Page 16 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
Dropping my chin to my chest, I smile at his sweet words. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So what have you been up to, Burkey Turkey?”
He chuckles at my use of his nickname and grabs the dustpan to sweep up what’s on the floor. “I make furniture.”
I spin around, water dripping from my hands. “You make furniture? Seriously?”
With a slight grin, he nods in confirmation. “Mostly tables, like coffee tables, end tables, nightstands, and kitchen or dining room tables, but also beds, chairs, and bookshelves.”
“Wow, that’s way cool, Burkey Turkey. Can I see some of your stuff sometime?”
“Sure,” he replies with a shrug. “I have pictures on my phone.”
Returning my attention to finishing the dishes, I ask, “So what got you into that?”
“Well, when we moved to South Carolina, our next-door neighbor had a woodworking shop out behind his house. I often found myself over there, asking questions about the tools and machinery he had and about the different types of wood. I spent all my free time over there, soaking up every ounce of knowledge he offered. I made everything from shelves to signs and eventually small tables. I loved it, so when I graduated, I worked a couple of years for a local construction company and saved money to start buying my own tools and machinery and started making things for local craft shows and whatnot. I made a name for myself and eventually was able to quit the construction job and just make furniture full time.”
“Where do you sell your stuff?” I ask, completely enthralled.
“Mostly at a local furniture store there in town. I learned it was much easier to let them do the selling for me, so they purchase pieces at a slight discount and offer them in their store. It works out better for me because I don’t have to worry about staging and space. They get first dibs, and if there’s something they don’t want, I post it online. I’ve had very good luck that way. I do special order commissioned pieces too, especially around the holidays.”
I release the drain plug and rinse out the sink. Grabbing a towel, I turn and prop my hip against the stainless steel, giving him my full attention. “That’s pretty badass, Burkey Turkey.”
“Thanks,” he replies, dumping what he’s cleaned up off the floor into the trash can.
“What’s your business called?” I have every intention of doing some online stalking later tonight.
He averts his gaze and blushes. Yes, blushes, like face on fire in full embarrassment mode blushing. “Uhh, it’s called Joyful Furnishings.”
My mouth drops open just a bit as I mull over his words. Is there some hidden meaning behind his business name? Do Iwantthere to be a meaning? “That’s a cool name,” I mutter, my throat suddenly dry. What does this mean?
Burk flashes me an easy smile. “Thanks.” He glances toward the front of the bakery. “Shall I go and sweep up there?”
“Sure,” I reply, stealing a glance at his ass as he walks away.
Very nice ass.
I wasn’t kidding when I thought it was his best feature. His smile is a close second, but this ass? Could end wars in several countries.
Walking over to the speaker system, I flip it on and let the sounds of the season fill the space. I love this time of year for so many reasons, and one of them is the fact I can play holiday music until the end of the year. It’s my absolute favorite, especially when they play some of the classics. Not that I don’t like all the new versions of Christmas music, but there’s nothing like hearing Andy Williams, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra belt out the classics.
Grabbing the sanitation solution, I clean the inside of the display case and then spray down the glass with window cleaner. As I work, I forget about Burk being here. I hum along to the music and occasionally sing a few of my favorite lines from “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls.” Eventually, I start to dance, shaking my hips and enjoying the hell out of the empty bakery.
When I spin around, that’s when I remember I’m not alone. Burk is leaning against one of the bistro tables, a soft smile on his face as he watches me. My face turns as red as Rudolph’s nose as he extends the hand holding the broom. “Broom mic?”
I burst out laughing and shake my head. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I tell him, returning my attention to cleaning the counter, even though it was done as we closed down. “You know, if you’re here, you’d be expected to join as a backup singer.”
His face falls. “I couldn’t just be a fan in the front row? Or maybe a groupie?”
My head is already shaking. “Nope, it’s backup or nothing, Burkey Turkey.”
“Well, maybe another time. I really should practice first, or maybe stretch or something?”
I double over in a fit of laughter. “Stretch? I’m not asking you to run the fifty-yard dash. I’ll even get you the mop.”
He just stands there and smiles, and my God, that smile. It could disarm Santa Claus of all his toys on Christmas Eve, that’s for sure. Or maybe it just has some sort of magical powers to disarm me. Lord knows it does things to my body that I’m not accustomed to, especially by someone I consider a friend.
He shrugs his strong shoulders and returns his attention to his sweeping.
Twenty minutes later, all the cleaning is complete, and the bakery is officially ready to close up for the day. “Thank you for your help,” I say, hanging the mop to dry on the hook.
