Sawyer grinned. “Excellent news. Oh, and Kai?”
“Yeah?”
“Remind me to hit you for making Flick cry.”
Kai sighed. Nobody, in his book, was allowed to hurt Flick, and that included him. “Fair enough.” He disconnected, took his coffee from Mark, and walked towards the door. “Carry on without me, Mark. I’m heading home.”
Tally had left a voice message on her phone, Pippa had called her at the crack of dawn, Moses had dropped the bomb two seconds after he’d stepped into the bakery, and Sawyer had sent her an email. Plus, someone tagged her on Facebook and it was being discussed on Mercy Online.
She got it. Kai was back. Sowhat?
Flick slammed her fist into her bread dough on the table in front of her, imagining it was Kai’s face. What did he think he was doing, sauntering back into town after two weeks? Did he really think he could just stroll back in and pretend nothing had happened?
Nothinghadhappened, she told herself. They’d slept together, and it ended. It wasn’t his fault that she’d fallen in love with him. She scowled at the dough. Well, he could take a little of the blame. He was a bit too sexy, a little too smart, and a lot messed up.
Did she really want to help him carry that cargo ship of baggage that accompanied him everywhere he went? No, she did not! A man like that was delightful to play with but he was a stubborn, screwed-up wreck, and really, she was better off without him.
Flick tipped her head up and looked at the ceiling. No, she wasn’t. She was miserable without him. She missed him and longed for him and dreamed about him and...God, enough! Seriously, she wasn’t an Austen heroine whose world had come to a grinding halt because the hero didn’t return her affections.
What she and Kai had had was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and he couldn’t be blamed for not wanting what she did.
Stupid, asshole man.
But, God, how was she supposed to live and work in the same town, seeing him occasionally, watching him interact with her friends, drinking at the Fox, running her favorite trail? How would she cope with watching him flirt with other women, hearing that he’d hooked up with them? And why was he home anyway? He’d only visited Mercy a handful of times over the past few years, so why was he back so soon? That wasn’t, in any shape or form, fair. He kept coming back when it was better for everyone—okay, for her—for him to stay away.
“You’ve overworked that dough,” Moses said from across the table, his brown eyes glinting. “You’re going to have to bin it.”
Flick looked down at the mess on the table in front of her and cursed under her breath. What a waste! Now the Jerkface was affecting her bottom line. She should send him a bill, for the wasted dough and for the amount of time she spent thinking about him when she should be working.
Flick scooped up the dough, walked over to the trash, and dropped it inside, placing her hands on her hips. This was utterly ridiculous. She had to get a grip and stop this nonsense.
Enough now.
The door from the bakery banged open and she turned to see her brother—why was he up and around at eight-thirty? Since he closed the bar in the wee hours of the morning, he rarely woke before ten unless there was an emergency.
“Is Dad okay?” she demanded, suddenly scared.
“He’s fine.”
Flick let out a long breath. “So what’s the bad news?”
Jack frowned. “What bad news?”
Flick felt like she was about to burst out of her skin, she was that irritated. “If you don’t have news then why are you here?”
“I came to tell you that Kai—”
Flick felt a hot, intense wave of anger engulf her and instead of pushing it away she embraced it and sank into it. Oh, this anger felt so much better than tears. "I don’t fucking care!” Flick shouted.
Jack just smiled. “But—”
She was done, she was over this. Over being talked about, gossiped about, feeling like her love life was a slide for the residents of Mercy to dissect under their collective microscope. She’d had more than enough.
Flick stomped over to a knife block and yanked out a thin, wicked-looking boning knife, and gripped it in a tight fist. “I’m done.”
“Where the hell are you going with that knife?” Jack demanded. “Stop waving it around, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m a chef, idiot! I know more about knives than you do, so unless you want to get hurt, get the hell out of my way.” Sure, she was being dramatic but if her customers wanted drama, they were going to get it. She’d give them something to talk about in their old age....