Page 1 of Archer
Chapter One
Archer
Eastside’sOnly Bakerywas one of many bakeries on the east side of Mascid. The scent of freshly baked bread always filled the air around the old strip mall that was built in the sixties every time I pulled into the parking lot, my motorcycle purring underneath me. Someone once told me that when the bakery opened thirty years before, the store beside it was a posh French boutique. It was the perfect neighbor for the bakery. All the rich ladies would spend obscene amounts of money, then top off the experience with croissants and a fat tip to show off their wealth. That was before Mascid got overrun with drugs, crime, and a shit economy.
Nowadays, if it weren’t for the comforting fragrance of rising sourdough, the bakery would go unnoticed, hidden behind the eye-catching adult video store next door. That’s how I noticed it, anyway, a year before. Visiting the bakery became a regular occurrence for me. Their bread was too delicious to pass by, and I could tell by the cracked window and burnt-out “open” sign, they were struggling for business. I always cheered for the underdog and seeing local businesses thrive warmed my heart.
Not to mention, the baker was a fucking smokeshow.
The door’s bell dinged when I entered the door. Soon after, as usual, her chipper voice chimed from the back.
“Hello,” she sang as she walked into my view, wiping her hands with a red checkered towel. She dressed in a black t-shirt covering up to her collarbone and matching jeans. White flour was dusted all over her, contrasting brightly against her clothes and dark chestnut hair, pulled into a messy bun. Her big blue eyes looked vibrant against her pale skin and dark brows when they met mine. Her friendly smile dropped a bit when she saw me, quickly adding to her greeting, “Again.”
“Hello there,” I said cordially, my hands tucked inside my leather jacket.
She narrowed her eyes at me but kept a small smile on her plump, glossy red lips. “How many times a week do you need to buy bread?”
“Why? Would you like me to come by more often?”
Lowering her face, but not enough to hide the blush on her cheeks, she ignored my question and asked, “The regular?”
“Yeah,” I said and pulled out my wallet. “Throw a couple cinnamon buns in there, too.”
She nodded and began packaging my loaf of whole grain bread and pastries silently. A gentle hum of the radio and kitchen appliances hung in the air as I leaned against the display case filled with croissants, donuts, muffins, and other breads that sat next to the cash register. “Working alone again?”
“Yep,” she said folding the paper bag, a faint warmth coming from inside. “As always. I gave you the fresh ones.”
“See? This is why you’re theonlybakery for me.”
She gave one of her rare giggles. “Clever.”
“Busy lately?” I asked as I grabbed the bag from her.
She looked over my shoulder at the empty shop and raised a brow. “Yeah. We’re packed.”
I flashed a smile at her as I passed her a twenty-dollar bill, ensuring my hand grazed hers. Every now and then I’d catch a glimpse of her bite and I wanted more. “How’s your dad been?”
“Same as usual. Stressed.”
“Why’s he stressed if you’re the one doing all the baking?” I asked, and she inhaled deeply through her nose like I had hit a nerve.
“Couldn’t tell you,” she said then pursed her lips.
“I bet a drink would help him relax. Or, better yet,yourelax,” I said. “When are you going to let me take you out?”
Watching her lips turn into that sexy smirk of hers was sometimes the highlight of my day. Counting out my change, she responded with, “The day that you remember that I don’t date customers.”
“So, if I go a few weeks without buying anything from here, will I still be a customer?”
She rolled her eyes before extending her hand to give me my bills and coins, her lips still pulled to the side. “I’ll see you next time, Archer.”
I held my palm up to the money and shook my head. “It’s yours.” Before she had a chance to try to reject the tip like she always did, I had turned to the door. “Have a good one, Rose.”
The bell rang me out, and before the door swung shut, I heard her call, “You too.”
I swung my legs over the top of myHonda Rebel 500. Of course, you’d think I chose that specific bike because of the word association with the club I was the road captain for: theBlazing Rebels. Really, I just loved the sleek jet black and classic, almost vintage, look of the bike. Underneath me, the engine roared. When I turned from the ignition to grab the raised handlebars, I caught Rose’s wide blue eyes shining at me through the window. Giving her a smirk through the window that matched her own, I peeled away to the Rebels’ clubhouse, the Ironhead Tavern, for a meeting.
As I rode down the busy highway, weaving past semi-trucks and minivans, my blond hair whipped in the wind. The July sun boiled my skin, but it was used to the sun by now, spending so much time traveling outside in the Arizona desert, that it never burned anymore. In fact, I spent so much time riding year-round throughout the winter that unless I was injured and on bed rest, I was never pale.
