Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
GRUMP TOWN
Grumpy Baker
by
LENA LITTLE
A Grumpy meets Sunshine, instalove romance (well, honestly the instalove has been percolating for a while). Ms Curvaceous meets Mr Chiseled in this terrific small town slice of life story which will bring goosebumps to places you didn't expect. Maybe even warm your heart and tingle your tastebuds
Mackenna - "Kenny", to some....
When the only bartender at On the Rocks hits the jackpot, so do I.
The devilishly delicious baker next door steps in and steps up to take over, leaving me thirsty for more.
While Dean and I have a past, I'm mostly looking forward to the future we can have as we work together, staving off one emergency after the next. From the way his crisp blue eyes pierce my insecurities, there's no hiding what my heart desires when it comes to the most eligible baker … bartender … bachelor in our small town.
It's clear that love wants me to take a shot. Whether it's a shot at Dean's heart or of his delicious bourbon, or a sample of his devilish sweet, creamy confections only time can tell.
With the loss of my mom and my life turning upside down, I'm not sure I can handle any dessert Dean is about to dish out. But his decadent determination opens me up to everything sweet he has on the menu.
I can only hope to deserve what love is ready to serve.
This is a short, steamy, grumpy/sunshine romance. No OM / OW drama and no cliffhangers.
No ddlg. Some lite constrained play. Always a sweet HEA
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MACKENNA
"What's eating you, Kenny?" Hank asks as he slides my two free shots of bourbon in front of me.
Hank is the most attentive and the only bartender at On the Rocks. Even though it's one of the few bars in our cozy town of Mercy, Ohio, Hank manages the crowd masterfully. Well, the term crowd is generous. It's more like a handful of the unemployed and underemployed drowning their sorrows before the evening rush begins.
"Work is slow," I reply to Hank with a shrug as my eyes get lost in the dark brown liquid swirling around the small glass.
Hank nods apathetically. "You're one of those fancy computer programmers, right? Isn't that AI stuff taking over? You shouldn't be surprised that work is slow when the machines are taking the job of a hard-working woman like yourself. Here, take the last slice of lemon meringue. On me."
Tangy, sweet scents of pie cut through the strong aromas of the alcohol as I decide I want to savor the dessert after slamming down my bourbon. The smooth burn of the free shots warms my throat, and the sweet taste of free pie is comforting.
The baker next door knows his way around everything sweet, and with his bar attached, Dean Rockland is one of the leading businessmen in our town. He's also leading the pack as one of the most eligible bachelors. My heart flutters every time I think about him, but then disappointment settles in once I remember how much I've distanced myself from him and the idea of dating altogether.
The bar phone ringing over the jukebox rock ballad draws my mind back to what was eating me. What's eating me?
Ha, that's a laugh.
Who's eating me?
That sounds much better than wallowing in my slow-growing client list and lack of income.
Hmm.
When was the last time someone buried their face between my thighs?
Hank's screech of joy stops my mind from scrolling through my memories of sexual escapades past. Everyone in the bar turns their attention to his phone call.
"What's going on, Hank?" I shout at him between bites of pie.
"Joe-Marie hit the jackpot! I'm getting out of here. Take care of the place 'til Dean gets in, will ya, Kenny?" Hank starts to abandon his post slinging drinks.
"Can I at least get a rum and coke before you head out, Hank?" a guy asks as our sole bartender dashes out the door.
One of the best parts about our small town is the level of trust we have in our community. So, I reluctantly get off my stool and out of my funk of frustration to get behind the bar until Dean shows up. Even though we're not on 'let's talk everyday' terms, I'd never let his place go to shit because his bartender won the lottery.
Orders are coming in, and I'm serving drinks as more people file into the bar to watch the Bengals play their last football game before the playoffs. This brings me back to bartending in my senior year of college when I was desperately counting down the days until I earned my degree in digital marketing. Perhaps work wouldn't be so slow if I could actually code like a programmer.
Everyone is all smiles until the energy shifts. A glance over my shoulder has me in Dean's sight. He's as chiseled as his name—Rockland—sounds. Thick eyebrows are set in a firm line with a stoic expression on his face. It's not lost on me that he has an amazing body under the apron and smells delicious.
Dean has these soft blue eyes that pull me into a calm space. My mouth waters as my mind draws a blank, but the hustle and bustle of the patrons at the bar snap me out of my trance.
"Two rum and cokes coming right up," I tell the guy at the bar, who's been ordering round after round since Hank rushed out. I turn to Dean and tell him, "Table in the corner is on their fifth pitcher. The Bengals are getting their asses handed to 'em tonight. They might get rowdy. Uh, those girls are on their second round of wine, and I'm about to clock out. Tips are under the drawer."
"Stay." Dean's voice tells me he's asking and not demanding. "Please. I'm not good at this part, Mackenna."
He gestures toward the people lining up at the bar to place their orders, and I get it. It takes a special kind of person to be social when you don't want to be. There's also the fact that he can't ask for help, even when he needs it. So, these few words are the same as hell freezing over, and I won't have him ask me twice.
A glance around the bar shows he won’t be able to handle the growing crowd alone. To his surprising relief, I nod. "If we're going to be slinging drinks back to back like the old days, you can call me Kenny."