old me who could run like a freaking gazelle, who hopped, skipped, and jumped without a second thought until the day I couldn't anymore. Maybe he would've seen me and wondered why my hair looked like I stuck my finger in a light socket. But maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he had blinders on for everyone around him. One of those people who did his thing, stayed in his lane, and didn't care how his presence affected those sharing space with him.

  But it was just as likely that the blinders were because I was in a chair. If I'd been at my full standing height (somewhere around five feet ten), he might have shifted to give me more room with a polite smile on his face. I would've smiled back because if I was at my full standing height, it meant I could stand, and I probably would've taken that for granted too.

  "Dick," Levi muttered, jogging forward so he could walk next to my chair instead of behind it.

  "It's fine."

  "It's not fine. He saw you. He could've moved his fat ass over six inches."

  Because I couldn't reach his shoulders, given that his full standing height was around six feet one, I patted his leg condescendingly. "Aww, my little advocate warrior princess."

  Levi sighed heavily because it was also not the first time, or seventh time, he'd been called that by me. He hated The Blinders. For me, it was a toss-up which was worse, depending on the day.

  The Pitiers got this look in their eye that I roughly equated to, "Oh, you poor thing." They saw me in the chair and instantly made a lot of sweeping generalizations about what life must be like for me. When I took the time to think about what they saw when they looked at me, I imagined they saw a barren wasteland of not being able to have sex (false, not that anyone other than my vibrator knew that), never being able to have kids (also false, my doctor assured me), and always needing to ask for help to reach the top shelves at the grocery store (true, unfortunately).

  Sometimes, The Pitiers spoke to me like I couldn't understand them. Like the chair somehow reflected a cognitive impairment as well. Only occasionally would I mess with them.

  I never claimed to be a saint. Losing the function of your legs did not automatically make you a virtuous person. In fact, I'd met some real assholes who spent their lives on two wheels. Personally, I found myself somewhere in the middle. I just ... liked to keep some of my cynicism tightly wrapped unless I really trusted you.

  Poor Levi.

  He got the brunt of my opinions.

  My mom probably would've listened if I unloaded them on her, but that never ended well.

  "Who's training you?" Levi asked as we passed the entrance of the lodge. I could see the striped awning of Donner Bakery across the parking lot. Afternoon guests sat at the wrought-iron tables and chairs in front of the building, drinking sweet tea and eating whatever confections had been whipped up that day.

  "I think it's Jennifer Winston, but I don't know for sure," I told him. My hands gripped the metal ring mounted just outside my wheels as I pushed down harder than necessary. He cut me a sideways look when I sped up, which I ignored because if he asked me if I was nervous, I'd ram his shins.

  Hopefully, they had some cream puffs left over because ever since Levi brought me the last lemon lavender cream puff, I'd been trying desperately to recreate it at home to no avail.

  "Jennifer Donner Winston," he corrected. “Can’t forget that middle name. It’s important around here.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Hey, it's a woman's right to have as many names as she wants."

  "I know, I know." I knew what her name was; Levi just liked to rub it in my face that I was, as he called it, Green Valley Lite. I knew people. Sort of. But even after five years of living here, I didn't know everyone by name. I didn't know their family trees or who lost their dog last week or who got pulled over after a jam session or whose daddy was in the Iron Wraiths.

  "And the kitchen is fully accessible?" he asked.

  "She told me it was. That’s why I’m working at this location and not the one downtown."

  He scoffed. "And what does she know about accessible kitchens?"

  "Oh, probably nothing," I drawled.

  "Right?" Levi shook his head. "Because unless those openings have at least thirty-six inches of clearance, she's gonna have issues."

  Now it was my turn to cut him a look. "You gonna bring your ruler in?"

  "Maybe." He patted the front of his jeans and gave me an unapologetic grin. His stupid dimples popped on either side of his perpetually smiling mouth.

  Really, we were a ridiculous pair.

  Made all the more apparent when a tall, skinny brunette with a giant rack almost tripped over her espadrilles at the sight of a smiling Levi. He nodded at her, and she blushed prettily.

  "Oh, for the love of," I mumbled, pushing harder again just so I didn't have to watch. If he wanted to sleep with half the population of Tennessee, I didn't care, but that didn't mean I wanted to witness it either.

  Witnessing it was my own fault, honestly. It would've been easy enough to turn down his offer to acc
ompany me, but since he'd finished his master's, he got bored too frequently between job searches, and I couldn't stand the thought of him moping around his apartment.

  Now I wish I'd made his ass stay home.

  I could be wheeling around naked, and I wouldn't get the same number of looks from the opposite sex as Levi did just by breathing.

  "Wait up." He laughed.

  I stopped the chair and pivoted the wheels in his direction. His hands braced on the armrests when I folded my hands in my lap. Levi narrowed his eyes as he peered down at me. With the sun facing him, they didn't look the normal greenish hazel. They were like amber, bright and streaked with yellow. It was fitting for him. The sun always seemed to shine bright on Levi Buchanan.

  So annoying.

  Good thing I loved him so damn much. Not like love love. Brotherly love. Annoying, want to punch him in the balls from time to time, I never worry about wearing a bra around him, makeup is wasted in his presence, I don't care that I've bawled my eyes out watching Old Yeller, or that I got rip-roaring drunk on the fourth anniversary of getting sick, then puked all over his bathroom in front of him kind of love.

  "Jealous, Abernathy?"

  I'm telling you I could not have stopped the eye roll if there had been a gun to my head. "Yes. Terribly." I tried to pull my chair back, but his grip tightened. "Buchanan, if you make me late for my first shift, I'll never forgive you."

  "Relax. You still have ten minutes." There was something in those sun-changed amber eyes that made me twitchy. He was about to ask me something I didn't want to be asked. "Why are you taking this job again? Didn't Sylvia say her friend would be back in like four months?"

  "My classes are done for the summer, and as much as I adore you," I said, reaching up to pat his face harder than necessary, "I can't just hang out in your man cave every day. I'll go insane."

  How could I explain to him that the more free time I found myself with, the more I searched for something to do. I didn't do boredom well.

  Hence, the reason I started baking in the first place.

  When all you did was sit (because no matter how many exercises you did or sports you participated in, you're still sitting), all you could do was sit and it got really freaking old after a while. I loved working out, something Levi and I had in common, and I was starting with a new physical therapist to continue working on my leg strength so I could have intermittent use of a walker or arm braces. Intermittent being the key word.

  I'd still always spend most of my time with my ass firmly planted in the chair.

  Sitting around, no pun intended, made me want to gouge my eyes out.

  I barely tolerated watching TV, and only the occasional movie held my interest. Audiobooks were about the only reading I could handle.

  Even now, sitting still while he searched my face for an answer made my fingers tangle together, just to give them something to do.

  "I need more in my life than what I have," was all I was willing to concede at the moment. "Plus, I make a kick-ass cheesecake. I might as well make some extra cash doing it."

  His soon-to-be sister-in-law was the one who told me about the opening at Donner Bakery. A friend of hers was taking an extended maternity leave, and they needed an extra set of hands.

  That was something I could provide. Yes, I came with a set of wheels too, but that hadn't been an issue in my interview. Once the manager tasted my strawberry lemonade cupcake, the job was mine.

  His grin was slow, but I could tell he believed me. After five years, we could read each other pretty damn well. Occasionally, it was annoying, but it was also one of the constants in my life that I genuinely didn't think I could live without.

  "Fair enough." Levi released my chair, and I spun to face the bakery. His hands landed on my shoulders and squeezed before he released me. "Go get 'em."

  I took a deep breath.

  "And be friendly, Sonic. It won't kill ya," he added.

  My hands lifted and dropped in an exasperated heap. "Now why the hell did you have to say that? I'm friendly."

  His eyebrow raised slowly.

  "I'm sort of friendly," I muttered. Then I pointed an accusatory finger at him. "This is why I prefer to bring Nero with me instead of you. People love dogs, and they're less likely to notice when I don't smile at them."

  His chin tilted skyward as he burst out laughing. "That dog looks like he'd rip your face off on a good day. You take him places so people won't talk to you."

  At that, I grinned a little. My four-year-old Doberman did look like he would rip someone's face off, which was why Levi told me I had to complete one full shift without him waiting for me outside the bakery.

  "Sonic," he said quietly.

  "I hate that nickname."

  "No, you don't. There's nothing more appropriate for you than a prickly little hedgehog who wheels around like a bat out of hell."

  Pointedly, I glanced at my watch.

  "You're not going to be late." Levi shoved at my shoulder. "Smile at them. Ask questions. Don't assume the worst, okay?"

  My tummy knotted up. His smile was softer, more understanding.

  My best friend didn't have to ask me why I was so nervous. This was the thing I hated most in the world. Maybe not as much as like terrorism or global warming or patriarchal infrastructures that inherently protected sexual predators, but I hated it a lot.

  It was why I was Green Valley Lite

  Why I completed high school online and slid right onto college in the same way. Because of moments like this right here.

  The moment when I went from Jocelyn Abernathy, the new employee showing up for her first shift, to Jocelyn Abernathy, the girl in the wheelchair. I just had to hope that whoever was waiting for me inside Donner Bakery wasn't one of The Blinders or The Pitiers. Hopefully, they'd be like Levi. Be one of those people who met me and simply saw me.

  Those were The Unicorns.

  Chapter 2

  Jocelyn

  Once I cleared the door, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It was the kind of warm and sweet and comforting smell that demanded you stop, close your eyes, and let it fill your lungs. It was cinnamon bread and banana cake, Jennifer's specialty. But it was also coffee and cupcakes and warm bread and sugary confections that made my fingers curl up with excitement to get started.

  A few customers looked at me from where they sat at circular tables. Their facial expressions didn't even register, which said something about how nervous I was. I moved forward, glancing behind the large glass case next to the register for any sign of Jennifer's brown hair.

  A short brunette crouched behind the register, pulling a lemon-blueberry cake from the bottom row of the massive glass case with her tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration. Her cheeks were covered with freckles, and her eyes were huge in her face as she set the cake down inside a bright pink box without incident. Just as I reached the counter, I heard her let out a huge breath.

  When she saw me, her face split into a massive, white-toothed, cheek-lifting smile.

  "You must be Jocelyn! Oh, I'm just tickled to meet you."

  There was actual giggling as she hustled around the counter toward me. Oh sweet merciful Lord, if she tried to hug me, this whole part-time job thing might not be worth it.

  Thankfully, she stuck her hand out, and pumped mine with almost violent intensity.

  "Jennifer said you'd be in at two, so I've just been counting down the minutes until you got here."

  My mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. "Am … am I late?"

  Her eyebrows, thick and dark over her equally dark eyes, bent down in a confused V. "Course not, I'm just so excited. You're the first person I've been able to train. We're going to be friends, Jocelyn. I can already tell."

  Internally, I whimpered. Then I heard Levi's voice in my head. Smile. Ask questions. Don't make assumptions.

  "What's your name? I didn't catch it."

  Her hands clapped to either side of her round cheeks, rosy pink from the warmt
h in the bakery. "Heavens, I'm a mess, aren't I? I'm Joy."

  "Joy," I said, the smile coming naturally in light of her comically appropriate moniker. "Nice to meet you."

  That made her blush happily, turning her cheeks an even deeper shade of rose. "Let me grab someone for the register, and I'll show you the kitchen. We need to grab some more large boxes and the cinnamon roll cupcakes. We're almost out." She started back behind the counter, then stopped so fast I almost rammed into her. When she turned, she said, "Now, don't worry about your being in that wheelchair. We're all real accepting here. No one will bother you about it, and Jennifer told us we're not to make a fuss over you because you're perfectly capable of handling things on your own."

  Her voice was so sincere, her eyes wide and serious, that I wanted to grab her hand and tell her to chill the hell out.

  "I won't worry, Joy. But thank you for saying so anyway." I cleared my throat when she didn't start walking again. "They assured me the kitchen is fully accessible, so I should be just fine."

  Joy nodded so vigorously, a chunk of hair slipped out of her ponytail. "Oh, it is, I promise. Her husband, Cletus, I'm sure you know Cletus Winston? Of course you do." I shook my head, but she just kept on talking like I did. "He tore the whole thing apart and redid it a few years back when Jennifer needed to be in a wheelchair for a while. He knew she'd hate to be out of work." She sighed, a look so dreamy covering her face that I wanted to snap my fingers in front of her just to keep this show moving. "Isn't that so romantic? He just … fixed all of it for her. Because he knows baking makes her happy."

  I chose my words carefully. "She sounds like a very lucky woman."

  More nodding. More hair spilled around her face. "She is. You'll probably meet her later. She said she'd try to stop in to meet you."

  "Great." I pointed behind the counter. "Should we?"