For Love and Donuts Read online

  For Love and Donuts

  Love Demands a Holiday

  McKenna Rogue

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by McKenna Rogue

  Prologue

  Damon

  My Boston Cream donut from Cherry Blossoms Bakery was utter perfection—crisp and soft, oozing custard exploding like a fountain of sugar and cream, just tangy enough to keep it from being too sweet. I licked the chocolate frosting off my lips, savoring every delectable morsel. Even though it was over eight hours old, it still tasted as good as fresh. I’d saved it from my morning pick up, knowing I was working a double shift.

  “Do you and your donut need a few minutes alone?” My partner, Karina, with her wide eyes and parted lips, looked half-horrified, half-lustful over my donut.

  “Maybe.” I took another bite, purposefully playing up a moan as I sunk my teeth into the sweet confection. “You mind stepping out?”

  “I do mind.” Her hand jerked like a viper, snagging a piece of the donut, making me nearly drop it in my lap. Angling away from her, I tried to cover my donut from her greedy paws.

  “Hey!” With a scowl, I stuck out my tongue. “You had your chance to have one of your own this morning when we stopped.” I made sure I was prepared for our double shift, it wasn’t my fault Karina wasn’t.

  She quickly popped her stolen bite into her mouth. “Damn, the woman can make a donut.”

  The radio crackled to life. “There is a two-seventy-three Delta in progress at 98 Red Oak Drive.”

  Reluctantly, I set the rest of my donut back in the bag and closed it up. Karina brought the police car to life, lights and sirens blaring as she put the car in drive. Pulling out my phone, I typed in the address.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Yeah, I know the neighborhood.” Karina kept her focus on the road as she weaved in and out of traffic, then made a sharp turn. Once she straightened out, the road was empty. “I hate these calls. A place with a name like Jubilee Falls shouldn’t have domestic violence calls.”

  When we pulled up to the apartment complex and headed inside, I didn’t need the tarnished brass-plated numbers on the doors to tell me where the problem was. Yelling filtered out into the hallway. A couple of people at the end of the hall listened in on the couple like it was more entertaining than whatever reality TV was on. Someone had obviously deemed it a good enough fight to call it in. Those were the good neighbors.

  Karina knocked.

  My hand went to the butt of my gun and rested there. It was always difficult to predict how quickly these situations could escalate or if they were even serious. Some couples were just loud and passionate. Others ended up on the five o’clock news.

  Karina knocked again with the butt of her fist—what she called her neighbors-are-being-a-pain-in-the-ass knock.

  The door swung open, revealing a red faced, wild-eyed man standing on the other side. His chest was heaving noticeably, his teeth gnashed together, and his fist at his side was shaking, his forearm pulsing.

  I held my ground as Karina’s wingman, but I already wanted to punch this guy out and ask questions later. Before I put on the badge, I would have.

  “Sir, we’ve received a call of a disturbance. Who else is in the apartment with you?” Karina addressed him formally, but her sturdy stance and loose hands gave away her readiness for the situation to unravel quickly.

  “My girlfriend,” he growled, and he didn’t move, blocking the doorway. “But there’s no fucking disturbance. We’re fine.” He gritted his teeth, spitting out each word.

  “We’re going to need to talk to her, sir.” Karina inched forward.

  The man tossed his hands up into the air and shoved the door open so hard, the knob went right through the drywall, the doorstopper proving itself useless. He stormed into the living room of the one-bedroom apartment, and we followed him at a quick pace.

  His girlfriend was standing in the middle of the living room with her arms wrapped around her middle, stacked on top of each other. Her long, dark brown hair hung in curtains around her face, and when we entered the room, she looked up at us slowly. Her eyes were rimmed with red, glossy with fresh tears, and her cheeks were blotchy.

  I recognized her almost instantly though it took me a moment to truly comprehend it—Cherry, from Cherry Blossoms Bakery. The curvy bakery goddess had somehow ended up with this poor excuse for a human being.

  How was that even possible? She was made of nothing but goodness and sweetness. There was no way she’d stoop so low as to be with someone as filled with poison as the man who opened the door.

  Karina approached Cherry slowly. “Hi, ma’am. My name is Officer Karina Union. What’s your name?”

  She cleared her throat, but her typically husky, sexy voice was hoarse and raspy as she confirmed my fears. “Cherry Maraschino.”

  My partner escorted Cherry toward the kitchen to put a distance between Cherry and her boyfriend. I hoped she would put an “ex” in front of his title soon.

  I shifted to stand in front of the man. “Sir, what’s your name?”

  “Michael Grove.” His eyes kept darting past me toward the hallway to the kitchen, the rage boiling just under the surface, refusing to fade. He was a couple inches shorter than my six foot two inches, and my muscular shoulders were wider than his.

  I had no problem being a door between him and Cherry.

  “Is this your residence? And does Cherry… er… Ms. Maraschino live here with you?”

  “Yes on both accounts.” Michael’s teeth gritted together so tightly, I was waiting for one to crack.

  “Would you please tell me what’s going on here?”

  Michael leaned a little to the left, trying to get another look at Cherry.

  “Sir?” I prompted, irritated he was trying to get a look at her. He didn’t deserve her.

  “Nothing. We’re passionate people. We yell. We were just disagreeing.”

  “About what?”

  “Stupid shit. Nothing a cop like you should worry about.” His lip curled when he said “cop,” and I had no doubt he wanted to use a few colorful words instead. Michael put his clenched fists on his hips. When it was clear, I wasn’t buying anything he was selling, he said with a scowl, “She was breaking up with me, all right? And I wasn’t having it.”

  Irritation needled my anger button, threatening to break my already precarious composure. “Was she trying to leave tonight?” I kept my voice even, but I was ready to knock this guy to the ground.

  “Yes,” he snarled.

  “Did you hit her?”

  Please say, yes, please say, yes.

  “No.”

  We’ll see what Cherry says, I growled in my head.

  I interrogated Michael for a few more minutes until Karina and Cherry came out from the kitchen. Karina gestured for Cherry to stand behind her. Two cops between Cherry and Michael, and I still thought the fucker was too close to her.

  “Sir, Ms. Maraschino is going to be leaving with us. I’m going to have you stand over by the balcony doors while she finishes collecting her things.”

  Michael stormed over to the far side of the room and stood there, glaring as Cherry walked across the living room and into the bedroom.

  I glanced over at Cherry as she passed by me, keeping her eyes on the floor as she scurried past. It just made me want to hi
t Michael even more. How did that guy dare to hurt such a woman?

  It only took a few minutes before Cherry reappeared, a small suitcase and a duffel bag in hand. She bee-lined for the door, and Karina followed her out. I waited until I knew the women had a good solid head start.

  “Michael, it would be good if you behaved around Ms. Maraschino from now on. If she needs anything else, you’ll make sure she gets it. If you lay a hand on her, I will find out about it.” Michael only glowered at me. I took his silence as acceptance and left the apartment, closing the door behind me.

  By the time I got down to the patrol car, Cherry was in the backseat, and Karina was talking to her through the bars. Cherry looked far more relaxed, her paleness and blotchy skin having returned to its normal ivory alabaster. Her gaze flickered toward me when she spotted me heading toward the car.

  Karina glanced over at me, meaning Cherry had announced my incoming. She probably didn’t want to talk in front of the male officer. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. I wanted her to want to come to me for protection. Which was a ridiculous notion. She didn’t know me. Not really.

  I dipped down into the passenger seat. “We all set?”

  “Boston Cream, coffee, black, one sugar. Officer… Langley?” Her voice was velvet compared to the rasp of earlier.

  “Good memory.” I offered her a small smile, but inside, I was practically dancing. It was stupid to be this excited over her remembering what I ordered, but it was a glimpse of the Cherry who stood behind the counter at the bakery every morning. That Cherry could withstand just about anything.

  Karina started up the car. “Where to, Cherry?”

  “Would you please just take me to my bakery? It’s off of Main Street.”

  The drive downtown was quiet. I kept glancing in the mirror back at her. She just watched the scenery go by. When Karina pulled over on Main in front of the shop, I got out to let her out of the backseat. I held my hand out, but Cherry didn’t take it.

  “Thank you, Officer Langley. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” She gave me a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

  At that moment, I wanted to kiss away the sadness and make her feel something different, something better. But tonight definitely wasn’t the night.

  After that night, the bakery became part of my patrol. In my police blues or civvies, I couldn’t help but keep an eye on Cherry Maraschino.

  1

  Cherry

  SIX MONTHS LATER…

  Something was burning.

  I peeked in each oven across the wall until I found the culprit. Quickly pulling open the door, I snagged the tray of cookies out of the hellfire. Setting them on the counter, I inspected the damage.

  Poppy bounced in through the swinging doors, her blonde ponytail swinging side to side. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the burnt cookies.

  “Oh, no!” She charged over to inspect for herself. “What did I do wrong?”

  “The oven was way too high.” I didn’t even need to look at the settings to know that these weren’t baked in a 375º oven.

  She grabbed the recipe box and rummaged through it until she found the right one. She blinked at it, then looked up at me with her big brown eyes.

  “What did I have it at?”

  “Four hundred and fifty degrees.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered quietly under her breath. When she went back to the oven to reset the temperature, she’d mostly gotten her embarrassment under control, but a little pink still haunted her cheeks.

  “Let me try again.” Poppy quickly gathered all the ingredients and a clean mixing bowl, looking at me for permission.

  With a nod, I left her to redo her batch.

  Poppy was my weekend helper-turned-apprentice. She begged me to take her on to help me out when I was busy, but it quickly became clear her real intention was she wanted to learn. She was a pistol, faster learner, and always wanted to do her best. And when she figured out a recipe, the sweet spot, she was just as good as me.

  I checked over the displays to make sure they were up to spec—not a pastry out of place. Poppy was cheap help right now, but with the way she was catching onto things, soon I’d have to make her a full-fledged baker and pay her the way she deserved.

  It was early yet, but my regulars would be filtering in soon enough. The door dinged when I was giving the glass one last shine before getting behind the counter where I belonged. I could feel the guilt and drama settle into the bakery like a blanket of heavy snow before she even spoke.

  “Cherry, dear, you’ll never guess what happened to me.”

  I turned to find my mother standing in the doorway, looking just as dramatic as her statement suggested.

  As much as I hated it, I looked just like she did when she was my age. We both topped out at five foot four, and both inherited her mother’s wide hips. The only difference was my mother was obsessed with weight loss, weight gain, and anything that led to either of those consequences.

  “Good morning, Mom. Do you want your usual?”

  Honey Maraschino sat down at her usual table and pulled out a newspaper. “It’s the only thing I can eat in this fat trap.”

  “I don’t know why you come here every morning.”

  “How else am I going to see you? You never make time for me.”

  She wasn’t completely wrong. Since my breakup with Michael, I’d been distant from everyone. I needed to figure out how I’d ended up with a man who was so abusive. It wasn’t like I’d become a Lifetime movie or anything, but it could’ve gotten that bad if I’d stayed with him.

  He’d seemed so normal when I met him, but I doubted most abusers led with that when they were starting new relationships. Still, I felt like there must’ve been signs, something I could have, should have, seen to avoid that night.

  The night the police showed up on our door still haunted my dreams. I hadn’t gotten over the way Michael had shouted and thrown things. If the police hadn’t shown up when they did, I didn’t know how far he would’ve taken it.

  More than anything though, I wanted to move on.

  But meeting new people scared me. I didn’t want to fall into the same trap. I’d had crappy friends, bad boyfriends, even an employee who’d stolen from me. The common denominator was always me. Why did I pick these people? Why did I attract them?

  Mentally shaking off the thoughts, I looked back at my mom and smiled. “I’ve just been busy. It’s not personal.”

  Okay, it was a little personal.

  Mom constantly questioned what I’d done to make Michael act so ugly. She clung to her marriage like it was the only thing that gave her any identity. Maybe it was. She’d been married right out of high school to my dad. She seemed to think I was missing the same thing in my life. She wanted me to be married and happy like she was. Don’t get me wrong, my parents were happy, but they were lucky too. Neither of them wanted more than the life they had together.

  But I didn’t want my identity tied up in someone else’s. Michael tried to do that to me, and when I fought against it, he decided he needed to yell at me, put me down and in my place, and came close to hitting me. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve hit me, beat me into submission, tried to mold me into exactly what he thought I should be, but he didn’t—at least not with his fists. His words cut just as deep, though, and it still felt like they did.

  I carried over my mother’s coffee and her banana smoothie, sitting down across from her while she lifted the smoothie to taste it.

  “You made it right today.”

  I reminded myself not to roll my eyes. I made it the same way every morning, but some days, she felt the need to nitpick as if I had control over the ripeness of bananas.

  “So, what happened to you?”

  She wiggled in her chair so she could lean forward. Scooting her drinks to the side, she slapped the paper down like she’d just solved a murder.

  I looked down at the article in black and white. I should’ve known my m
other would only be reading the gossip column of the paper. She jabbed her perfectly manicured finger down, right above the sub-headline that read Honey Maraschino Does it Again.

  “People are going to start showing up. You’re going to have to give me the Cliff Notes version.”

  “Dear Rosie decided to out me on the advice I’ve been giving her. That was supposed to be our little secret.” She looked like she’d been absolutely betrayed.

  “Mom, you worked as a therapist for twenty years. You’re good at dispensing advice. And I think secretly you’re glad to be getting the recognition. I’d say you owe Rosie a ‘thank you.’” I leaned back in my chair. “Plus, Rosie wants to retire soon. It could be Ask Honey or something once she’s done.”

  My mom waved me off, grinning like it was the best idea I’d ever had. It didn’t take much to keep Mom off subjects that made us fight—like me, my bakery, my lack of love life, or anything else regarding me.

  The door chimed again, and I glanced over to find the crowds were going to start moving in.

  “I gotta get to work, Mom. Enjoy your breakfast.” As she sat there, reading the gossip page and drinking her smoothie, I wondered if she ever felt hurt Grandma had left me the bakery instead of her.

  Even though Mom hardly baked, and hated everything that contained fat or sugar, sometimes, it seemed like she was disappointed in the fact I took after the original Cherry I’d been named after. I loved the bakery and wanted to keep it as classy as Grandma had.

  The morning rush filtered into the bakery, right on schedule. Poppy was running in and out with pastries, donuts, bagels, and croissants. I barely noticed when Mom took off with half a wave, Rosie at her side. The two of them chattered right out the door, no doubt plotting the Ask Honey takeover.