The Bad Jokes #1: The Redhead

Chapter 12: Cinnamon Rolls?

Early the next morning, I was looking at my face in the mirror, trying to reconcile the bruised, swollen reflection with the one that normally looked back at me. 

I'd gone right to bed after Xane had left, finally allowing the fear and shock and pain out in a flood of tears. When the waterworks finally dried up, I'd just lain on the bed until sleep had overtaken me for a few blissful hours of unawareness.

Having awakened early, I'd done some yoga to calm my spirits, whipped up five batches of cinnamon rolls and showered by eight. Killer and I went for a short walk, then I headed to the auditorium, cinnamon rolls in hand. Gracie was going to meet me there with all of the coffee for the men. Justice had a story to cover this morning, or she would have joined us.

Walking into the auditorium, my eyes immediately found Xane, who was watching the men hanging the backdrops. He'd really worked a miracle with those -- the backdrops were insured, so the company that provided them sent us out new ones overnight, free of charge.

Xane saw me, then walked over and took the large box of rolls out of my hands. He easily balanced it with one arm, where I'd had to use two. I couldn't quite meet his eyes, knowing I looked a mess, but he took hold of my chin and gently tilted my face up so he could study it.

"How are you today, Rory?"

"Better than last night," I admitted to him.

"You hid it well," he told me, then with exquisite gentleness, he touched the tip of his index finger to my swollen lip, his touch so soft I could barely feel it.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much, unless I smile," I shrugged. "It'll go away, but I'll look a mess for a while."

"The swelling and bruises will fade, Rory." 

He leaned down closer to me, so close my breath hitched because I thought Xane was going to kiss me, he was that close, and my body began humming with hope. In that moment, I forgot about the vicious words he'd thrown at me, the humiliation -- all I could recall was the Xane who'd just saved my production when he had no reason to do so. That had to mean he cared, despite what he'd said. Right?

"You still look good to me," he said, his lips literally one inch from mine.

With those words, I stopped breathing, knowing I was going to finally get the kiss I'd been wanting from him ever since he'd almost run over Killer. Every molecule in my body sat up, giddy, quivering with anticipation -- only to be crushed by disappointment when Xane took a step back and straightened up.

"Are these cinnamon rolls?" he asked in his normal, husky voice, as if he hadn't just put my body on full alert, hormones pumping wildly through my system, revving my engine -- only to slam on the brakes.

Cinnamon rolls? He wanted to talk freaking cinnamon rolls when he'd just been so close to me his breath was mingling with mine -- and suddenly cinnamon rolls are a good topic of conversation? Tempted to rip the box out of his hands and smash the rolls in question over his head, I could only nod stupidly.

"They smell great," he said, then nodded to someone behind me. "Your blonde friend just walked in."

I looked over my shoulder, and saw Gracie had her hands full of coffee carriers, and another two men were following her in, holding more carriers.

"That's my cousin, Gracie," I told him. "I'll go help her." And you can follow behind me with your damn cinnamon rolls.

By four in the afternoon, the backdrops were hung, the sets were painted and complete, all of the furniture and props were replaced and everything was ready to go. The cast would be arriving in two hours for opening night. I debated going home and changing -- I knew I needed to -- but I was afraid to leave the set. Irrational, knowing that Sally's ex was in jail and no one else wanted to stop the production, but I wasn't feeling very rational after the events of the past two days.