Knead to Know Read online



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  Knead to Know

  Copyright © 2015 by Liz Schulte

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Check out more books by Liz

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “My cupcakes only taste like dirt to me,” was my new mantra. I muttered it aloud, chanted it in my head, and even wrote it down sometimes.

  My hand flew as I whisked the egg whites, and my thoughts churned in a similar rhythm. Self-doubt was one of the many emotions that came with opening a bakery. It skipped along merrily, holding hands with anxiety, worry, and a general sense that I was making a huge mistake. But what else could a half-vampire with permanent insomnia and a penchant for baking do?

  Living forever sounded like a dream come true until I was faced with the day to day of it. My human friends were going to get old and leave me—or, more factually, I’d have to cut myself off from them in just a few years so they wouldn’t notice I wasn’t aging.

  My new friends of the paranormal persuasion were fun, but they all had lives that attracted danger and that wasn’t my thing. I didn’t mind helping people, but I didn’t want to spend forever surrounded by death and mayhem—which didn’t leave me a lot of options.

  And topping off my socializing dilemma? Severe boredom. Filling twenty-four hours a day would’ve been hard enough even if I let myself hang out with my friends whenever I wanted to. Alone it was impossible. What was I going to do with an eternity of time? How was I going to keep from going completely mad? While hiding in my house was really tempting, eventually I had to find my place in the Abyss or the human world.

  I continued beating the eggs and closed my dry, burning eyes for a moment. The contacts hid the red in my eyes, but they itched like hell.

  The problem was clear. I needed something purely mine—a safe-haven. The bakery was only a temporary solution because my failure to age would force the doors closed eventually, lest some human get suspicious. In a perfect universe, the bakery would be successful enough that I could hire employees, perhaps those with eyes opened to both worlds and then I could retreat back into the kitchen and the safety of anonymity. The plan was weak, yes—and that I’d sunk my life savings into this venture terrified me—but I had the misguided notion that I needed control over at least one part of my life. Sue me.

  When the egg whites were frothy, I added vanilla seeds and cream of tartar, whisked a bit more, and added in sugar. When stiff, glossy peaks formed, I set the bowl aside and released the breath I’d been holding. Everything was going to be okay. I gently folded the egg whites into the rest of a waiting mixture and scooped the chiffon batter into cupcake tins. My shop wasn’t going to go belly-up. I’d find a way to live a normal life. Cupcakes weren’t a passing fad. Everyone liked sweets. Well, most people anyway.

  Waiting in the refrigerator were two fresh, perfectly ripe diced mangoes and a heavenly whipped cream I’d prepared in advance for my mangoes and cream chiffon cupcakes.

  Damn, I missed the taste of sugar. The taste of anything, really.

  I sighed. Surely it would get easier. Right now though, my mouth watered at the memory. I could remember the first light tropical bite that would transport me instantly to the beach—at least in my head. Maybe five, ten or a hundred years I wouldn’t be able to recall it so vividly. Whether or not that made me happy or sad was still undecided.

  The shop door’s bell jingled, signaling someone had come inside. I glanced at the clock: half past seven in the morning. It was either a thief who totally chose the wrong cupcake shop to rob, or my carpenter was early. I put the cupcakes in the oven, wiped my hands on my apron, and walked out—no weapon needed.

  A tall man with hair so black it seemed to swallow the sunlight streaming through the front windows stood in the center of the room. He was staring up at the ceiling, mumbling to himself. “Can I help you?” I asked.

  He startled at the sound of my voice and openly stared at me, mouth slightly agape. I crossed my arms and gave my best impatient look. “Wow,” he said under his breath, then pointed at me. “Maggie?”

  I took half a step back. He wasn’t a demon—they wouldn’t be out during the day—but he had to be something supernatural. How else would he know who I was? “Who sent you?”

  He looked genuinely confused. “What?”

  For about the thousandth time, I wished I had a way to distinguish regular humans from people like me. “Do you need something?”

  He smiled slightly. “You’re not what I had in mind. I had this mental picture of someone older and a little more…Rubenesque.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” I looked pointedly at the door. If I didn’t know him and no one I knew sent him, then I simply didn’t have time for whatever he wanted. Not this week. “If you don’t mind—”

  He held up his hands. “No, no. I mean that in a good way. My imagination was just completely out of line with reality.” He gestured grandly at me. “I’m Garret. Garret Malloy.”

  I only held back a sigh because he was a potential future customer. “As you can see, the shop isn’t open yet. If you come back on Halloween, we can talk more then.” I moved forward, hoping to corral him toward the door without having to touch him, but he stayed glued to his spot.

  “I live down the street. I had a little extra time this morning so I thought I’d…come by and offend you apparently.” He gave me a chagrined smile. “I’m not here for sweets. I’ve just always loved this building and I’m glad to see it filled again. I wanted to meet the new owner.”

  His gentle curiosity got the better of me. It wouldn’t kill me to take a few minutes off and meet a neighbor. My shoulders relaxed. “It’s a great building. Maggie Edwards, but you already know that.” I shook his hand. “How do you know who I am?”

  “You know how neighborhoods are. People talk. I’m pleasantly surprised that this time the gossip was right. You are as pretty as they said.”

  I smiled. It had been too long since I’d been on a date, let alone a human one. Not that he was asking me out, or that I even wanted to go out with anyone, but if I did, this seemed like a good start. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  His lively brown eyes darted around the mostly empty room. All of my furniture was supposed to be delivered this week, but I didn’t have any of it yet.

  “Sure,” he said absently. “This used to be a speakeasy, you know, back in the day. Most recently it was a pizza place. Bu
ildings like this are unrivalled. The history, the memories, you can’t buy that. If you’re really quiet, I bet you can still hear the jazz.” He paused, his eyebrows raised. No music played. Just as well. What would I do with a ghost?

  He wandered toward the back wall and ran his hand reverently over the bricks. “Can you imagine everything these walls witnessed? Flappers. Gangsters. Raids. Maybe even Capone was here at some point.”

  My heart stuttered as Garret’s words sank in. Baker would have loved that I bought a speakeasy. I rubbed gently beneath my eyes, careful not to dislodge my contacts. “I didn’t know that.” My voice was soft and wistful even to my own ears.

  Garret was at the windows now, inspecting the framing. “The alley door would have been green to indicate what type of place it was. Maybe you could paint it green again. You know, an homage to the past sort of thing.”

  Though I was about 70 percent sure that Garret had forgotten that I was there, I didn’t care. The door, while faded and chipped, was still some shade of green even after all these years. I had picked out blue paint to cover it, but maybe I’d stick with green after all.

  “Is the ceiling original? Is there a basement or cellar?”

  I looked up, though I already knew what my tin ceilings looked like. “I’m not sure. And yes, there’s a basement. It’s storage. How do you know all of this? Are you an architect?”

  He stopped ogling my walls and made eye contact. “I’m a reporter. I did a special piece on former speakeasies—but I couldn’t get in to look at this building. The seller was uncooperative.”

  Not terribly surprising. Holden, my undetermined-number-of-greats uncle who happened to be a jinni, helped me get this property. I never met the seller and was given a hell of a deal, which made me think it was probably someone sketchy that owed Holden a favor. Definitely not the sort who’d want a reporter poking around. “Well, feel free to explore.”

  The bell chimed again as Boone, my carpenter, arrived. I smiled, but he just nodded, his square unshaven jaw mesmerizing as ever. As attractive and masculine as Boone was, I did sometimes wish he spoke more often than was just utterly necessary. One of my favorite things about Baker was how much fun it was to talk to him. He knew a bit about everything, but I guess that happened when someone was immortal and had lived countless lifetimes.

  “How are you this morning?” I asked. “We were just heading into the kitchen for some coffee. Can I interest you in a cup?”

  Boone glanced at me as he sat his toolbox on the ground and grunted what I took to be no. But it could have been yes. Who could tell?

  “Do you need me for anything or should I just get out of your way?”

  He nodded at the second part.

  I smiled. “Okay, great.” That wasn’t a problem at all. I collected Garret and we went back into the kitchen. At least Garret had verbal skills, even if they didn’t require a second person in the conversation.

  I placed two steaming cups of coffee on the counter after I rescued my cupcakes from the oven, then took a seat on a stool.

  He crossed his long legs and turned to me. “When do you open?”

  “Saturday,” I said. “I thought a Halloween opening would be fun and bring people in. I’ll decorate the shop and hand out candy and treats to the kids. Hopefully get to know the neighborhood better.”

  He nodded. “It’s a great place. Did you just move here? Are you living upstairs?”

  “No, I’ve lived in Chicago for a while, but not this neighborhood. I own the apartment upstairs, but I inherited a little house not too far away. It’s sort of sentimental and I’m not ready to let it go, so I’m going to rent the upstairs unit, I think. We’ll see. I haven’t actually decided.” I laughed at myself and made a face. “Obviously, I’m fantastic at being decisive.”

  Garret’s eyes danced. “Well, on behalf of the neighborhood, we’d love to have you full time. I grew up about three blocks that way.” He pointed west. “I can probably tell you anything you need to know. But if you really want the scoop, my grandmother, Emily von Brandt, lives about four doors opposite of you. She knows everyone and everything about them.”

  “Is she the one who sits in the lawn chair on the sidewalk?”

  “That’s her.” He smiled fondly. “Have you tried Bronson’s ribs? They fall apart in your mouth. Trust me, the best in city. And have you met Bobby? He runs the dance studio and gives tango lessons to seniors on Monday nights—where Mr. Court, who lives next door to my grandmother, will yell at you and throw his shoe if you try to call him Alfred. He has good aim too. He played minor league baseball for a long time. During the summer, though, that’s when the neighborhood really comes to life. You’ll see.”

  Though the coffee might as well have been hot motor oil as far as my taste buds were concerned, a happy warmth spread through me as I sipped. For just a moment it felt like nothing had changed and I was normal. I was talking to a regular guy about regular things over coffee. I missed this so much. “It sounds perfect and I swear if I ever call Mr. Court by his first name, I’ll make sure I have a shield…preferably human.”

  Garret nodded solemnly. “That’s the only way to go. A metal shield could cause the shoe to ricochet and knock over a candle, which could start a fire—and the fire might spread down the street and eventually devour the city. You would be to blame. It’s a heavy burden to carry. Ask Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.”

  I nodded seriously. “There’s no proof that the cow did anything—but I wouldn’t have that luxury. I’d have to spend the rest of my life wishing I’d just taken the hit like a man.” We grinned at each other.

  He glanced at this watch and grimaced. “Unfortunately, I have to go.” He stood up, taking my hand in both of his. “Thank you for the coffee. It was great meeting you, Maggie Edwards. I hope to see a lot more of you.”

  “Me too.” I beamed up at him, gently pulling my hand back. Maybe my plan to be normal wasn’t so impossible after all.

  “Do you want to do this again tomorrow morning?”

  I glanced around the kitchen, the list of a million things I still had to do running through my mind. “I’d love to, but I have so much work with the store opening and...”

  He nodded, but the corners of his mouth curled. “You don’t have time for coffee? Is that a world you really want to live in? One with no coffee?” His feet shifted like he had too much energy to hold still very long, a sensation I knew all too well. He spoke with his hands as he continued. “We don’t know each other, and I might be out of line, but it just seems to me that you only open a bakery once. You might as well take a little time to enjoy it.”

  I considered his words. This was supposed to be a fresh beginning. I shouldn’t start it completely stressed, plus the whole point was to be normal again. What was more normal than getting to know my neighbors? I couldn’t be too scared to try. “Seven would be perfect.”

  He gave me a wide smile. “I’ll be here.”

  I let Garret out the kitchen door so we wouldn’t disturb Boone. My hand lingered on the brass doorknob a second after he departed. I could pull this off. I could have a life here. I’d get to know the whole neighborhood and tell other people stories about old Mr. Court. There would be picnics and parties and…I’d have a few years to enjoy it before I had to vanish. I dropped my forehead against the door. It was too easy to forget that my life was never going to be simple again. Garret’s enthusiasm and charm snuck up on me and wiggled in before I even knew it.

  I pushed away from the door, went to my purse, and fished out my eye drops. Standing in front of the mirror I’d hung by the door so I wouldn’t leave with flour on my face, I pried an eyelid up and squeezed a couple drops into my eye, relishing the immediate sense of release. I did the other eye next, but when I blinked, the contact shifted and rolled upwards, exposing the blood red iris that was now my natural eye color. “Crap,” I muttered, trying to grab the contact lens as my eyelid tried to force itself closed.

  The door opened and Garret st
uck his head back inside. “I was thinking that I could write a column about you and your shop—” His voice died as his eyes focused on mine.

  I snapped my red eye shut and my heart thundered in my chest, which only made everything worse. The sharper my energy spiked, the more the vampire half was fed—making it much harder to control. Power buzzed beneath my skin. My hands shook. “Sounds great. Can we talk about it later though? My contacts are really bothering me.”

  Garret nodded, pupils still too wide as he tried to process what he’d seen. He stepped inside. “It looks really bad. Maybe you should let me take a look. Maybe you got something in it.”

  I clapped my trembling fingers over my eye. “No,” I snapped, then forced myself to speak more calmly. “This happens. Ocular migraines. It gets really light sensitive and turns bright red. I just need to find my allergy drops. It will clear up in a couple minutes or I’ll go to the doctor. Prying it open will only make it worse. You should go to work.”

  “But it wasn’t…” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  I forced a smile. “Positive. Don’t be late because of me. We can talk about the article tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He left slowly, glancing back a couple times before he closed the door behind him and I flipped the lock.

  “Damn it,” I hissed. That was close. I had to be more careful. Garret may not have believed my ocular migraine story, but who in his right mind would jump to the conclusion I was a vampire? No one, that’s who. Everything was going to be fine.

  I fixed my contact in the mirror. The Abyss took their one rule very seriously. We were not to expose ourselves to humans unless they were brought into our world. And I couldn’t do that to anyone. Even if they wanted to know about it, like I once foolishly had.

  I shook my head. Plus, Garret was a journalist. No good could ever come from his knowing. What if he started telling other people, or worse, wrote about it? Bounty hunters would be hired to eliminate him and capture me. Both our lives would be destroyed all because I was a terrible liar.

  My phone vibrated on the counter, jarring me out of my new favorite pastime, worrying about worst-case scenarios. I glanced in the mirror, confirming both my eyes were once again brown. I didn’t recognize the number, so snatched it up before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

  “Is Maggie Edwards there?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Combs and King Interiors. I’m calling about your order.”

  I leaned against the stainless steel island and fiddled with my coffee mug. “Oh, hi. Do you need directions to my shop?”

  The person on the other end hesitated. “No. I’m calling because there’s a problem with your order. The shipment, I’m afraid, has been indefinitely delayed. I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

  “What? No. No, that doesn’t work. I open this Saturday. I need the display case and counter now. Today. In fact, yesterday would have been better.” This couldn’t be happening. “Is it a shipping problem? Can I just pick it up myself? Where is it being shipped from?”

  “As I said, we do apologize for the inconvenience, and we will give you 15 percent off your total order. As soon as we have a confirmed date for delivery, I will contact you.”

  “I don’t want a discount,” I growled, slamming my hand down on the counter. “I want my counters today or cancel the order.”

  “There will be a three hundred dollar cancelation fee—”

  “What?” I roared into the phone. “You told me they would come today. You didn’t live up to your end of the agreement. I won’t pay a penny for any services from you.” I hung up and hit the counter again with an open palm. I picked up a cupcake and squashed it—then flung it across the room. All that did was make another mess for me to clean up.

  I clenched my fists and mentally counted to ten. With the vampire also came rage. I had never been an angry person before, and while I was learning to have better control, it was still a work in progress. Breathing in and out, I tried to release anger with each exhale. However, as my fury receded, tears came fast on its heels. I wouldn’t be able to open on Halloween. There was no way I could get what I wanted—and needed—here and set up in less than a week.

  Chapter 2