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Keeping Guard

By: sunny55235



I groaned as the sound of my whining alarm clock filled the room, my usual response to the dreaded noise. I didn't have to look at the face to know it was just past four in the morning, a time when only an insane person would choose to leave a nice warm bed. My mental checklist of all the work ahead of me was no help either, but I managed to swing my legs over the side of my bed and drag myself into the bathroom for a hot shower.

My morning routine was quick and easy: get up, make myself look vaguely presentable, and don't fall asleep. After pulling on a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt I left my empty apartment and made my commute to work, not passing another soul on the streets the entire journey. Once I arrived I let myself in the back door, tied an apron around my waist, and surveyed the tasks ahead of me. Step one: donuts.

My little bakery had gotten off to a rocky start, but a steady stream of loyal customers had kept me in business long enough for word to get out. Now I was having no trouble paying the bills, and was even considering hiring some extra help to accommodate the busier days. Not only that, but having someone else in the kitchen would certainly help alleviate the isolation. 

The metal baking trays clanked against the counter, sending an echo around the empty room. I sighed: the loneliness was always the worst in the mornings.

I got everything ready for the day ahead, the process so familiar I barely had to pay attention. Before long the smell of freshly-cooked donuts filled the bakery, and my daily prep work was nearly complete: the coffee was brewing, the donuts and pastries were cooling, and the cookie dough and cake batter were mixed and ready to be baked throughout the day. 

All that remained was to knead the dough for the fresh bread that would be ready for the customers who stopped by for a loaf on their way home from work. I sprinkled the counter with flour, took off my ring and got to work.

I had barely gotten started before a knock at the back door signaled the arrival of another perk of increasing business: the security service that took my deposits to the bank. In the early days I had made the trips myself, constantly looking over my shoulder and expecting to be mugged at any moment for what little earnings I had to deposit. Upon my mother's insistence I looked into a security company, and as soon as I was making enough money to justify their fee I signed up as a customer.

My heart leapt as I looked through the peephole and saw that my favorite guard was on duty that day. The company had sent a variety of guards for my bi-weekly pickups, but only one of them was this cute. For a moment I just stared at him through the lens and took in his features, happy he couldn't see me ogling him through the door.

His honey-colored hair was cropped close, but not as severely as the crew cut of the guard who drove the armored truck waiting behind him. His emerald green eyes shone despite the early hour, and the hint of a smile played across his lips. A small sigh escaped me as I unlocked the door, knowing his visit would be entirely too short.

"Good morning!" I said as brightly as I could manage. Though I got up before the sun every day of the week, it was still several hours before I was fit for human contact.

"Morning," he replied, following me straight to the office. He immediately began typing numbers into his handheld computer, then scanned a barcode taped to my desk as I punched in the combination to open the safe. I pulled out three deposit bags, and he got to work putting their values into his computer. His time in my office was always brief, and I assumed there was only a small window of time before his partner in the truck got antsy.

"Getting ready for a busy day?" He asked without looking up from the screen. It was the same question he asked every time he was there, and I imagined it was the standard quick and polite small talk he used with all his clients.

I replied with my usual ("I sure hope so!") as he held the computer out for me to sign. My hand brushed against his as I took the pen, and I kept my face down to hide the blush that spread across my cheeks. He didn't seem to notice, or was nice enough to keep his expression neutral. He took back the pen and printed out a receipt for my records, the ones I had been promising myself for weeks I would get organized.

The guard put the deposits in his bag and turned to leave, but stopped before he reached the door. "You know," he said, "this is always my favorite stop to make."

"Really?" I asked, grasping at the beginnings of a real conversation with a man I had inappropriate fantasies about on a regular basis. "Why's that?"

He turned, meeting my gaze for what felt like the first time. "It always smells so nice in here." He smiled, causing a dimple to form on his cheek. "My name is John by the way," he said, extending his hand to shake mine.

A broad smile spread across my face. I was always happy to hear people liked my food, and complimenting the smell was just as flattering. I took his warm hand in mine, his rough fingers gripping mine gently. 

He clearly needed to be leaving to get on with his job, but I got the feeling he wanted to stay longer and hoped it was not just for the aromas coming from the kitchen. My mind raced trying to think of ways to talk to him more: offering him a cup of coffee, inviting him back when he finished his shift for a snack, ensuring I would save the last one of whatever he wanted.

Stalling for time in the enclosed office, neither of us heard the crash at the front of the store or the heavy footsteps approaching the office. The door sprang open and I was staring straight down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. 

At first the robber seemed as surprised as I was, and his eyes darted between me and the uniformed guard at my side. He quickly got his bearings and ordered us against the wall, keeping the gun pointed straight at my head. 

I was frozen on the spot, terror spreading to every inch of my body as the gun filled my vision and blocked out everything else in the room. My fear rose as he kept yelling at me to get against the wall, lowering the barrel level with my chest. My heart raced and my breath caught in my throat, making me feel nauseous and dizzy all at once. 

I jumped as I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, but moved without hesitation as John guided me back against the wall to the office. We followed the next order to sit on the floor, and I drew my knees up to my chest as my body began to shake.

Before he could even walk to the open safe, the robber realized how much of a mistake it had been to choose this particular bakery. He had failed to notice the police station directly across the street, a station full of loyal customers who kept a close watch so they could be the first in line the second I opened for business. Though I had not seen the front door smashed open, dozens of on-duty officers had.

"This is the police, we have the building surrounded," came a booming voice over a bullhorn. "Come out with your hands behind your head."

The Worst Criminal in the World went into a panic when he heard the announcement. He began pacing the room, shifting the gun from hand to hand without seeing where it was being aimed. I flinched every time the barrel pointed in my direction, and my body went cold as the tremors grew worse with every passing moment.

"You can end this right now," the officer continued, beginning to sound like he was reading the script from a crime drama. "Just come out slowly and no one will get hurt."

The robber replied with an intelligible scream toward the front of the bakery, waving the gun outside the door while keeping his body inside the office. After a series of announcements about surrender failed to take effect, the police switched tactics. "We just want to talk to you, hear your side of the story. We're going to call so we can do that." In an instant the phone just outside the office began ringing, and I jumped a full foot off the ground at the noise.

The robber deliberated for a moment before deciding to answer the phone, and gave us a hard look. "Don't move a muscle, and you better not try anything funny," he snarled. He disappeared from view around the corner, his harsh voice echoing around the bakery as he talked with the police.

By this point my body was trembling so hard I could barely sit up straight, and I hugged my knees in an effort to keep steady. I put my head down on my arms, hoping to block out as much of the situation as I could. As tears threatened to spill out of my eyes and slide down my cheeks, I felt a warm hand against my frigid fingers.

"Don't worry," John whispered beside me, careful to keep his voice low. "I won't let him hurt you."

I stole a glance into his face, and my fear began to waver. He was sitting just inches from me, but seemed a world away from the terror I was feeling. My fear ebbed, his calm demeanor seeming to spread directly through his hand into mine.

I wondered what kind of training he had for situations like this, and whether his response was by the book. I imagined the first priority was to ensure no one got hurt, but I couldn't help wondering how much of his comforting was training and how much was genuine concern. Whichever it was, I was grateful, and gripped his hand in response. Later I would cringe at how helpless I felt and how much I needed to be protected, but at that moment I took comfort in having someone to look after me. He leaned in closer, gently wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"Hey!" The robber's voice screeched from the doorway, the phone slipping from his hand as he charged into the room. "I said no funny business!" He gripped the shotgun by the barrel and stalked toward us, preparing to add assault and battery to his growing rap sheet. He aimed his attack right at my head, but missed as I was shoved to the side. The blow glanced off the side of John's head, gouging a shallow trench into his temple. As the robber stared in horrified disbelief, the police mobilized into action. 

The next events happened in a blur: the panicked criminal declaring he would shoot his way out, the sound of shattering glass, the gunshots from both sides. Sirens filled the air as the ambulances began arriving, then for a moment everything was eerily silent. The unmistakable sound of a helicopter hovering overhead cut through the quiet, and the scene erupted with noise once again. 

In an instant the room was crowded with police officers, all of whom I recognized as regular customers. They holstered their guns once they saw there were no more criminals to apprehend, and pulled us to our feet to lead us out of the building. 

"It's OK. It's over. You're safe," they assured us, a mantra they repeated as we made our way to the front of the store. The entire ordeal had taken less than twenty minutes, but it felt like a lifetime to me. As we stepped from the bakery a wave of microphones and cameras descended upon us, blocking our path out of the building.

The sea of reporters parted as a fresh pair of arms swept around me. "Darling, I was so worried!" The voice was familiar in my ear, but the concern was something I had never heard before. 

My first thought was how long it had been since my fiancée had held me for more than a quick hug, and how his arms seemed to know exactly where to fit around my body. The recent months of missed dates and general neglect melted away, and the relationship I had been calling into question never felt so right. "The police called me at work, I came right down to make sure I was here when you got out," he continued.

My thoughts were immediately pulled back to reality. Never one to miss an opportunity for some free publicity, Charles was sure to keep his face visible to the cameras as he held me close to him. I could imagine the expression of practiced stoicism that must have been etched on his face, the same look he gave when he talked to voters about issues supposedly close to his heart. 

The situation could not have been more perfect for him: his beloved, caught in a potentially life-or-death situation, during an election year. Not even his cutthroat campaign manager could have orchestrated a better scenario, and I could only imagine the speeches that were being composed at that very moment. Thousands of constituents would see this scene played over and over on the news, and like it or not I had just secured his reelection.

An ambulance pulled up close to us, and Charles made a big show of ushering me through the throng of reporters to the waiting paramedics. 

"No really, I'm fine!" I insisted. "The guy never touched me, I'm just a little shaken up. It's him you should be worried about," I said, searching the crowd for John. My insistence that I was unharmed fell on deaf ears, and my fiancée demanded that I be taken straight to the hospital. I was surprised he didn't demand a helicopter to airlift me there too, but I went along with his demands to get out of the swarm of reporters as soon as possible.

As the paramedics lifted me into the back of the ambulance and I was able to see past the cameras and microphones in my face, I searched the crowd for John once again. While Charles argued with the ambulance driver over whether or not he could ride in the back with me, I locked eyes with my protector. 

He sat on the curb barely ten feet away, a paramedic cleaning the wound on his head. I had expected him to be surrounded by a similar swarm of reporters, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention. The only person anywhere in his vicinity besides the paramedic was a surly man in an identical guard uniform talking on a phone and pacing; a man clearly required to be there, and not at all pleased about it.

A profound sadness filled me as I realized John was all alone, that no one had come to see him, to give him a hug and make sure that he was alright. The sadness was reflected at me as he glanced at my fiancée, recognition registering on his face as he realized who the man in the impeccably tailored suit was. When he looked back to me, something in his emerald eyes had died out.

I considered what would happen if I did exactly what I felt like doing at that moment: jumped out of the ambulance, ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. What would happen if I held his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his, if I took him by the hand and we ran away from here together?

Unfortunately, I knew exactly what would happen. The cameras would follow my every move, documenting them forever and calling upon them well into the future. I would find myself in the middle of a scandal and become nothing more than tabloid fodder, a media prop used to sell more magazines and newspaper subscriptions. My entire life would be scrutinized, and I would forever be known as the woman who dumped a sitting senator on live television.

As the doors to the ambulance closed and the sirens began to wail I took one last look at my hero, hoping he understood how grateful I was for all he had done for me. I looked down at my empty finger and remembered the engagement ring I had left sitting on the counter beside the bread dough. As the tears that had been welling up inside of me began to fall, I wished for all the world that my life was different.

*

Special thanks to CWatson for the editing  

Keeping Guard Ch. 02



The rest of the day passed in a blur. After the doctors cleared me from the hospital I was given a ride home in the police escort Charles had arranged. By that time the news cameras had thinned out, but he still made sure to walk me through the front door with his arm securely around my waist just in case. 

Once we were inside I slumped on the couch, trying not to let the events of the day replay in my head while Charles got me a glass of water. Before he got back his phone started ringing again, as it had all morning.

"Do you mind if I answer this time?" He asked when he handed me the glass. "It's Jerry, he's been calling all day."

I nodded, knowing his campaign manager would be breaking down the door soon if he didn't get to talk to his client about their newest strategies. Charles kissed me on the forehead before taking the call, keeping his excitement contained until he went in the next room. 

I blocked out the conversation as best I could, but couldn't help noticing how many times my name came up. After ten minutes, Charles came back in the room looking triumphant.

"Jerry wants to meet with me to go over a few things, do you mind if I head over there?" He asked, already searching for his coat.

I gave a tired smile. "Sure, no problem. I'm just going to be resting anyway." Charles beamed at me as he gave me a quick hug, promised to return in an hour or two, then rushed out the front door without another word.

I spent the remainder of the day on the phone. I started with calling my parents, who had not seen the news but were glad to hear I was safe. I also made a call to my insurance agent, and a company he suggested to replace the front windows of my shop.

The final call of the day left me feeling even hollower than I already felt. As I was getting ready to take a hot bath the phone rang, and I listened to the message as the answering machine recorded.

"Good evening Ms. Noble," a gruff voice began. "I'm calling from Berle Security, and in light of today's events we believe we can no longer suit your security needs. You will receive a full refund for your remaining service period. We apologize for any inconvenience." The line went dead.

I stared at the blinking light on my answering machine, trying to comprehend how this had happened. In one morning I had managed to become a liability to an armored car company, a feat of which I never imagined myself capable. But the biggest disappointment was that the man who had stood between me and a loaded gone was now gone from my life. I didn't even know his full name.

As I sank into the hot water, I wondered when I could expect to see Charles again. Our time together had been limited ever since he was elected to office, and I shook my head in disbelief at how long it had been since we had led a normal life. His time had been even sparser since his reelection campaign began, and now I hardly saw him at all.

Charles and I had met when I was in college. I had been taking an economics class and was struggling to keep up, so I looked for a tutor to help me get through it. My professor recommended a third-year law student who was earning extra money by tutoring undergrads, so I gave it a shot. From the time I met Charles for our first study session, I was completely smitten.

What was once a hated subject became my favorite because of my new tutor, and I looked forward to our appointments every week. I used the tiny kitchen in my dorm to bake something different for each of our sessions, and Charles never objected to taking a snack break. With his help I managed a high B in the class, though I could have scored higher if I had kept my mind on the material rather than my tutor. 

Once I graduated with my business degree, I was determined to buy the bakery my parents had been running for my entire life. The highest paying job I could find was as an administrator at a law firm, so I took the position until I could save enough money to buy my business. 

The biggest shock came on my first day when a new prosecutor from the district attorney's office arrived for a meeting, and I found myself staring right into the eyes of my former tutor.

It took nearly a year of flirting for us to finally go on our first date, but from then on we were inseparable. He talked so passionately about his job and the satisfaction he got from the work he did. When I eventually saved up enough money to buy my bakery, he was the first in line for the grand opening and stopped by a few days a week during his lunch break.

His election to office had been a total fluke. A seat in the state senate became available when a senator resigned, and Charles was chosen to fill the empty position for the remainder of the term. He used his natural charm to sway his fellow senators in his favor, and began making national headlines with some of the work he was doing. 

Charles' big break came when he exposed a multi-million dollar scandal in the opposing party, and he was immediately recognized as a serious contender for the US senate. He proposed to me on election night, joking it would have been his consolation if he had lost but was now just one more thing to celebrate.

I had been hesitant about the career path from the start, but Charles had ignored my apprehensions. He insisted our lives would only change for the better, and promised that there would be no interference with our relationship. 

I eventually agreed to trust him, but right from the beginning he began breaking his promise. Now his campaign for reelection was in its final days, and his lead in the polls meant our lives were set to stay the same for years to come.

Since his introduction to politics, Charles had become increasingly distant. His late nights in the office coupled with my early mornings in the bakery meant we had little time for each other, and we had begun to drift apart. Both of our priorities had changed, and our relationship was fizzling to an end. Neither of us wanted to admit it, but we could hardly think of reasons to be together anymore.

I had even discovered that his proposal had been orchestrated. His campaign manger had reminded him that senators didn't have girlfriends, they had wives and mistresses and if he didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea he'd better get a ring on my finger.

When he didn't even call the rest of the night, my mind was made up: I'd had enough. I crawled into bed without setting an alarm, determined to sleep away the events of the day and trying desperately to keep the images of a shotgun pointed at me out of my head.

After a fitful sleep I woke with a start, the previous day still as fresh in my mind as the nightmare that woke me. I looked at the clock and sighed, wishing I could sleep past four in the morning even without my alarm. I glanced at my phone and saw that Charles had made no attempt to call me, so I punched in his number to ask him why. 

"Hello?" his voice came after two rings. I had been expecting to wake him up, but it sounded like he had yet to go to bed.

"Are you ever planning on coming back here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

"I don't know, it's pretty late," he replied after a pause. I could hear the faint sound of snoring in the background and knew his campaign manager was fast asleep.

I gritted my teeth before I replied. "No, it was late about five hours ago. Now it's early."

He sighed, but agreed to come back to my apartment as soon as he hung up. I got up from my bed and pulled some clothes on, trying to get my thoughts in order before he arrived. After a few minutes I heard Charles' key in the front door, and turned to see his smiling face walk in.

"Busy night?" I asked as he walked into my living room and flopped into a chair. He kicked off his shoes before resting them on my coffee table, exactly what I had asked him not to do more times than I could count.

"The results of an internet poll were just released, as of this evening I'm ahead by a very comfortable margin." The smug smile lingered on his face for a few seconds before he realized I wasn't congratulating him. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You said you would be back in a few hours," I replied, the anger threatening to bubble to the surface.

Charles gave me a blank stare before he recovered himself. "I must have lost track of time, you know how crazy things get this time of year."

"Yes, it must have been a very difficult day for you."

He frowned at my sarcasm, and lifted his feet from the table before he responded. "Are you mad at me?"

I took a deep breath and crossed my arms. "You know what? Yes, I am mad at you."

"Because I didn't call you?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"Because you broke a promise," I told him, "and not for the first time."

He tried to brush off my comment with a wave of his hand. "I thought you'd be sleeping, I was trying to be considerate."

"That's a lie and you know it," I snapped back at him. "I'm not one of your constituents you can just say anything to and I'll roll over and believe it."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his eyes growing big into his best look of innocence. "Look, I've been under a lot of pressure lately, and-"

"Oh I know all about your pressure. I've become good friends with your pressure. I get to spend more time with your pressure than I ever spend with you, so don't even try to lecture me about your pressure."

He stood up from his chair, the look of innocence turning to fascination. "What's gotten into you? You're being..." He hesitated.

"What? What am I being?" I asked.

Charles chose his next phrase with caution, putting careful emphasis on his response. "To be perfectly honest, you're being a little unreasonable."

"Unreasonable?" I spluttered back at him. "I'm being unreasonable? I've done everything you and that slimebag manager ever asked me to do. I've spent years playing the perfect little fiancée, and I'm the one being unreasonable?

"Would you calm down?" He looked around like he expected the neighbors to burst through the front door with a video camera any second.

"My entire life is being run by someone else, and you expect me to be calm about it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, "your life isn't being run by anyone."

"Really? So why can't I remember the last time you spent the night here?"

He gave a sigh like a parent explaining a simple concept to a child. "You know how inappropriate that would seem to the more conservative-"

I cut him off before he finished making my point for me. "Uh-huh, and why did you refuse to visit my parents' house last week?"

He rolled his eyes. "You saw the campaign signs in their yard. Do you really think it inspires confidence when your own family isn't supporting me?"

Charles was still infuriatingly calm while I was getting angrier by the second, so I made one last attempt at making my point. "The only reason you proposed to me was because Jerry told you to," I said, lowering my voice. "Be honest, did you ever love me or was I just a part of your plan?"

When he answered he raised his voice ever so slightly, his calm exterior threatening to crack. "Oh don't be so melodramatic, of course I loved you." I winced at the past tense, and he immediately realized his mistake. "Look, what I meant was-"

"Of course, you loved everything about me that could help your stupid campaign. The young entrepreneur who bought a small business from her salt of the earth, pillars of the community parents. Just gloss over the part where I almost ran it into the ground, and play up how I'm giving back to the community you vow to keep representing in Washington."

"Listen-"

"No, you listen. I've put up with all this for long enough. I did everything you ever asked me to do without batting an eyelash. I've sat here by myself for every birthday, anniversary and holiday while you're off endearing yourself to strangers. You've never once made our relationship a priority, and I've had enough."

The realization that this was not a regular argument finally dawned on him, and he stared at me before he spoke. "You're breaking up with me?"

If my engagement ring had been on my finger instead of part of a crime scene, I would have pulled it off and laid it down on the coffee table. Instead I had to settle for a firm nod. I was exhausted, and involuntary tears were running down my face. Charles slumped back into the chair, defeated.

A long silence filled the room, and Charles sat rubbing his eyes as he thought everything over. "The election is in two weeks, can we just play happy couple until then?" His voice was weighed heavily by fatigue, and his ever-present confidence was slipping. "You can disappear off the face of the earth after that if you want to, I just need your help until then."

I wiped the tears from my face, but didn't meet his eye. I felt like all the anger had flowed right out of me, and I felt at peace for the first time in months. Charles stood from his chair and stepped in front of me, but I still kept my eyes down. His fingers brushed my cheek, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "Please," he said.

For a moment I saw a glimpse of the man I had fallen in love with. In his eyes was the law student teaching me about consumption and inflation between bites of freshly-made cookies. The prosecutor who put dangerous criminals behind bars and worked hard to ensure justice was done. My heart ached for what I had once had, and what could never be mine again.

In the end I nodded to him, agreeing to play his game for just a little longer. He responded with a relieved smile, and any doubts I had about my decision disappeared as I was reminded that he was just trying to keep his campaign afloat. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, sinking onto the couch.

He thought for a moment before replying. "I'll be mostly on the road, so you won't have to make many public appearances. Just be supportive if anyone asks questions, and tell them how excited you are about my campaign."

"Fine," I said, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed.

"You'll need to be there on election night too, Jerry wants to plan something big." He glanced at my hand, and then added. "Keep wearing your ring too, OK?"

"Is that all?" I asked, meeting his eye.

"That's all," he replied, and without another word Charles pulled on his shoes and left my apartment. It struck me that he never tried to change my mind, never once suggested salvaging the relationship. I changed back into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and slept.

After a few days I was allowed back into my bakery. The police had finished collecting whatever evidence they needed, giving me back my ring and leaving me to clean up most of the mess. After a solid day of sweeping broken glass, throwing out spoiled food and sterilizing every flat surface in the entire store, I was ready to reopen for business.

As soon as I threw the doors open the first morning, I knew I would make up for the days I had lost. People who had never heard of my bakery read about it in the news, and the line stretched out the door as customers eagerly waited to try my food. Before noon I had sold out of nearly everything in the store, and was rushing to get more into the oven.

By early afternoon things had quieted down and by the time I was ready to close I was back into my usual routine. I took advantage of a lull in the flow of customers to retreat to the kitchen to get my preparations started for the next morning, and was so busy pulling out mixing bowls that I didn't hear the front door open.

"Megan?" a voice called. I knew it sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it until I came out of the kitchen and stood face to face with my security guard. Instead of his usual crisp uniform he had on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt, but the same hint of a smile still played at the corners of his lips. "I heard you reopened, I was hoping to try whatever always smells so good."

I was completely at a loss about how to react. Should I thank him? Hug him? As my eyes traced his face I noticed a small bandage on the side of his head, and I was reminded of the horrible sound the gun made as it hit him.

"I was just about to close," I finally managed to say. "Take a seat, I'll bring it out to you," As John made his way to the spindly metal table that sat at the front of my shop I pulled out a platter and put a little of everything on it. His eyes lit up as I set the platter in front of him, and he accepted a fork with a wide grin. I went back to the counter to pour him a cup of coffee, then turned the lock on the front door before making my way back to the table to sit opposite him.

John was already making impressive progress on the heap of food, and seemed to be enjoying every bite. He was halfway through the selection before he remembered I was there, and casually wiped his face on a napkin. "It's very good," he said after swallowing a mouthful of pie.

I smiled and thanked him, then tried to think of something else to say as we lapsed back into silence. "How's the head?" I asked, gesturing to the bandage.

"Oh it's fine," he said after a sip of coffee. "Just a nasty bruise. It looks a lot worse than it is, so I've been trying to keep it covered up."

I nodded, trying to get a closer look without him noticing. Eventually I gave up and went back to watching the food disappearing.

"This is only the second time I've been out here in the front. It seems so quiet without all the cameras and ambulances," John said, before adding quietly, "and politicians."

I looked away, embarrassed again by the way Charles had acted that day. John looked back at his plate before asking, "How's the fiancé?"

I let out a short sigh before answering. "Last I heard he was ahead in the polls, so I'm sure he's doing just fine." I hesitated. "And he's not really my fiancé anymore."

"Oh?" He was trying to look casual, but I couldn't help noticing the spark of interest in his eyes. I gave him a recap of the last time I saw Charles, our argument, and the arrangement we had made.

John looked puzzled. "So, you're pretending to still be engaged to the guy?"

"I know, pathetic isn't it?" I said, laying my head on the table and covering my face with my arms. "I can't even break up with him without getting talked out of it."

I half expected John to sneak out while my eyes were closed, to walk away and never come back. Now that his company had dumped me as a client he had no reason to ever visit the shop again, and I was just waiting for him to realize this fact. Instead, I felt his warm hand against my arm and heard his voice close to my ear. 

"Maybe when all this is over I can take you out to dinner?" he said.

I peeked over my arms. "Really?" I asked, my voice muffled by my sleeves.

He laughed. "I should warn you though, there's no guarantee I'll have a new job by then so it might need to be somewhere cheap."

I sat straight up and stared at him. "Did you quit?"

"Fired, actually."

My mouth dropped open. "But why?" 

"Officially, it was for not following the very specific company protocol for an armed robbery." He sighed. "Unofficially, they're just covering their asses in case anyone decides to sue."

I let out a hollow laugh and told him about the message I had received from his former employers. "Huh," he answered after a pause. "We could start a band, call ourselves The Liabilities."

For what felt like the first time in months, I laughed. All the stress I had left in me, all the anger and hurt feelings left over from the argument, were released for good as my body shook with laughter. By the time I caught my breath I had tears in my eyes, and I realized John was staring at me from across the table.

"It wasn't that funny, was it?" He asked.

I let out another short chuckle before saying, "No, I just haven't had much to laugh about lately."




Keeping Guard Ch. 02



"Sounds like you really need me around then," he said as he scraped the last of the pastry crust from the platter. His words hung in the air for a moment before they clicked into place in my brain.

"You need a job, right?" I asked.

"Yes I do," he answered with a sigh.

"I need an assistant..." I said, a smile creeping onto my face. "Are you any good at kneading dough?"

He looked at me for a moment before smiling back. "Is that the entire interview?"

"Come on," I said, rising from my chair. "Let's see what you can do."

I took him back to the kitchen and started pulling ingredients off the shelves, my heart racing as I considered the possibilities that lay before me. I slid my engagement ring from my finger and slipped it into my pocket, then got to work.

*

Thanks to CWatson for the suggestions.



Keeping Guard Ch. 03



I got my answer almost immediately: yes, John was very good at kneading. As soon as I threw the ingredients together I put him to work on the early steps of baking bread. His strong hands turned the stiff dough with ease, and he was able to finish in half the time it would have taken me. Unfortunately, I was quick to discover that John was not very good at much else in the kitchen. 

"Great, now we leave that down by the oven to rise," I said once he had finished with the bread dough. "Now we just need to whip up some cake batter in the mixer."

"That's this thing, right?" John asked, pointing to the little food processor I used for chopping nuts. I bit my lip, hoping his mistake was from a lack of experience in a commercial kitchen and I wouldn't regret my job offer. That should have been the first indication that I had a long road ahead of me.

Over the course of the next hour he managed to break two mixing bowls, bend a whisk beyond repair, and start a small fire in the oven that led to an introduction to the first aid kit.

"I guess I'm not cut out to be a baker," he said as I opened the plastic box of bandages and ointments. "Unless everyone almost sets their arm on fire their first day."

I laughed, selecting a tube of antiseptic cream and a roll of gauze from my first aid supplies. "Believe me, there's no avoiding the occasional burn. But maybe I'll start you out at the front of the shop until you get some more practice."

I did my best to keep my hands steady as I applied the ointment, and I kept my face down so he wouldn't notice I was blushing. His suggestion of a date in the near future was still fresh in my mind, and even medicinal physical contact was making my stomach flutter. I finished up by wrapping a layer of gauze around his forearm and securing it with a piece of tape.

"Does that feel OK?" I asked, finally looking into his eyes.

"Oh good, now my arm matches my head," he replied with a crooked smile.

After all the prep work for the next morning was complete I took John to the front counter and walked him through everything he would need to know, including how to use the ancient cash register I had vowed to upgrade one of these days. After I was sure he was prepared for the next day we grabbed our jackets and headed out the front door.

"The dress code is pretty casual, just be sure your shoes are comfortable. And we open at six, can you be here a few minutes before that?" I asked as I locked the doors behind us.

"Wow, I'll get to sleep in," he said, and I realized he meant it. One of the reasons I had chosen the security company where he had worked was their willingness to come to the bakery so early in the morning.

The crisp autumn air whipped the leaves around our feet as we stood outside the doors. Neither of us knew quite what should happen next, and I felt increasingly awkward as I deliberated about shaking his hand. Instead I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, and felt a wave of discomfort when my fingers brushed my engagement ring.

"Well, see you tomorrow then!" I blurted, and turned away quickly in the direction of my apartment.

The next morning I heard the reliable whine of my alarm clock filling the room, rousing me from my pleasant dreams and reminding me that there was work to be done. But my outlook had completely changed: where once I would groan and wish for a few more minutes of sleep, I now gave a wistful sigh and imagined the day ahead. It was guaranteed to be different, but in what way remained to be seen. 

For the first time I was so excited to get to work that I walked out the door without any jewelry, and my engagement ring would just have to stay neglected on the nightstand for the day.

When I got to the bakery John was already waiting outside, hopping from foot to foot in the chilly morning air. I was happy to see that the bandage from his head was gone, and whatever was left of his injury was hidden beneath his hair.

"You're early!" I said, trying to sound pleased though I was actually worrying I'd told him the wrong time.

"I was already up," he answered, "thought you might need some help."

Memories of his baking lesson from the night before came flooding back as I unlocked the front door and we entered the warmth of the store. "I could always use more help," I admitted, though I decided to put him back on mixing duty until he had a little more experience.

After locking the door behind us I took John to the back to hang up his coat, and then outfitted him with an apron. "All the cold pastries are in the refrigerator ready to go, would you mind putting them out while I start on the warm stuff?" 

From there the morning progressed smoothly, and the shop was ready to open in record time. I began calculating how much later I could reasonably get into work in the mornings, and the extra sleep coupled with the prospect of some company put a smile on my face.

As soon as the lights were on and the doors were unlocked the customers started ambling in, all looking like they were in desperate need of the breakfasts they were buying. The bakery served as a favorite spot for more than just the police department across the street, and all manner of people came in and out of my doors. Everyone from professionals just heading into work to bartenders and bouncers just heading home passed through for a bite to eat, and the early morning crowd offered the most diversity.

Customers were also the most spread out during this time, and it was a few hours before business really started to pick up. At first I manned the cash register so John could get the hang of it, but before long he was comfortable handling it on his own. That gave me more time to catch up with some of my regulars, who I was usually too busy to chat with. 

After a few hours I began drifting between the front and the back of the store, keeping an eye on what was running low and replenishing the stock.

As the day wore on, we ran into our first slow period. The breakfast crowd had come and gone and the lunch business had not yet started, so I took the opportunity to clean up the front of the store and give John a break. For the first time all day the store was completely silent, a stark contrast to the previous hours. 

After all the counters were wiped clean and the floor was swept, I returned to the back of the shop and kept an ear open for the front door. I turned to a work table and sprinkled it with flour, preparing to roll out a fresh batch of gingerbread cookie dough.

"Don't you ever take a break?" John's voice was right behind me, and took me completely by surprise. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but stopped myself just before letting out a squeal.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to sneak up on you," he said, backing away quickly.

"No, it's fine," I replied, barely able to hear over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. "I'm just not used to having anyone else back here."

He considered this before answering. "But you do like having me here, right?" As he spoke he took a step forward, halving the distance between us. Immediately I became aware of the situation: we were alone, in the back room of an empty bakery, far from prying eyes.

I smiled, my heart still pounding but now for different reasons. "Of course," I replied, "it's nice to have company."

He took another step forward, and I felt my stomach flutter once more. "Is that all I am? Company?" A playful smile crossed his lips as he stood in front of me, as close as he could be without actually touching. I felt my face flush as I searched for an answer.

The sound of the bell on the front door interrupted us. "You'd better go get that," I said, my voice unsteady. He gave a small sigh before straightening up, and with obvious reluctance trudged back to the front of the store.

I had barely composed myself before I heard a commotion in the next room. I rushed toward the door to see what was going on right as John came running back. "Watch out!" he yelled as he tried to push me back into the kitchen. "She's crazy!"

Right on his heels was a woman screaming and wielding a purse like a medieval mace. "Come back here you thug!" she yelled. "I'll teach you to mess with my daughter!"

"Mom?" I yelled, stepping in front of her so she would stop pummeling John with her bag. "What are you doing?"

She stopped, her eyes darting between me and John. "You know this man?" she asked, her gaze settling on John and boring into him enough to make him take a step back. I took a deep breath before I answered.

"Mom, this is John. He works here now, but he's the security guard who..." I hesitated, wondering how best to finish the sentence. Who protected me? Who comforted me? Who I've been secretly pining for? In the end, I settled for, "who was here that day."

She stood frozen in place, her purse still poised in the air as the information sank in. An instant later my mom had sidestepped me and rushed at John. He tried to scramble away but she caught him before he could get very far, and her attitude had completely changed. "Oh thank you!" she said as she crushed him against her in a bear hug. "Thank you so much for looking out for my little girl!"

I could only stand and watch as John squirmed in her grip, a completely bewildered expression painted across his face. It would have been funny if it was not so embarrassing, and after nearly a minute of hugging and appreciation I had to pull my mother off of him.

"It's very nice to meet you," John managed to say only after he was able to fill his lungs again. "Can I get you anything?"

"Oh how nice," she answered, shooting me a look that I could only interpret as approval. "But I stopped by to have a word with Megan so I'll just have a cup of coffee if it's handy."

"Anything for you?" he asked me, and I admitted a cup of coffee would be nice. John nodded and headed back to the front, careful not to walk too close to my mother as he went. "And a slice of cherry pie to go with it!" she yelled after him. 

I rolled my eyes as I went back to the office, the only place we could sit without getting flour all over us. John arrived soon after with two cups of coffee and a slice of pie, and then made a hasty retreat out of the office as my mom's eyes followed him out.

"How long have you had an assistant?" She asked, gesturing toward the door and the front of the store where John was presumably debating about making a run for it. She tried to make the question sound offhanded, but I could almost hear the wheels in her head spinning.

"It's his first day," I answered, offering her my chair as I pulled up a stool. "He's not much of a baker, but he doesn't seem to mind the hours."

"He's cute too," my mom said as she took a sip of her coffee. "I mean really, if I was twenty years younger I'd tap that."

"Mom!" I spluttered, horrified on multiple levels. I was still trying to find out where she got her "young people" terminology, and doing my best to cut off her access to it.

She assumed a look of complete innocence before answering. "What? I'm just saying."

"First, inappropriate. Second, where do you even hear these words?"

"Oh please, I know all about how you kids communicate."

"What was it you came to talk to me about?" I asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. Immediately she switched into her serious voice and sat forward in the chair as she answered.

"Your father and I just wanted to check and make sure you're OK," she began. "You've been through a lot lately, and we're just a little concerned about how you're coping."

"I'm fine," I replied after a sip of coffee. "Really, the police were here after a few minutes and it could have been so much worse."

She studied my face before responding. "That's not all we're concerned about."

"What do you mean?" I asked, hoping her mother's intuition had not been working overtime.

She took my hand. "How are things between you and Charles?"

"What do you mean?" I asked again, glancing away from her. I did my best to give off an air of nonchalance instead of the rising panic I really felt.

"It just seems like you talk about him less and less, and I haven't heard a word about your wedding for months."

"Well you know, he's been busy."

"But still, it seems like the two of you have been engaged for forever and you haven't even set a date yet."

If this conversation had come a week earlier, I would have gone on the defensive. I would have reminded her of our schedules, what a busy time of year this was for Charles, and how focused we both were on our careers. But despite any of my arguments, she still would have been absolutely right. 

"You know your father and I love you and support your decisions, but we're just beginning to wonder whether Charles is the same man he was when you first started seeing each other."

Ordinarily at this point I would deflect, cite a million different reasons why Charles was the perfect man and why we should spend the rest of our lives together. Maybe it was because our engagement was already broken off, but for whatever reason I couldn't muster up a single argument.

"Actually Mom, Charles and I..." I hesitated, remembering my promise to keep the end of our relationship a secret, and how I had already broken the promise once. "Charles and I have talked about it, and we've decided maybe it's best if we break up."

Her eyes got wide as she did her best to suppress a smile. "Well, I'm sure you two have given this a lot of thought so I can only hope it's for the best." She busied herself with the piece of pie she was eating, but I could tell how pleased she was at the news.

"Oh don't pretend like you didn't always hate him," I said. "We're keeping it quiet until the election is over, so could you please not tell anyone?"

She promised to keep the secret better than I had, and I finally relaxed. After a few more minutes of chatting it was time for my mom to leave, and I walked her to the door. "Lovely to meet you!" she said to John as she passed, and he gave her a weak smile before going back to looking busy.

As soon as my mother was gone I turned to John with a smirk. "Is that what all your fancy guard training taught you? Run away from the middle-aged lady armed with a purse?"

"You can tease me all you want," he replied, "but you didn't see the look in her eyes."

I smiled and let it drop; I had seen that look before, and could only imagine just how terrifying it must be for someone on the receiving end of it.

The lull in business passed, and the trickle of customers turned into a full stream as lunch hours, shift changes and afternoon coffee breaks rolled around. John took care of the selling while I focused on inventory and switched between helping out at the counter and running to the back to bring out fresh food.

And at every step of the way, we flirted. It started off as a few coy remarks, but as time wore on I was finding excuses to put my hand on his arm or make some other form of contact. To my delight, John brushed his hand against my back every time he stepped around me in the narrow space behind the counter. I tried to convince myself that he was just letting me know he was behind me so I didn't crash into him, but more than once I caught his small smile out of the corner of my eye.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one who enjoyed flirting with him: the biggest hold up in the line seemed to be the women who came into the bakery. While they would normally speak to me only during breaks in their cell phone conversations, they all gave John their undivided attention. There had never been so much giggling and hair flipping in the line before, and besides being annoying it was also beginning to get in the way of business.

One girl in particular was spending an awful lot of time talking to John after the rush of customers had slowed. She was blonde and bubbly and looked like she was about twenty years old, and her entire body screamed youthful exuberance. I found myself searching for faults with her, but the best I could do was think how cold she must be wearing such a short skirt in November. Eventually she left, but not without writing something on a piece of paper and sliding it across the counter to John.

"Did you see the girl I was just talking to?" he asked when I came by to refill the display case.

"Yes," I said tersely, trying my best to keep from sounding jealous. I braced myself for his next statement, dreading whatever the blonde bombshell had to say.

"She just got engaged and was asking for a quote on a wedding cake," he replied. "Said her parents got theirs here when they got married."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Wedding cake or bachelor party cake?" This was not the first customer who had come in asking for something the bakery had once sold back before I had taken it over, and it always made me wonder whether the changes I had made were for the better. 

Recently I had even toyed with the idea of going back to the way the bakery was when my parents owned it, centering the business on large life events rather than daily sugar cravings. It was a project that would take time to plan and organize, and it was beginning to dawn on me that I might have that time now.

"I thought she said wedding, I would have remembered if she'd asked for a bachelor party cake." He thought for a moment before adding, "What is a bachelor party cake?"

"We used to make them back when the shop first opened and my dad and uncle were running it," I answered, settling in for a long explanation. "Back then it was almost all cakes, and they made a pretty good business doing weddings. Then my uncle had the bright idea of making bachelor party cakes too. You know, the kind that a lady jumps out of?"

"Ah. I always figured those cakes just made from cardboard."

"Sometimes they were, but not all of them. I think the ones made here were half cardboard and half cake since they were so huge. They were a pain because they had to be big enough to fit a person, plus people would get upset if the whole thing was destroyed and they couldn't actually eat it." I had heard horror stories growing up about cakes toppling over in the delivery truck, buildings without elevators, and doors too small to fit through.

"Still," I continued, "at least some good came out of it. That's how my dad met my mom." I gave him a smile and headed toward the back of the shop to put a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

"Wait. Wait wait wait!" he yelled after me as I went. "Hold on, you can't end the story there!"

"What?" I asked, an innocent look on my face.

"You're telling me your parents met because your mom jumped out of one of your dad's cakes?" His voice had jumped up an octave, probably from the memory of his earlier encounter with my mother.

"She was working as a secretary in some office, and to make a little extra money she answered an ad my uncle put in the paper. So on the weekends she would pop out of the top of a cake and then a bunch of dancing girls would come out and do their thing while she snuck out the back door."

He took a moment to process the information before asking, "So your mom was a stripper?"

I laughed. "Not exactly. She would have given the guys a hard time if they came anywhere near her, so she was strictly a cake jumper. The pay wasn't as good, but she got to keep most of her clothes on."

"And she got to hang out with the baker who put her in there," he said with a nod, all the pieces falling into place.

"And they've been together ever since," I replied. I had to admit it was an interesting story, though never one I could tell any of my friends growing up.

By this point John was slowly staring off into the distance and shaking his head. "I'll never look at her the same way again."

"Just be careful she doesn't offer to give you a demonstration," I warned.




Keeping Guard Ch. 03



The rest of the day went by without incident, and before long it was time to start the preparations for the next day. I left John to help the last of the customers as I went to the back and pulled out a clipboard to check if any of my ingredients were about to pass their expiration dates. I was just getting to the bottom of the list when John poked his head around the corner.

"Megan? There's someone here to see you."

I was half expecting my mother to be back once again before I registered the look on John's face and the edge in his voice. I came out into the front of the shop to the sight of Jerry, Charles' campaign manager.

To say he was a slimy creep was putting it mildly. Jerry had been around since the very beginning of Charles' political career, and had a bag of tricks bigger than any magician. He was well connected in countless industries, both legitimate and otherwise, and from day one had made my skin crawl every time I saw him.

"Meg." His gravelly voice oozed a smarmy self-confidence.

"Jer," I answered, keeping my guard up and trying not to let him see how uncomfortable he made me. There was silence as we sized each other up. It had been a while since I'd had to suffer his presence, and I was not surprised to note that his poor diet and lack of exercise had finally left him as big around as he was tall.

"Mind if I have a word?" he asked before shooting a glare at John. "Alone?"

I gestured to the back and Jerry made his way to the office. I took a deep breath and prepared to follow him, then remembered John was still watching warily.

"I think we're about done for the day, so why don't you head home?" I said. I would still need to count up the cash register and get the prep work for the next day finished, but I could manage that on my own.

John hesitated, still casting suspicious looks toward the office. "Everything OK?" he asked.

I sighed, not sure how to answer that question. "It's fine," I finally said. "He's Charles' campaign manager, probably just here to give me my instructions for tomorrow."

The explanation didn't seem to put him any more at ease, but John did at least begin to leave. I grabbed his coat out of the back and traded him for his apron. "Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"How about a half hour later," I replied, remembering how quickly we had gotten ready that morning. I had been so looking forward to the prospect of the next day until I remembered it was Election Day. On his way out he turned to say something, but decided against whatever it was and left without another word.

After locking the front door I went to my office and found Jerry in my chair with his feet up on the desk. I considered speaking up but decided to let it go, having learned long ago to pick my battles with the man. I sat down on the stool in the corner just as the assault began.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jerry kept his voice low, his menacing tone enhanced by his gruff voice.

Confused, I asked the obvious question: "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about hiring that guy to work for you." He put his feet down so he could roll the chair over to me, bringing his permanent stench of cigars and stale sweat even closer.

I tried to keep my voice even as I formed my reply. "He got fired because of me, it was the least I could do."

Jerry gave an exasperated huff. "You're playing with fire. Do you have any idea how much the press would love for the two of you to get together? This is a TV movie in the making and you're pressing your luck just having him around."

"I'm sure it's nothing you couldn't handle," I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"And where's your ring?" he asked, eyeing my bare finger.

"Look, I don't see what the big deal is. No one has been around to interview me or take any pictures or do anything that would jeopardize your precious campaign."

He snorted. "You don't get it. You've never gotten it: this is a 24/7 business. Any crackpot with a camera phone can drum up speculation at any time, and it's worse when there's actually something to speculate about. If people see you hanging around with some hot young thing they're going to form their own conclusions instead of the ones we decide on."

I took a deep breath to stay calm before I answered. "Jerry, no one is looking forward to moving on as much as I am. I've already talked to Charles about how I'm supposed to behave through the election, and I'm all set to play the doting fiancée tomorrow night. But that's the last thing I'm doing for him. As soon as the polls close I get my life back, and I'm going to make sure that's one campaign promise he sticks to."

"Oh please," he scoffed, "do you really think we want you around any longer than we have to?"

I fumbled for words, not quite sure where the conversation was going.

He shook his head. "You really thought you were something special to him, didn't you?"

I balked at his statement. "Well we were engaged after all."

"Come on," he laughed, "I've been vetting your replacement for months."

He gave the statement a moment to sink in before he continued. "Two months from now, Charlie will be spotted with a very respectable young lady spending a very respectable evening at the theater. A few months later they'll announce their engagement, and country clubs all across the state will be falling all over themselves to host the blessed event."

I stared at him. 

"Then after another term, two at the most, my boy will be tapped to run for president. He'll run a clean campaign, stick to the middle of the road on the issues, and before you know it he'll be a bona fide leader of the free world."

My mouth hung open, and I had to remind myself to breathe. "And no one will wonder what happened to me?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to plant a story in all the major media archives about your mutual decision to quietly and respectfully part ways," he replied. "No one will remember it happening, but the proof will be right there in black and white."

"Why even bother being here for the election? Why not start the new term with Little Miss Country Club?"

"Because like it or not, we're still riding the wave of your little publicity goldmine. Now listen, if everything goes as it it's supposed to, everyone gets what they want: Charles gets his reelection, I get my bonus, and you get to disappear from the limelight like it never happened. I can make sure no one ever shoves a microphone in your face or flashes a camera in your eyes, but only if you play nice."

I dropped my eyes and sighed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Atta girl," he beamed before rattling off his instructions.

He had decided that the typical pastel-suit-and-pearls look would send the wrong message, so I was instructed to wear a dressier version of my normal work clothes. Tomorrow I would close the bakery early so a team of caterers and waiters could sweep in to take care of setting everything up while I went home to get ready. Before the polls closed everyone on the campaign would assemble, and be served food that they would all assume I had made. After the results came in and the victory was celebrated, Charles and his team would be out of my life forever.

After all the arrangements were made I walked Jerry to the door, eager to get him out.

"By the way," he glanced over his shoulder toward the counter where John had been standing. "Make sure your new eye candy doesn't show his face here tomorrow."

I slammed the lock on the door as soon as he was out, and stalked back to the office fuming. My anger quickly gave way to frustration, then eventually to misery. I kept trying to remind myself that all this would be over soon, that I could get back to living my life the way I wanted. But Jerry's disclosure that I was just a pawn in his political game had rattled me, and I began to wonder what other parts of my life had been manufactured. Had anything about our relationship been real?

I went through the motions of preparing for the next day, but my heart wasn't in it. If we were closing early I wouldn't need to make as much food, and I considered not even bothering to open at all. In the end I decided to stick with the plan, which meant I had a call to make. I fumbled through the papers on my desk until I found a scrap of a receipt where John had scrawled his phone number in case of an emergency.

After four rings it went to voicemail, but I couldn't get the words together in time to leave a message. I hung up the phone and slumped in my chair, eyeing the piles of paperwork on my desk that I never seemed to get around to organizing. My gaze landed on a tax form that John had filled out that morning, my feeble effort to get him officially on the books as a paid employee. As I vaguely wondered what I was supposed to do with the form once he had filled it out I noticed his address, and realized it was on my way home.

As I pulled on my jacket I tried to reassure myself that I was being a responsible employer, that if I couldn't reach John on the phone then I really had no choice other than to tell him in person that he had the next day off. If I left him a message, how could I be sure he would get it? Wouldn't I feel terrible if he came to work the next morning when he could have slept in?

In the end, not even I was convinced. I made the short trip to his apartment because I wanted to see him, wanted to spend more time with him, just wanted to be around him. A part of me was convinced that I was suffering from nothing more than a schoolgirl crush that would evaporate once I saw him outside of work, but another part of me was dying to find out for sure.

I took a deep breath before knocking on his door, trying not to let my imagination take over. I pictured him being thrilled to see me, inviting me inside to share the dinner that just happened to be ready right at that moment. My face held an expectant smile as the door opened.

My smile froze as I found myself face to face with a woman.

She had a shock of magenta hair, and wore a body-hugging black dress complete with killer knee-high boots. "Can I help you?" Her voice was friendly and relaxed, like she was used to receiving guests at that door.

"Sorry," I stammered, eventually finding my voice buried deep in the back of my throat. "I'm not sure I have the right apartment. I'm looking for John?"

"Come on in! He's just in the kitchen, though I'm not sure he's having much success." She stepped aside as I crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind me. "John, you have more company!" she called.

His head poked around a door at the end of the narrow hallway, and immediately he broke into a broad grin. The woman looked between the two of us and smirked before slinking away.

For a long moment neither of us said anything, and I found I could not meet his gaze. Suddenly the idea of coming to see him seemed ridiculous, and I cursed myself for not just leaving him a message. A wave of disappointment washed over me as the situation came into focus: not only had I been flirting with a man who was unavailable, but he had been flirting back. My faith in men as a species had been seriously tested lately, and this did nothing to help their image.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed to say, "I didn't realize I would be interrupting."

"No, I'm glad you're here," he replied, and sounded like he meant it. "I'm trying to cook dinner and it's not going very well."

I managed a weak smile. "Are you sure your girlfriend won't mind?"

"I don't have a..." for a moment he looked confused, then burst out laughing. "Who, Carrie? Please, she wouldn't date me if I was the last person on earth."

As much as I tried to hide it, the rush of relief spreading through my body must have been obvious. My face flushed as I grasped for a response, finally settling on a neutral topic. "So, what's the problem?"

"I agreed to host a dinner party," he said simply, and it was explanation enough to understand his dilemma.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that I had chosen the worst possible person in the world to work in my bakery. I pulled off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves as I followed him into the kitchen to survey the damage.

"Everyone, this is Megan," John announced to the small group of people in the living room half an hour later. We had managed to get dinner back under control and to an edible stage, though it had been touch and go for a while.

"You've already met Carrie," he said, nodding to the colorfully-haired woman, "and that's her fiancé Ryan." The two were sharing an enormous chair, and leaped up as one to greet me.

"So this is the famous Megan," Ryan said with a grin. John looked embarrassed as he went on with the introductions.

"This is Julia, and her husband Ben," John nodded to a woman with wavy brown hair sitting on the couch and the bespectacled man with his arm around her waist. They too greeted me warmly.

"And that's Bob," John said, indicating the beanpole of a man gazing out the window. Bob turned and raised his glass in greeting, sloshing his drink over the side.

"Oops, slippery!" He wiped his foot against the puddle he had made on the laminate floor, effectively spreading it out even more.

John shook his head and sighed. "Yes, that's Bob," he whispered. 

"Are you joining us for dinner?" Julia asked, and all eyes in the room flitted between me and John.

I suddenly felt self-conscious in my work clothes, tugging at the hem of my long-sleeved t-shirt. Even John had changed into a dress shirt and khakis, and I was acutely aware of how under-dressed I was compared to the rest of the guests.

Before I could mutter an apology or make an excuse to leave, John wrapped a reassuring arm around me. "Of course she is," he said. "If she wants to of course." I smiled up at him in response.

We sat down to dinner around John's little dining table, and managed to all fit comfortably despite the small space. The conversation flowed freely as I got to know all about John's friends.

Carrie, in a theatrical voice she seemed to save for embarrassing stories, explained how she and John had met. Her sister had set the two of them up on a blind date, but within minutes of meeting each other they both acknowledged it would never work out between them. After that realization they were able to have an enjoyable evening, and had been friends ever since.

"Fair warning, the man has no game," she told me in a conspiratorial whisper. We giggled until John gave us a puzzled look and we did our best to stifle our laughter.

I found out that Carrie owned an art gallery, and had met her accountant fiancé Ryan at a particularly energetic night of speed dating. "We were both there to support friends and weren't actually looking for anyone," Carrie said.

"Yeah, and our friends are both still single," Ryan chimed in with a chuckle.

I laughed along, idly wondering if John was the friend with whom Carrie had gone.

"Say, would you mind if I came to your bakery and looked at your food?" Carrie asked as she passed me a plate of garlic bread. "I have a photographer looking to shoot a new series and he has his heart set on food. If nothing else I can probably get you some new art to hang on the walls!"

Julia and Ben were the quieter of the two couples by far, but still conveyed a warmth and friendliness that made me like them immediately. The two had met through work, and were making plans to start their own advertising firm.

As dinner progressed I learned that Ben and John had met when a mutual friend tried to organize a regular poker game among all his male buddies. The game had long since fallen apart, but had stayed together long enough for Ben and John to become friends.

Over dessert I mentioned my interest in getting into cake decorating, and before I knew it Ben and Julia had come up with the beginnings of a marketing strategy for the project. Julia proposed some great advertising ideas, and Ben threw out a few suggestions for layouts and designs.

"We're looking for clients if you're interested," Julia said.

"And you'd be our first, so you'd have our full attention," Ben added.

To my utter amazement, Bob turned out to be a physics professor. He and John had known each other since grade school, where he spent so much time buried in books that he never developed many social skills. Despite his awkwardness he did manage to sound sincere when I talked to him, even if it was impossible to follow what he was talking about.

Once all the food was gone and the drinks were finished the evening wound down. At the first sign of a stifled yawn the guests began to disperse, and the usual "we should do this more often" and "don't be a stranger" pleasantries were exchanged. After getting a hug goodbye from everyone (including Bob, who seemed startled at his own actions), I found myself the last person left.

After John closed the front door an expectant silence stretched between us, neither quite sure what to say. "Your friends are very nice," I finally managed.

"They are, aren't they?" He sounded as though the concept had never occurred to him before. "They definitely took a liking to you."

I smiled, remembering the warm reception I had been given by the room full of strangers and the help they had offered to me and my business. They had definitely given me some ideas for the future.

"Do you need some help cleaning up?" I offered.

He glanced toward the kitchen, a pained look on his face. "You don't have to do that, you helped so much already."

My mind drifted back to the scene when I first entered the kitchen: pots boiling over, wisps of smoke rising from the oven, and the acrid burning smell that greeted my nose.

"Besides, I don't think I'm up to it tonight," he answered as a smirk crept onto his face. "Maybe tomorrow I'll have the energy to tackle it."

I nodded, beginning to feel the effects of the late hour. "Well, I'd better get going," I said as I rose from the couch.

A look crossed his face that I could have sworn was disappointment, but he nodded and went to get my jacket. When he returned he asked, "Was there something you came here to tell me?"

The evening had been so pleasant that I had completely forgotten the reason I was here. I avoided his eyes as I slipped my jacket on and adjusted the collar, then cleared my throat as I tried to think of the best way to tell him.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow?" I asked after my hesitation.

He gave me a confused look for a moment before the information sunk in. "Are those the instructions you got today?"

I nodded.

He sighed. "Is that really what you want?" 

A moment of silence passed between us before he continued. "Look, if my boss tells me to take the day off I'm not going to say no, but only if you're sure that's what you want."

I had never thought of myself as a boss before. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it had been a very long time since I got what I really wanted. The realization made me laugh, and wonder why I had ever let my life become like this.

"You know, there are too many people telling me what to do right now," I replied, still smiling at the feeling of freedom that was starting to blossom inside of me. "It's high time I stand up for myself and do what I want to do."

"And what do you want to do?"

There was only one thing I wanted to do right at that moment, and I had wanted to do it for a very long time. I covered the space between us in two strides, wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

A grunt of surprise greeted me as I pressed my lips against his, but he soon responded by wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me toward him. All the lingering stress I had been feeling seemed to melt away, leaving me with a remarkable feeling of calm. I ran my fingers through his hair as his arms tightened around me.




Keeping Guard Ch. 03



We were both out of breath by the time we parted, and I felt a wonderful flush rising to my cheeks.

"What do you want to do now?" His voice was low and cautious and we were still standing in each other's arms.

I answered honestly. "Go home, put my pajamas on and go to sleep." He chuckled at my response, giving me a lingering kiss on the cheek as he reluctantly unwound his arms from my waist.

As I turned to leave, I once again remembered the reason I'd come. "See you in the morning?"

He answered with a smile. "Sure thing, boss."

*

Special thanks to CWatson for the editing and suggestions



Keeping Guard Ch. 04



The next morning I awoke before my alarm, destroying my plan of starting the day a half hour later for a little extra sleep. Despite the early hour and the late night I felt rested, if a little apprehensive. 

I lay in bed, letting my eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlamp outside my window, and tried to get my thoughts in order. It was going to be a long day.

I clicked the alarm off before it had the chance to disrupt what was still a peaceful morning. Getting up well before dawn had always been a high price to pay, but there was still something soothing about starting my day while the rest of the world was still tucked up in bed. After taking a quick shower I pulled on my usual work clothes, brushed my hair into a ponytail and set out.

Rounding the final corner I could see John faithfully waiting outside the back door of the bakery, his coat zipped up against the morning chill. The early warning signs of winter had been around for days and it wouldn't be long before I'd have to shovel snow from the walkway out front.

"Good morning," he said between chattering teeth, and I immediately felt bad for making him wait.

"If you're going to get here before me every day maybe I should give you a key." I reluctantly took my hands from my warm pockets to unlock the door for us.

As soon as we were inside I started flipping switches to get everything ready for our abbreviated work day. John took my coat and hung it up in the back with his, then joined me in the kitchen to await his instructions.

"Is there a bulb out?" I glanced up to see John with a puzzled expression on his face. He was looking toward the front of the store, which even before the sun was up should have been lighter than it now looked. When we went to investigate we found the windows were covered over from the outside.

Without stopping to get my coat I unlocked the front door and went outside to take a look. I had no idea what was going on but I had a feeling I wouldn't like it.

I was right.

Every square inch of my front windows was covered with campaign posters. Jerry's team must have come over during the night to decorate, and they had left no space untouched by Charles' gleaming smile or catchy slogans.

John joined me on the sidewalk, his eyebrows shooting up once he got there. He made a move to put his arm around my shoulders but caught himself and returned his arm to his side. Jerry's warnings about staying away from each other had clearly gone unheeded but there was no reason to push our luck.

After a few moments of silence I said, "Come on, let's see if I can find the spare key." We went back into the bakery and didn't mention the posters again.

"This holds a lot of responsibility: it means I could call you in the middle of the night when I lock myself out." It took a fair amount of digging through my cluttered desk but I had finally unearthed a spare set of keys on an ancient key ring.

He stared at them, and then at me. "Why would you be here in the middle of the night?"

"That's when I do some of my best thinking," I replied, placing them in his hand and closing his fingers around them. "And also when I tend to lose my keys." I held his hand for a few moments longer than strictly necessary before turning on my heel to get the donuts onto their trays.

Despite getting a late start we were still prepared when we opened for business, and I greeted a few police officers taking a break from their early shift at the station across the street by assuring them their usual order was already waiting for them.

"You're a life saver," one of them replied. "We're trying to get a recruiting class together, it'll be a lot easier once they find out this place is right across the street."

The posters made people hesitate outside the doors, but after reassuring several customers that we were in fact open the stream of patrons seemed to keep its usual steady pace throughout the morning. Before long I was in the back grabbing a few more batches of croissants to finish out the breakfast crowd and John was being his usual charming self at the register.

After the morning rush came the mid-morning lull, so I sent John to the back to take a break and manned the cash register myself. As I was wiping up the drips around the coffee pot I was surprised to see Carrie walk through the doors. Her bright hair brought some much-needed color to the dim interior, and she greeted me with a broad smile and a hug across the counter.

She nodded toward the front of the store. "It's not usually like that, is it?" The expression on her face told me she disapproved of the posters, possibly politics in general, and I was quick to assure her that by tomorrow they would be gone forever.

"John's in the back, want me to grab him?"

"Actually I'm here to see you," she answered. "Thought I'd get the lay of the land and report back to my photographer."

I had half expected her suggestion of photographing my shop to be an offhand remark so I was delighted that she was genuinely interested. I watched as she scanned the display cases, unusually sparse for this time of day. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

She frowned. "Actually yeah, he was hoping for cakes."

"Cupcakes are about all I can manage on a daily basis," I replied. 

She politely took a look at what was on display but I could tell it wasn't what she wanted. "Hm, not sure how much he'll be able to do with those."

"Tell you what: give me some warning and I'll whip something up just for you," I said, and she bobbed her magenta head in approval.

As we started talking specifics we heard a voice call out. "Hey Megan, the oven just made a noise but I'm not really sure what it means," came John's voice from the kitchen. Carrie and I rolled our eyes at each other and shared a grin.

"At least he knows which one is the oven," I said with a sigh.

She giggled. "Well, it's just nice to see him happy."

I meant to follow up on her comment but John called again to say the oven had made a different noise so I excused myself instead. Once I was in the back I sent John back out front, and felt a rush of excitement when he gave me an illicit peck on the cheek on his way.

The rest of the morning passed smoothly, but all too soon it was time to close for the day. The notice I'd posted on the door about the early closing discouraged some customers from even coming in at all, but there were still enough to clear the display cases of their contents. By the time Jerry ambled in the stragglers of the lunch crowd were gone, we had already cleared all the food away and were just finishing cleaning up.

Jerry brought with him a team of smartly dressed professionals who were sizing up the space and jotting down notes, pointing at various spots and conferring in clipped tones. 

He turned to John with a sneer. "Why don't you slink out the back, hmm? We're busy." He seemed annoyed, though not particularly surprised, that my assistant had shown up to work that morning.

John started to say something but I put my hand on his arm. If experience had taught me anything it's that there's no use getting into an argument with a campaign manager. I walked John to the back and grabbed his coat, and as I handed it over he held my gaze.

"Are you sure about all this?" His eyes were searching my face and I could see the hesitation in leaving me alone.

I put on a brave face and reassured him that I would be fine, that soon all of this would be over and I could go back to living my own life. He didn't seem entirely convinced but at least pulled on his coat. After confirming that we'd be open the usual time the next day he gave my shoulder a squeeze and left out the back door, leaving me alone with Jerry and his crew.

Not wanting to get involved in the temporary renovations going on in the front I stayed in the kitchen, making sure everything was put away and wouldn't risk getting set aside somewhere I'd never find it again. I took my trusty clipboard off the wall and checked my supplies, making a note of the orders I'd need to place soon.

"You'll really just be in the way if you hang around here, so why don't you be a good little girl and go home." Jerry's voice was uncomfortably close to my ear, and I couldn't help shuddering at the proximity. Without a word I put on my own coat and left. 

Back at my apartment I took a long shower, letting the hot water work at the tension in my shoulders. My imagination was running away thinking about what was going on at the bakery at that moment, and how the rest of the evening would go. After successfully steaming up the entire bathroom I got out, dressed in the Jerry-approved ensemble and headed out.

Even before I got to the bakery I could tell the party had started. The sidewalks were crowded with people all headed the same direction, and uniformed valets were taking expensive cars to some unseen parking lot. I hesitated at the door: time to get this over with.

The inside of the bakery had undergone a complete transformation since I had left, and I spent a few moments staring around in disbelief. Enormous lamps had been placed in the usually dark corners and were bathing the entire store in bright light. The front counter had been completely removed, a feat I never imagined possible and one that must have involved the services of a fast-working carpenter. High tables draped in colorful swathes of fabric dotted the open space, and the room felt like it had doubled in size.

Despite the increase in space there was hardly room to stand. The entire shop was packed with well-dressed people holding champagne flutes and tiny plates of food. Waiters in crisp white shirts mingled among the guests with trays of unrecognizable (but undoubtedly expensive) hors d'oeuvres. 

Some of the guests I recognized from their work on the campaign, and I even got a smile from a few of the eager interns excited they got to join in on the fun. However, the majority of the crowd was made up of campaign donors who were much less enthusiastic toward me.

I made my way through the throng of people, feeling painfully under-dressed in the clothes Jerry had instructed me to wear. My jeans had been replaced with a pair of dress pants and my usual long-sleeve tee was now a button-down shirt, but even the waiters were better dressed.

After scanning the room twice over the crowd parted and I got my first glimpse of Charles. He was wearing the crisp suit and tie I was used to but tonight he seemed even more polished. His hair had been carefully styled and looked immaculate, his graying temples a stalwart reassurance of his experience and wisdom. His face looked slightly tanned and his smile was freshly whitened. No doubt he had spent the majority of his day being pampered and primped since he had little need for last-minute campaigning.

I tried to catch his eye but he was obviously busy. Each person he greeted got a hearty two-handed handshake, the one I had only ever seen performed by politicians. He listened intently to each person and perfectly matched his facial expression to what they were saying, so much that I could follow the conversation just by watching his reactions.

It was as though his transformation from eager assistant district attorney to career politician was finally complete. During the early days of his first campaign we had mocked the seasoned politicos, their shallow emotions and empty chatter. 

When I'd suggested he could one day turn into one of those people he'd laughed and sworn it would never happen. He promised he was different, that he would never let the politics go to his head. It was just one in a long string of promises he would eventually break.

People avoided my gaze as I made my way through the crowd toward the kitchen to escape the teeming mass of humanity. No one seemed to think I was worth paying attention to and that was just fine by me. When I got to the back I found Jerry berating one of the caterers about some trivial matter and he hardly noticed when I stood beside him.

"Well I'm here," I told him. "What do you want me to do?"

Jerry excused the caterer with a wave of his hand before looking me up and down. "There's been a slight change of plan. I think we have things under control for now," he said, "so just sit tight."

He wandered back out to the party and left me in the kitchen where the food was being served up on gleaming platters. There were more people crammed into my modest kitchen than should have fit, but I felt much more comfortable among the staff than I had with the guests.

After standing around until my feet were sore I spotted a chair backed against a wall and took a seat. Before long someone took pity on me and brought a plate of food over so I passed the time munching on a meal that probably cost as much as my rent. Every so often I would catch snatches of conversation from the next room, and updates in poll numbers were announced with increasing regularity.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my office door was closed. In the bustle of the kitchen I hadn't noticed anyone go in there and I wondered if anything important might be carelessly left on my desk. Before I had made up my mind whether to investigate or not the door opened and a woman stepped out. 

She was wearing an elegant dress that perfectly complemented her figure, and even a few of the busy kitchen staff turned when she walked by. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't quite place her. Had she worked on the campaign?

She had closed the office door behind her and I decided I would be even more out of the way if I was closed off in my office. I even had some work I could do while I was in there so the evening wouldn't be a total waste of time. I was halfway across the room when the door opened again and Charles appeared.

His hair was still perfectly in place but his tie was ever so slightly askew. Before stepping out into the kitchen he checked the zipper on his pants, a maneuver that told me everything I needed to know about what had just happened between Charles and the beautiful woman in my office.

I knew I didn't have a moral leg to stand on, that I was already moving on with my romantic life so there's no reason he shouldn't too. But as his eyes darted around the kitchen and he spotted me a look of overwhelming guilt passed, however briefly, over his face. 

He recovered in an instant and went back out to the party without even speaking to me, but that look was unmistakable. And the only reason he'd feel guilty was if this wasn't the first time.

Suddenly the kitchen was too warm, the voices of the catering staff too loud, and my feet were heading straight for the back door. The brisk air stung my face and made me take a sharp breath but I couldn't stand to be in there a second longer.

Jerry's extra agitation now seemed warranted. If I was seen traipsing around with another man people might start to wonder if Charles was spending time with another woman. Some enterprising journalist might put the pieces together and discover the golden boy senator was just like so many others before him and Charles would have to start making apology press conferences.

I sat down on the cold concrete, letting my legs dangle over the edge of the loading dock. Around the side of the building I could hear journalists talking on their phones, photographers adjusting their cameras. Not one of them seemed to notice me, or if they did they didn't care. As far as they were concerned I was yesterday's news and not worth an inch of newsprint. It was exactly how I felt about myself at that moment.

Inside the party raged on as the polls closed and the votes were counted. The sound rose to a crescendo as I assumed the final decision was announced. It died down to silence, broken only by the sound of one muffled voice. Charles, as everyone knew he would, had won.

By this time the cold had seeped so thoroughly into my bones that I didn't feel it anymore. At one point Jerry came out to say the party was over, that he'd keep up his end of the bargain and I'd never hear from him again. 

He also asked for my engagement ring back, a final slap in the face on an evening full of blows to my ego. I didn't even think before sliding it off my finger and dropping it in his upturned palm. I didn't want it, didn't even want to sell it; I just wanted this to be over.

When it felt like I would be rooted to that spot forever and never be able to move again I got my first indication that the night really was coming to a close.

"Ma'am? We're all done in here," came a timid voice. I looked back to see the face of one of the interns. I hadn't seen him at the party and his clothes suggested he was part of the cleanup crew and nothing more. Still, he seemed happy just to be involved.

Looking at this eager young man made my heart sink just a little. He was barely out of college and already pledging himself to a life of politics, whether he ever made it onto a ballot or not. He reminded me of Charles back when we first met, before the weight of reality settled on both our shoulders and we realized the true price of the life he had chosen.

I wanted to warn him, to tell this intern that it was not too late to quit and do something else with his life. But even standing at the edge of a loading dock in the middle of the night after doing the grunt work of the campaign he had a gleam in his eye that said this was exactly where he wanted to be, and I knew my plea would fall on deaf ears. Instead I just nodded, thanked him for letting me know, and commanded my stiff limbs to get me to my feet and take me back inside.

I stared around the kitchen, not recognizing it from a few hours earlier. The stacks of platters and cocktail glasses had all been cleared away, and the whole room smelled faintly of disinfectant. Any indication that a celebration had taken place here was long gone. 

Out in the front my counter was right back where it always had been, and the campaign posters had been stripped from the windows. There was no trace of what must have been hundreds of people, just empty silence. Wandering back to the kitchen, I grudgingly had to hand it to Jerry: his team was very good at what they did.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and reveled in the silence. I was over. Finally, after all this time, I was done.

The sterile smell of the cleaner seemed out of place in the normally sweet-smelling room, and I wondered what type of chemicals they had used. Just to be on the safe side I grabbed my own cleaning supplies and wiped down all the counters, scrubbing away the unfamiliar odors.

I stood in the empty room once more, staring around me at the tools I so rarely got to use. Though I did my best to rotate the menu, the majority of the items I had for sale never changed. The intricate decorating techniques it had taken me years to learn were rarely seen in favor of the simpler designs that were easier to produce. 

An entire cabinet in the kitchen was devoted to piping bags and tips for making different decorations, but it had not even seen the light of day for months. My cake leveler hung nearly forgotten in a corner, just waiting for the day when I would need a cake to be perfectly cut in half to be filled.

The clock on the wall told me exactly how late it was, and how few hours before the bakery was set to open. I had toyed with the idea of taking the day off, but was at a complete loss as to how I would spend the day. Despite the hour I decided to at least get started on my usual prep work so I'd be ready when it was time to open. I grabbed my apron and switched on the oven.

As I went through my routine of getting everything ready for a new day my mind was free to wander. I thought about all the time I had spent in this room, and my dreams from an early age of becoming a baker. I remembered wanting to go to culinary school but my mom insisting I should study how to run a business instead. I had begrudgingly thanked her within a month of taking over the bakery, but I had always wondered what would have happened if I had taken a different path.




Keeping Guard Ch. 04



As much as I enjoyed owning my own business the baking was what I had always wanted to do; everything else was just a means to an end.

Before I even realized what I was doing I had all the ingredients for a yellow cake combined in the mixer. As the oven heated I grabbed three round cake pans from the racks and got them ready to fill, scowling at the dust had had settled into the bottom of the smallest.

From there everything continued naturally. I knew all the recipes by heart and was able to whip up a batch of my father's buttercream frosting as if I made it every day. As the cakes baked I colored the frosting, remembering exactly how much I would need to get the color to come out just right. Once the cakes were out of the oven and cooling on the racks I starting filling piping bags with frosting.

As soon as the cakes were cool enough I grabbed my long-neglected leveler and sliced each tier in half, then filled them with the chocolate frosting I normally slathered on cupcakes. By the time I had all the tiers stacked I had completely forgotten that it was the middle of the night or that I seemed to be at a crossroads in my life. All that mattered was this cake.

Before I started decorating I had it all planned out in my mind. Each tier was going to need a different technique, but if I did it right they would all work together to make one complete piece. I finalized the plan in my head and got to work on the crumb coat.

I was smoothing out the icing when I heard the door open behind me. I froze on the spot, my mind racing. Had I remembered to lock the door when I came back inside? It seemed unlikely that anyone would want to break into my bakery a second time, but maybe someone had learned from the last break-in that the middle of the night was a much better time to try.

My fingers tightened around the spatula, and when I heard footsteps coming around the corner I turned, ready to strike.

"Whoa, it's me!" John held up his hands, still holding the key I had given him that very morning.

"What are you doing? Why didn't you say something instead of sneaking up on me, I could have killed you!" It was an overstatement, but I was feeling high strung.

"With a...?" He searched for the right word as he glanced at the tool in my hand.

"Spatula, it's a spatula." I groaned. "You really are the worst baker's assistant ever."

He gave a sheepish grin, but didn't even try to deny it. "I'm mainly in it for the baker."

I slumped onto a stool, but still managed a small smile. I had no idea how long I had been working but the night before was beginning to feel like another lifetime. As I closed my eyes I felt warm hands on my shoulders, and John began kneading the knots in my back the same way he kneaded bread dough.

"Have you been here all night? I figured everyone would have been gone hours ago."

That explained why it felt like I had been up all night: I had. "Just tying up a few loose ends, doing a little thinking."

He looked at the cake. "You're a very productive thinker." My muscles began to relax around his touch and the tension I'd been feeling for days was melting away. He didn't ask about the party, and I would always be grateful for that.

After enjoying the much-needed massage a few minutes longer I looked at the cake and realized there was so much to be done. I picked up the piping bag and got back to work.

"I've really missed being back here, I don't get to do nearly as much baking as I'd like." I started a delicate row of drop lines, using a technique that had taken months of work to learn and several more years to perfect. "I used to work here every summer with my dad, back when the business was mostly cakes. That's all I ever really wanted to do, just be in the kitchen."

I switched to a thinner decorating tip and started an intricate lattice pattern that I'd always loved to make. I was a little rusty and it took longer than it should have, but as my hands remembered the movement it started to come more easily. "My dream was to do what I love, but somehow everything else always got in the way."

John was thoughtful as he watched me. He waited until I stepped back to check my work to say, "Did I ever tell you I was in the Army?"

I looked at him and shook my head, taken completely by surprise. I still knew embarrassingly little about my only employee, though the past few days had been enlightening.

He nodded and continued. "Since I was little, that's all I ever wanted to do. Became an Eagle Scout, ROTC in high school, the whole deal."

"So what happened?" I put the piping bag down and gave him my full attention.

"I joined right after graduation, passed all the tests and flew through basic training. I was back home for a few weeks waiting to get shipped off and I was in a car accident." He winced at the memory. "Broke my sternum."

"It healed perfectly and it's fine now, but that was enough to get me disqualified for service." He continued before I could think of anything to say. "The point is, after I was sent home all I did was mope around the house because I had my whole life planned out and it had all fallen apart and my lifelong dream had completely collapsed."

I nodded. It was becoming clear why he was telling me this story, and that it could be one I desperately needed to hear. "Then what?"

"My dad told me to quit whining and get a new dream," he said with a laugh. 

I stared at him.

"I think part of him just wanted to get me out of the house, but he had a point. Nothing ever works out the way we think it will, so the best we can do is keep moving forward."

He stood up and walked around the table, taking a good look at the decorating I'd been doing. "Eventually I ended up at the security company. What I really wanted to do was help people, and it seemed like a decent place to start until something else came up."

After making a full circuit he came to a stop right in front of me. "This is a beautiful cake."

I blushed. "Maybe I'm ready to quit whining and start moving forward too."

A thought crossed my mind, and it felt so obvious I was surprised I hadn't thought of it sooner. "Have you considered being a police officer? The station across the street is looking for good people."

A strange look crossed his face. "Funny you should say that, I think one of the guys has been trying to recruit me."

"Is it something you'd be interested in?" I asked.

He hesitated, then nodded.

I pursed my lips. "In that case I think it's time for your first performance review."

"Oh?" His raised eyebrow made me giggle, but I put my serious face back on before I continued.

"Despite some slight improvement, overall I'd say you're completely hopeless and I don't think a career as a baker's assistant is right for you."

"I see," he said with a solemn nod.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go, consider this your two weeks notice." He began a mock objection but I just raised my hand. "No no, I'm going to be very busy back here reinventing my business and I don't need anyone getting in my way."

"Not even a little bit?" He slipped his arms around my waist as he said it, pulling me close to him.

"Well fine, you can get in my way occasionally." 

He seemed satisfied. "Fine, I'll go quietly. On one condition."

I tipped my head back to look into his eyes. "What's that?"

"You keep making donuts," he answered with a smile, "of course."

"Deal."