Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 3

Ryan/Jack

I almost blew my cover! Cringing when I think about my fumbling introduction a few minutes ago, I listen to Sam’s sister’s footfalls thumping above me. She just announced that she’s going to be my cabinmate for a while.

Not that I have anything against Sadie, after knowing her for—I glance at the nondescript big-box-retailer watch strapped to my wrist—a little over sixteen minutes. But I was counting on solitude and not having to maintain this fuddy-duddy disguise 24/7. So much for that idea.

Sam also never mentioned how gorgeous his sister is, in a wholesome, girl-next-door way. She’s a breath of fresh air after dealing with so many fake, plastic women the last few weeks. Her curly auburn hair, fair complexion with a smattering of freckles across her nose, and sunshiny bright smile gave my heart an unexpected lurch. She even smells like cinnamon and other spices. Or, come to think of it, maybe that’s because I’m standing in a bakery.

Sadie is nothing short of breathtaking, and I’m trying to wrap my head around the image of her being my best friend’s calamity-prone sister. Too bad she’s off limits. Sam trusts me to keep this relationship professional, plus wouldn’t it be awkward to date your best friend’s sister?

“I’m ready!” she squeals, as she reemerges from the upstairs staircase with an oversized duffle grasped in her hand and a dog of indeterminable lineage trailing behind her. She drops the bag at her feet with a loud thud , causing both me and the mutt to jump.

“Do you mind carrying that? I need to round up Jolt’s stuff from the break room. Be back in a sec! ”

Jolt and I stare at each other as she runs off. His tail thumps against the floor, his tongue hangs out, and a distinct line of drool hangs from his impressive jowls. Metal pans clang together, and I hear what might be dog food kibbles bouncing across the floor. A muffled “dang it” and “fudgesicle” float down the hall, causing me to grin. Sadie gets more and more intriguing with every interaction.

Several minutes later, she returns lugging a giant bag of dog food, two metal bowls, and a plush dinosaur-shaped toy balanced precariously under her arm. When she drops it, then steps on it, a loud squeak sounds. Jolt rushes over, nabs the lime green toy from the floor, and chews on it as if he wants to tear it limb from limb.

Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!

“Good boy! You carry that,” she says, then swivels towards me. “Are you ready?”

I bite my lip to suppress the comment about it being her who’s finally ready and that we haven’t been waiting on me for well over nine minutes.

“Sure, let’s go.” I grab the duffle and groan. “What do you have in this thing?” I ask while I contain another groan.

She giggles. “Oh, just a few things... Possibly my laptop, hairdryer, a couple hardback novels, a tin of kettle corn, a tube of face cream, three pairs of shoes, and some clothes.”

“We’re not going to a remote village in the Himalayas,” I comment.

Producing a substantial belly laugh, she says, “You’re so funny, Jack Ryan.”

We lock eyes for a moment, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.

Best friend’s sister, remember this!

She locks the door, and I follow her towards the parking lot. Jack’s crummy sedan and her even crummier looking hulking car are the only two vehicles remaining in the lot .

The silence between us feels uncomfortable, so I ask, “What kind of dog is Jolt? How did he get his name?” I nod towards the canine, as if she can’t figure out which dog, of the only dog in the area, I’m referring to.

“Oh! I’m sorry! You haven’t had a proper introduction,” she squeaks, turning to face me and skidding to a stop.

Oomph!

I plow into her with the heavy duffle, and the metal bowls go flying. The resulting clanging noise echoes off the asphalt surface, surely waking everyone within a two-mile radius. The dog food bag lands on my shoe, but thankfully none of it spills—although its contact with my foot is going to leave a bruise.

Sadie rests against my chest, and her arms slip around my waist to steady herself. She blinks up at me with her chocolate brown eyes, then gently straightens the glasses on my face, which became askew in the collision.

“These make you look like a smart dignified geek,” she says with a blush as she untangles herself from me.

The whole encounter and its aftermath take only a few seconds, but I feel the zap of attraction from the top of my head all the way down to my toes. It lasts for several beats. Apparently, it’s going to be more difficult than I thought to keep Sadie at arm’s length. Best friend’s sister, remember this!

Clearing her throat, she pulls the dog forward with his collar. “Jolt, meet Jack. Jack, meet Jolt,” she says in a formal tone, as if making introductions to the queen. I almost feel compelled to bow, but instead I pat the dog on his massive head.

“I found him out by the dumpster, and we adopted each other. It was an easy choice on Jolt’s part once I fed him,” she says with a laugh. “The vet thinks he’s a mixture of bloodhound, basset hound, and Great Dane,” she says, as if that combination is as common as the golden retriever .

My eyes rotate towards the brown and black dog, and I see a little bit of each of the aforementioned breeds in him. Droopy ears... Short stubby legs... Massive head. The sum of the parts isn’t particularly attractive, but his friendly countenance makes up for his odd appearance.

Grappling for a polite response, I say, “He’s unique, that’s for sure.”

Sadie laughs. “As my mama would say, ‘he’s so ugly, he’s cute.’” She bends over and gives the dog a hug while he licks her thoroughly from cheek to cheek. I take a step back to avoid any flying slobber.

After a few more doggie kisses, she finally explains the name. “I named him Jolt because it takes a jolt to get him started. He’s a natural born snooze-hound,” she says with a giggle. My brow creases from that somewhat puzzling explanation—would Jolt be the first name you arrived at for a lazy, slow-moving dog? Why not a name like Lazy Boy? Or Eeyore? Or Droopy?

I hold the questions while she collects her stuff; no need to debate the mutt’s name at this point. After I pick up the duffle, we continue to the vehicles. About halfway to the cars, we locate the metal bowls, adding them to our baggage.

“This is me,” Sadie says brightly when we reach the rust bucket parked a few spaces from Jack’s vehicle. I contain the Captain Obvious remark I so want to tease her with. I mean, with only two cars in the lot, there’s not a lot of confusion over which one is hers.

She pounds a few times on the trunk—which sports a huge dent in the center—and it pops open. “Just toss everything in,” she says. I do as she requests, then she slams the lid with more ferocity than seems necessary. But maybe that’s what it takes to keep it closed.

“Since I know the way, you can follow me,” she adds as she opens the driver’s side door with a loud creak, the pitch of the sound making my teeth hurt. Jolt hops in and she follows .

As I jog to Jack’s, er, my vehicle, Sadie starts her engine. A loud puff of smoke rumbles out of the muffler, then she pulls from the lot and onto the empty street. I hop in, following her taillights into the night. One thing’s for sure, the next few days aren’t going to be boring.

We arrive at the cabin without further incident. I almost expected her car to break down, a black cat to dart across the road, or Sadie to swerve into the ditch to avoid hitting a stray cow from a nearby field.

The cabin is a quaint cedar-sided structure, older than I imagined, and the somewhat rundown condition makes me question its soundness. We silently unload our possessions and then make our way down the overgrown cobblestone path to the front door. No wonder Sam mentioned “light yardwork.” At least the out-of-control yard looks like it used to be grass so maybe I can revive it.

Sadie bends over and fumbles around with one hand as she checks under the mat for the key—security apparently not a priority around here. Should I mention Sam gave me a key? Naw. It’s too much fun to watch those tight blue jeans as they caress her backside.

Eventually she pulls out a shiny object, slides it in the lock, and we go inside, the door opening with another loud squeak. I’ll be purchasing some WD-40 to take care of that.

I blink when she snaps on a light. The spaciousness of the interior is a pleasant surprise, with lofted beam ceilings, wood floors, and a smattering of brightly colored area rugs. The knotty-pine walls are a bit outdated plus they’ll make the room feel darker during the day.

Two beat-up recliners—one olive green, one drab brown—along with one lone end table sporting a brass lamp and a scarred coffee table are the extent of the furnishings in the living room. Everything is old, a little dusty, and outdated. My senses reel as I realize that this is going to be my life for the next two weeks, living in a time warp without any luxury trappings. I suddenly yearn for my spotless condo with shiny surfaces, stark white walls, and new furnishings.

“I’ll take the loft. You can have the bedroom down the hall,” Sadie says matter-of-factly. She drops off the dog food and bowls in the tiny kitchen, then clomps her way up the stairs with Jolt at her heels. I lug her duffle up and set it beside the bed.

“Good night. See you in the morning,” I say, quickly backing out of the room. It feels too intimate with just the two of us, even though Jolt makes a good chaperone. Best friend’s sister, remember this!

“You have to jiggle the handle on the toilet to stop it from running all night,” she says before I’m three steps down the stairs. Her words effectively douse any romantic thoughts I had swirling around in my head.

I pause and rotate back to face her. “Thanks for the tip. Anything else I need to know?” With the rundown state of the cabin, anything seems possible. A mice infestation? Leaky roof? Drafty windows?

Tapping her finger on her chin, reminding me so much of her brother, she adds, “Let’s see... You have to run the water for about five minutes before it gets hot... There are extra blankets in the linen closet if you need them... And make sure to pull the blinds, otherwise the sunlight will wake you.”

Her comment about sunshine reminds me to ask. “What time do we need to get to the coffee shop?”

“I start baking at five.”

My eyes widen and my heart sinks. Can I haul myself out of bed that early?

She smirks. “You don’t have to be there until 6:30. You can sleep in,” she teases. “Just come to the café’s back door and I’ll let you in.”

“Excellent! That’s good news since I’m not an early riser.” My honest admission surprises me, and I feel a flush run up my neck.

Jolt hops onto the bed, the springs making a loud creak. My cue to leave .

“Good night,” I repeat, then jog the rest of the way down the stairs. I retrieve my luggage and head to what’s going to be my bedroom for the next few weeks. It’s sparsely furnished but I try to console myself that it has a comfortable-looking bed, a nightstand, and a dresser.

I fling my luggage in the corner—I’ll unpack tomorrow. With how tired I am, I’m going to sleep like a baby. I set my alarm for six o’clock, then tumble into the bed, which creaks loudly. Is everything in this cabin broken-down, decrepit, and dilapidated? Longing for my Puffy Lux Mattress and the comfort of sleeping on a cloud, I adjust the lumpy pillow and roll over.

Creeeak!

Buy that WD-40 ASAP .