The Biker’s Plus-Size Obsession

Ch. 7 – Sweet Thanks, Bitter Refusal

The next morning, the bakery looked the same. Sunlight poured through the glass, sugar dust floated in the air, customers laughed over coffee cups.

But nothing felt the same.

My bakery—my safe place—had been stained by something darker.

The walls weren’t the same walls. And I wasn’t the same me.

Every time I touched a mixing bowl, every time the bell above the door rang, the memory of last night returned like a bruise under the skin. The knife. The blood. The way he caught me before I fell.

Blaine Cross.

The name still tasted sharp in my mouth, like both a warning and a promise.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. He saved me, yes—but that didn’t mean anything. He didn’t stay. He didn’t soften. He left, cold as steel.

And yet… I couldn’t let it go.

So I did the only thing I knew how.

I baked.

By the afternoon, a cake sat before me—perfect layers of chocolate and cream, delicate white curls dusted on top, a ribbon tied neatly around the base. My hands trembled as I smoothed the frosting one last time. A thank you. My thank you.

When no one was watching—Dad busy with the ovens, Mom charming the customers, Jessica nowhere in sight—I grabbed the cake, still warm in its box, and slipped outside.

My hair was tied in a high ponytail, my apron stained with chocolate and whipped cream. My hands shook as I crossed the street.

The garage loomed in front of me. But it wasn’t Blaine who met me first.

A boy—slender but strong, cigarette hanging from his lips—leaned against the doorway with a smirk too big for his face. Tattoos peeked across his arms, faint and careless, nothing compared to the shadowed ink I’d seen crawling across Blaine’s skin.

“Uh… is Blaine here?” My voice wavered.

The boy looked me over, grinning. “Why’re you looking for him, sweetheart?”

The way he said it made my cheeks flush. But he wasn’t cruel like some men had been when their eyes lingered too long on my curves. He was just cocky. Too young and too sure of himself.

Before I could answer, a rough voice barked:

“Kyle! What did I tell you about smoking?”

The boy flinched. And there he was—Blaine, emerging from behind him like a storm. His dark gaze landed on me. For half a second, I swore there was a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth, but maybe I imagined it.

“This is for you.” I blurted, thrusting the cake toward him before he could ask what the hell I was doing there.

His eyes dropped to the box. Then back to me. Then back again. Cold. Guarded.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to,” he said flatly.

“I did.” My voice was too soft, too hopeful. “I wanted to thank you. For last night.”

His jaw flexed. He gave a small shake of his head. “No. You didn’t have to. I’m not really… a sweet kind of guy.”

He pushed the cake gently back toward me.

The disappointment hit low in my stomach, sour and heavy. Of course. Why would he want anything from me? He’d just been in the right place at the right time. That was all. A good deed for a girl in distress.

And who was I, anyway, to think a man like him would look at me twice?

I forced myself to swallow, to hide the sting clawing at my chest. My eyes flicked past him to the boy—Kyle—who was watching curiously. “Maybe your worker wants it. Or one of your customers?”

“I’ll take it!” Kyle called immediately, grinning wide.

But Blaine’s glare silenced him.

“No. Don’t bother. Sell it. I’m sure your customers will appreciate it more,” Blaine said, his voice cool as ice. He jerked his chin toward the bakery across the street, dismissing me like a business transaction.

I nodded quickly, clutching the cake box to my chest before I could let him see how much it hurt. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

I turned and walked back, my heart sinking with every step.

When I stepped back inside the bakery, Jessica was waiting. Arms crossed, one brow arched, like a cat that had already caught the mouse.

“What was that?” she asked sharply, her gaze sliding to the cake box clutched in my hands.

Heat flooded my cheeks. “N–nothing. I just… got confused. Thought it was an order for the garage. Mixed it up.”

Her lips curved into a smirk, but her eyes betrayed something else—worry. Serious worry. “I don’t want you going over there, Amara. If there’s ever an order for the garage, let Dad handle it.”

My stomach dropped. I held the box tighter against my chest. “It was nothing. Really. Just a garage.”

Jessica’s tone softened, but the warning in her voice sliced sharper than her scolding ever could. “I’ve heard things about that mechanic. Blaine. Too many things. Men like him… it never ends well.”

I nodded quickly, swallowing against the lump in my throat. She didn’t need to worry. What did it matter, anyway? It’s not like he would ever get close to me.

Guys like him don’t look twice at girls like me.

Not ever.

That night, long after the bakery had gone dark, I sat alone at the counter. The cake box sat open before me, mocking me. The words I had piped in careful chocolate curls—Thank You—were still there, perfect, untouched.

With a sharp, angry motion, I dragged my hand through the frosting, smearing the letters into nothing. My throat burned, my eyes stung.

And then I shoved my fingers straight into the cake, tearing off hunks and cramming them into my mouth. No fork. No plate. Just hands and sugar and shame.

The sweetness clung heavy to my tongue, but it didn’t fill me. It never did. I felt like an animal—stuffing myself, desperate, pathetic—trying to plug the hollow inside me with frosting and cream.

Tears blurred my vision. My apron was a mess of chocolate and sugar, my lips sticky, my cheeks wet.

And when I looked up through the blur of glass—

He was there.

Blaine.

Standing outside in the shadows, watching me through the window. His face was unreadable. His eyes were unyielding.

I froze, my hands still buried in the ruined cake, my chest heaving with sobs.

I had never felt so disgusting. So weak. So exposed.

And the worst part—the part that twisted the knife even deeper—was that he saw it all.