Hilary Fields - Bliss

Be cool, Sera, she warned herself.

“Where have you been?” was what came out of her mouth.

Loudly.

Titters, snorts, and muffled laughs erupted from the crowd waiting their turn at the counter. Sera’s face flushed a painful near-purple, and she debated whether the storage cubby at her back might be generous enough to accommodate her.

“I’m sorry, Bliss.” Asher’s eyes were earnest, his whole face radiating regret. “I would have returned sooner if I could. I had… obligations… to attend to back home.”

Obligations like his wife? Sera wondered.

“I see,” she said. She turned to her customer. “How about I arrange an assortment of those palmiers and some chocolate-dipped meringues? No peanuts, I promise.”

“Fine, fine,” murmured the mom, stroking little Billy’s tousled hair as she gazed hungrily at the man Sera very much wanted all to herself.

“I just got in less than an hour ago,” Asher explained. “And, ah… I brought you something,” he continued with unusual shyness. He reached behind him, and for the first time Sera noticed the long canvas sack slung over his shoulder, like a rifle case or a really, really big yoga mat holder. He swung it around front and reached inside, stripping the cloth away to show her what lay beneath.

“Oh.” Sera’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes.

It was a sign for her store. A big, metal sign with “Bliss” forged in the most elegant calligraphy against a chased background of fanciful designs inlaid in silver, copper, and brass. Amid flowing abstract renderings of what looked like flowers and mountains, Sera picked out delicate little cupcakes, tiered party cakes, éclairs, cookies, and even… was that?... yes, a tiny chocolate babka. It must have taken him days, if not weeks, to create.

“It’s wonderful,” she said.

It was Asher’s turn to blush, just a tiny hint of rosy color staining those tanned cheeks. “It was the only thing missing,” he said. “Before I left, Malcolm showed me the store, and I thought, ‘It’s perfect, it has everything—except a way to let customers know how marvelous it is inside.’ So”—he shrugged—“I made this.”

“Nice going, guy, but could you woo your girlfriend some other time? Some of us are crying for a latte and a cinnamon bun here.”

The suggestion came from a burly, cowboy-hatted mountain man with a beard Grizzly Adams would have envied and a grin that took the sting from his words.

“I’ve come at a bad time,” Asher said, reddening further as he took in, seemingly for the first time, just how crowded the shop was.

“No… well, yes,” Sera admitted. “It’s a bit hectic right now, but I do want to talk to you, Ash.” And kiss you, and lick you, and make myself at home stark naked on top of your body…

“After closing, then?” he asked. “I’ll just go and retrieve the dogs from the kennel, and check on Guadalupe in the meantime—she’s been managing the shop on her own far too long.”

“Yeah, that’d be great—just maybe give me an hour after closing to set the place to rights,” Sera said, wondering if she’d have time to scrub off the sweat, sugar, and sinful thoughts she’d be accruing in the meanwhile. “You know where to find me.”

“Until then.”

Sera’s sigh was echoed by half (primarily, though not entirely, the soprano half) of her customers as Asher sauntered out of the store. And as the door closed behind him, Pauline experienced a sudden run on the back room that made her smile quite, quite broadly.

At the last second, Sera snatched the forgotten snood off her hair and gave her head a shake, hoping she’d achieve “sexily tousled” rather than “bag lady chic.” Knowing her hair, she figured her chances were about fifty-fifty.

An hour after closing, Bliss was empty, tidy, and gleaming with readiness to face the next day. What a change from earlier today, Sera thought, feeling a strong sense of satisfaction—and yes, pride as she surveyed her store. It was a feeling she’d yet to get familiar with. She still tended to see herself as a failure—an addict, a washout in her career. But look at me now, she marveled. A so-far successful store. A sweet little bungalow she shared with her aunt. New friends. Glorious sunsets every night, fresh mountain air, and chile-smothered Southwestern food to eat pretty much any night of the week. And an incredibly hot guy about to walk through her door.

Just. Don’t. Fuck. It. Up.

“Fuck what up?” Asher asked as he poked his head through the door.

Did I say that out loud? “Oh, I was thinking of including a special later this week—it’s this little turkey-shaped fleur de sel caramel truffle that’d be perfect for people’s Thanksgiving tables. But it’s been awhile since I made them and I was worried about how they’d come out. The molds can be a bit tricky.” All true, if he’d interrupted her thoughts ten minutes earlier.

“I’ve no doubt they will turn out brilliantly, given who’s making them,” Asher opined, edging the rest of his easy-on-the-eye frame into the shop.

Sera shrugged off the gallantry, uncomfortable with such ready praise. Blake would’ve been on my back, breathing down my neck about how those little suckers better pop out perfect or my ass could find another line of work, she couldn’t help thinking. But Asher wasn’t Blake. Oh, boy, was he ever not Blake.

“Come in, come in,” she said, wiping her hands nervously on her jeans and turning for the back. “I was just closing up. Let me double-check that everything’s off in the kitchen.” She disappeared behind the glass wall, feeling the need to avoid Asher’s gaze. How’m I supposed to feel; a guy like that walks in all windswept and sexy? After three weeks with not a word?! She wanted to lob day-old bagels at his head. But not nearly as much as she wanted to tackle him to the floor, slather him in homemade buttercream, and lick it off inch by inch with her tongue.

Down girl. She retreated to her happy place—the store’s commodious kitchen.

“Bliss,” said Asher.

When she turned around, he was much nearer than she’d expected—had followed her into the kitchen and was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off him despite the Navy peacoat and olive wool scarf he’d worn against the late November chill.

“Bliss,” he said again. Deeper.

“Hm?” Her voice was a scant breath, her whole being mesmerized by the intensity of his scrutiny.

He gathered her, quite suddenly and quite thoroughly, into his arms. She squeaked, but had time for nothing more before his lips claimed hers.

It was—or at least felt—about ten minutes later when he let her go. Stroking Sera’s hair back from her flushed cheek, forehead pressed against hers, he was murmuring something over and over. It took Sera’s scrambled brain a while to parse it out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked. Giving me hope? Or giving me a case of the screaming “I-gotta-have-ya’s”? Sera pulled back to study his face. Green eyes shot through with golden spikes, brows that knit appealingly, lips that were slightly swollen from their kisses and so, so enticing…

“For taking so unforgivably long to return to the best thing that’s come into my life in many years.”

“Oh, that.” Sera crossed her arms under her breasts, reminding herself not to succumb to his apology without at least token resistance. But token resistance was pretty much all the resistance she could muster. “Yeah, Asher, what was all that about? I thought you said a week, maybe two. It’s been three. And the last words you left me with weren’t exactly reassuring.”

His features creased with confusion. “What, that I wanted to take you out?”

Scratch that. Now Sera really was ready to nurse a grudge. “Um, no, Asher. I believe you muttered something about having a little chat with your wife before you disappeared for nearly a month.”

Asher’s hand scrubbed at the stubble that scruffed up his perfect jawline. “Oh, chara,” he swore in Hebrew. He had the same look he’d worn the day she’d dinged him with the dildo—the day he’d been worried about taking advantage of her.

Hangdog. Ashamed.

Good.

“Come here,” he entreated, holding out his hand.

Sera debated, but she couldn’t resist. He enfolded her hand in both of his, drawing her close as he backed up until he hit a countertop. With a lithe movement that would have done a dancer proud, he grasped her by the waist and twisted to deposit her, light as a feather, to sit atop the stainless steel counter. Sera could feel the coolness through her jeans, and then Asher’s heat as he crowded up close to her. Somehow, her legs were spread wide, and he had wedged himself between them. His fingers speared into her hair, cupping her face and turning it up to his. Even atop her perch, he towered over her. “Bliss. My wife has been dead for four years. I went to make my farewells, make peace with my memories of her. I did this because, after you came into my life, it became clear that I had met a woman with whom I could perhaps make a future. Before I could pursue this—pursue you—in good conscience, I had to say good-bye to my past, and so I went to visit her grave.”

Tears stung Sera’s eyes, threatening to spill over. Her own hands rose to cup his cheeks in return, and she leaned forward to bring her lips to his, telling him wordlessly that she witnessed his pain; honored it.

“I’m a dumbass.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Your ass,” he said with a twinkle, “is smart enough to fascinate me on quite a regular basis.” He demonstrated by sliding his hot hand up her leg until he reached the portion of her anatomy in question, wedging his hand between it and the counter to give it a squeeze.

“It’s I who have been the ‘dumbass,’ Bliss,” he continued more somberly. “And I’m sorry for it. I had no business being so cryptic, and then not calling… It was wrong of me.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d be gone just a few days, that I’d have plenty of time to take care of my business and get back to you to explain more fully why I’d gone. However, when I returned to Tel Aviv, I found my family in a bit of disarray.” He stroked Sera’s leg absently as he spoke, perhaps taking as much comfort as he was giving.

“My father is getting on in years, and his health has been declining for some time. Whenever I would call, my mother and sister always assured me it wasn’t serious, that they were looking after him and there was nothing to worry about. Yet less than a week after I returned home, he had a stroke.” At Sera’s stricken look, he hastened to reassure her. “It turned out to be very minor—some kind of infarction, I believe they called it—but he was in the hospital for several days and I needed to be there. And after that I stayed to help my mother and sister settle him back at home, to be sure they had all of the support they needed.”

“Of course,” Sera said, feeling daring enough to run two fingers down the side of his face in a gentle caress. “I’m so glad you were able to be with your parents at a time like that.” Her own parents were long gone, but Sera remembered how devastated she had been at even the hint that her aunt might be sick, when Pauline had told her and the BRBs about the lump in her breast.

Asher caught her fingers and kissed each one. “I think my family has been shielding me too much. Since my wife’s death, they’ve tried to keep things light and respect my need to process my grief in my own way—even to moving halfway across the world. Perhaps they thought I couldn’t handle another illness, and so they played down my father’s condition. When I saw the reality… well, I’m afraid I became a bit caught up in family concerns. Still, Bliss, I should have called. But somehow… I just wanted to wait until I could see your face again… touch you…” Asher suited actions to words as he stroked one callused hand down her arm. “…gaze into those pretty gray eyes. And tell you… how much I’ve longed to be with you.”

“Asher, you really need to stop talking now.”

Sera very much enjoyed the look that crossed her handsome suitor’s face.

“I’m sorry?” He took a step back, leaving her bereft of his warmth.

Sera grabbed his hand, reeled him back in. “You should be. I went to a lot of trouble to put on this mascara”—she pointed to her lashes—“and I don’t think you’d enjoy seeing it decorating my cheeks like a bad batch of icing. So please, spare us both and come here and kiss me, before I start to blubber.”