Touch Me, Daddy

4 - Tessa.

Steady hands are the key to good cupcake icing. Steady hands, an eye for design, and the ability to block the rest of the world out, to narrow down your focus to the bare little cake in front of you.

Some days I can concentrate easier than others. Like this morning, for instance, my mind keeps drifting to flushed, weathered cheeks and blue eyes.

Mr. Hampton seemed so sad last night, and I guess Kya must have told him that they can't be together. Listen, Kya and her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend have a heated history. They've been of and off for years, even before Mr. Hampton got himself into Woodstock. My Mom once told me about soulmates who took time to work. Only this time, for Kya's and my sake, I hope they work out for good.

I didn't miss the look in Mr. Hampton's eyes when he saw me coming up the driveway. I saw it. The hunger in his eyes. The longing.

With Kya gone, the fog has been lifted.

He wants me. My neighbor wants me like I want him.

I'm sure of it.

"Easy, Tess," my boss Victoria says, peering over my shoulder with her hands propped on her hips. She's wearing a Sofi Cafe apron too, but hers is a darker shade of pink. The alpha apron.

"Sorry." I adjust my grip on the funnel of icing, the paper crinkling in my hand, and cover over the wobbly yellow splodge I just made. The cupcake rests in the center of the counter, three completed cakes already neatly iced nearby. "I was miles away."

Victoria hums, disbelief written in her pursed lips. She favors dark purple lipsticks, ones that leave sticky imprints on the rim of her favorite mug. Draping green dresses, too. With her wild black halo of curls and her tortoiseshell glasses, my boss is one of the best people in town.

She doesn't buy my bullshit, though.

"Your mind wasn't that far away, I bet. Just at your neighbor's house."

My cheeks heat but I say nothing, icing my cupcake serenely. Victoria knows all about my crush on Mr. Hampton. She says the beetles out in the desert know it too, I'm so freaking obvious. When she caught me doodling hearts on that loyalty card, she cackled so loud she hurt her throat.

"Okay, but listen. He gave me this look last night."

"Hm." Victoria snatches up a spray bottle, striding around to spritz the front of the glass display case. She swabs a cloth back and forth, but her eyes are fixed on me. "Be careful with that man."

I bristle. My fingers tighten, and an extra big splodge of yellow icing lands on the cupcake. "What's wrong with Mr. Hampton?"

Nothing, that's what. I won't hear it.

My gentle giant is perfect.

But Victoria sighs. "There's nothing wrong with him, Tess, but he's twice your age. He rides those motorbikes, and he has that beard, and let's be honest here—if Gregory ever laid on top of you, he'd flatten you like a pancake."

"Oh my god!" I toss the icing funnel to the counter, covering my ears. "I can't believe you're—oh my god—"

"I am the voice of reason." Victoria's palm flattens on her chest, rumpling her apron and making her name tag wobble. "Always the voice of good sense. This is my curse to bear."

The bell above the door tinkles, the morning's first sleepy customers pushing inside, and I wave hello at the newcomers before hissing at my boss. "Okay, I hear you. That's enough advice for today. Alright?"

Victoria shrugs and levels a pointed look at my misshapen cupcake. "Don't put that on display, there's a good girl. You can eat it on your break."

She strolls away, purple lips still pursed, and I frown at the lumpy iced monstrosity I made. Victoria is wrong. Maybe not about most things, and not about this ugly cupcake, but definitely about him. She doesn't know Mr. Hampton like I do.

It's not that unreasonable for me to want my older neighbor. To toss and turn at night, dreaming of him. To close my eyes whenever the cafe is quiet and picture his hands, his beard, the faded tattoos on his forearms. How his bulk might feel pressed against me; how his thick fingers might tug my apron ties loose.

It's not weird to want to sit on his knee. To crave his attention. To want Mr. Hampton to care for me.

...Is it?