Chapter 1:
Rummaging through my papers, I was going to be late for work again. Shit. Where is my check? I needed to get gas on the way to work because I'm riding on the empty line. I hear my ringtone blasting through my jean pocket and it startles my thoughts. It's John, my boss. "Where the hell are you jean?!" Placing my hand on my forehead and then rustling my hair, I let out a sigh. "I'll be there in five." Hanging up the phone I shove it back in my pocket and grab my leather jacket and keys. Running past the kitchen I stop to grab a water bottle, but my socks slide across the floor making me hit the wall and land on my butt. Rubbing my rear I stand up and head out the door.
Wiping my nose with my sleeve, I quickly run back to the cooking sheets and start applying the glaze for the donuts. I've been working in this bakery shop since I was thirteen, my boss John, gave me this job because he was a close friend of my father. After my dad passed he promised to look after me. "Send out those donuts in ten minutes!" I didn't mind working in the bakery, it smelt nice and had a homey feeling. Walking through the kitchen I pass Reiner who is boiling the eggs for the next batch of donuts. "Here's your donuts." Placing them on the counter behind the front desk, I notice a man standing in the corner where the cookbooks are stacked individually. Assuming he may need assistance John shoves me and nods in place. While I was walking over to him, I took time to see the outline of his body. He was tall with sandy brown hair, his shirt fit nicely around his biceps and he must be cold because he grew goosebumps as I finally reached him. "Looking for anything fancy." He jumped in shock and nervously laughed rubbing the back of his head. "I'm actually just looking for a small recipe my father used to use when I was younger." His voice was fairly deep and the closer I stood to him the shorter he looked. Wearing a blue shirt with a symbol of a band called Sleeping With Sirens, and skinny black jeans. He had freckles on his cheeks, that reminded me of a childhood friend I used to know. "Well, we have a lot of cookbooks, but the more homey ones are all sold out." Pulling out a piece of paper I write down my number and hand it over to him. He looks kind of confused and replies, "what is this for." "It's my number, you can call me if you remember what the recipe was and I can help you find it once the new shipment comes in. " nodding he gratefully takes the paper and stuffs it in his pocket. "My names Marco, thanks for the help." Marco. It fits him. "I'm Jean, anytime." Giving a nod of encouragement to him as he left the store, I felt somewhat cheerful for the rest of the day.
Laying in my bed I watch as the clock slowly ticks by. Work is in a few hours and I feel like I've been run over by a bus. My stomach is aching and my head is spinning. As I slowly begin to doze off my cellphone vibrates. buzz buzz. From Marco: I just remembered that the recipe was an Alfredo mix. Squinting my eyes at the bright screen I rubbed my face and let out a yawn. buzz buzz. My phone vibrations awake me from my nap. "huh? I must've fell asleep." From Marco: This is Jean, right? Sorry if it's not :( I let out a small laugh and sat up, pushing the covers off of my legs and unlocked my phone. To Marco: Yeah this is Jean, sorry I fell asleep. I check my phone for the time and I see I'm once again ten minutes late for work. I hurry out of bed, while I comb my hair several times until locking the door. Making my way down a few blocks I reached the bakery and the bell chimes as I try to sneak in. "About damn time!" John is sweeping the floor while blasting old rock music. "Sorry John, I don't feel to well." John observes me, looking me up and down, he lets out a loud sigh and shakes his head. Walking to the kitchen I begin to prep some dough and then place a pot of oil on the stove, putting it on high. I wonder if Marco will be coming today. Ding. Ding. Someone just came in through the door, but it's ten minutes before opening. Wiping my hands on a towel I walk around the counter to look out the window to see who came in. There he was, sitting in the chair closest to the back. Why is he here? He comes here for the food and cookbooks, remember? Not realizing that I've been staring, my vision breaks when I hear a crash coming from the kitchen. "Shit! My oil!" Running to my station, the oil is popping and the stove is on fire. Trying to grab the pot to throw it off the stove my sleeve catches fire and I throw the pot into the steel sink next to the freezer. John rushes in with a fire extinguisher and calms the fire down enough to shut the oven off. Soaking my sleeve in the water I wench in pain from the flames. "Hey Jean are you alright?" John sets the fire extinguisher down and walks over to me. "Yeah, just a little burn. Nothing serious." Smiling I ask to go home to change my clothes. "Be back in twenty!" As I'm walking to go outside I'm stopped by a gentle tug on my arm. There's warmth. Turning around I'm blinded by the sun coming in through the windows, I can't make out who's holding my arm but I can see one thing. Freckles.
I awake to the sound of nurses talking around me. A bright light shines in my eyes and I can't seem to talk. "He was severely burned but I don't know why he fainted." huh? I fainted? "Will he be able to go home today?" that voice, I know that voice. The hospital is cold and I can feel someone touching my arm again, with the same warmth. "You're awake. How are you feeling?" Looking to the side, I see Marco. He is clutching my arm and looking at me waiting for an answer. "U-Um, where am I?" Marco explains to me that I fainted and then he brought me here, that was three hours ago. They let me leave around 5:00 p.m. "Thanks Marco, I can go on alone from here." Holding my hand out I wave down a taxi. On the drive home I just kept replaying the scenarios in my head. Walking up the stairs to apartment #24 I grab my keys and unlock my door, pushing it open I head straight for my bed and fall down. buzz. buzz. My phone lights up with a new message icon. From Marco: Hey, did you make it home alright? It's 10 p.m. I must have fallen asleep for a while. I get up and turn on the lights, the brightness reminding me of the bakery. When someone grabbed my arm as I left to go home. Who was that? Freckles. I remember freckles. When Marco touched me today at the hospital it felt the same as when the other person grabbed my arm. It must have been him. As I'm walking to the bathroom I remember the text message I received from Marco and I collect my thoughts and text him back. To Marco: yea thanks! You should let me treat you to dinner or sumthing?
November 1st, it has been over a week since I texted Marco asking if he wanted to go out for dinner. He has not been in the bakery since then either. I wonder if I scared him off, but I didn't do anything, just wanted to show my thanks. Right? Ding. Ding. Someone just came into the bakery. Without hesitating I run over to the counter to see who walked in. Standing in a long black coat and a white beanie was Marco. For some reason I felt this weird sensation in my body, it filled me up with joy. Walking around the counter and into the dining room, I make my way over to Marco. "Hey man, where have you been?" I ask concerned, while studying his body, his black coat covers almost his whole chest except for a portion that is bare because of the tank top beneath it. He is slender and has a light brown tan. Moving my eyes down I come across his snug jeans surrounding his private area. Wonder what he's wearing underneath those? My thoughts become blurry as I hear someone calling my name repeatedly. "Jean..? Hey Jean?" Blinking rapidly I shake my head and look back up to him. Shit! Did he see me check him out? Marco seemed to find something humorous because he busted out in laughter. He was cute when he laughed. Rubbing the back of my head I observe the stand behind him and saw that a new shipment of cookbooks arrived; John must have put them out. "Didn't see yours, huh?" Marco turned around to join me and he shrugged his shoulders while replying, "Well, I haven't used that recipe for about ten years." Ten years? "So where are you from?" Watching as his eyes gloss over, he licks his lips before speaking, and when he begins to tell me where he grew up a sudden glance from him gives me goosebumps. The way he talks makes me want to place his head in between my hands and borrow his lips.