Dark Christmas: A Bratva Next Door Romance

Holy fucking sexy accountant.

I can’t stop staring at the man who lives across the street. I’ve only caught fleeting glimpses of him disappearing into his house or slipping into his car.

I’ve been calling him the sexy accountant in my head ever since I first laid eyes on him, though I have zero clue as to what he actually does for a living.

He’s usually so… private. Mysterious, even. But today, he’s out in the open, stretching on his front steps like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

And damn, what a show.

It’s a chilly November morning in San Francisco, but he’s dressed as if were a summer day. His shorts hug his muscular thighs and his tank top shows off his strong, powerful-looking biceps and shoulders. Short salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard accentuate his square face and chiseled jaw.

He gives off an air of intelligence, like someone who reads a lot and takes an interest in world events. But his eyes—dark and dangerous—tell me there’s more going on beneath that sharp exterior.

And his smile—disarming, secretive, and guarded. He looks like he could wreck my day and then cheerfully ask how it went afterward.

I’m trying to be subtle but in truth I’m openly gawking at him through my bedroom window like a creep.

Oh, shit. He’s looking right at me.

Just as I’m about to duck out of view, he slips on a pair of sunglasses and takes off running.

An incoming text snaps me back to reality, my little fantasy about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-as-Sin shattered. It’s from Claire, my ride-or-die since high school, the one who was there when everything went sideways after my parents died. We run a bakery in the city together, and we’ve got big plans.

Hey, can you pick up some vanilla extract on your way in? We’re fresh out. Again.

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. I quickly shoot back a reply.

Got it. I’ll grab extra this time.

With that handled, I toss my phone on the bed and head for the shower. I definitely need to wash away all the dirty thoughts after the show I just witnessed.

I stand beneath the stream, letting it cascade over me, my mind drifting right back to him and the way his muscles flexed and shifted with every move, his lean, powerful body in perfectly controlled motion. I bite my lip, feeling heat pool low in my belly.

Before I know it, my hand’s sliding down my stomach, fingers grazing the sensitive skin between my thighs. But just as things are about to get interesting, I remember that I don’t have time to let my fantasies run wild.

Damn it. I’ve got to pick up vanilla extract for Claire and my peeping has caused me to be running behind. I pull my hand away from where it was headed, forcing myself to get back to the basic business of showering like a functioning human being.

Once I’m done, I step out and dry myself, then head straight for my closet. I dress quickly in black jeans, an old comfy band t-shirt, and Chuck Taylors and I’m ready to slay the day.

I grab my keys, coat, and beanie, and head out the door. The crisp November air is invigorating. From my porch in the Mission District, I can see the fog just starting to lift, giving everything that dreamy, slightly eerie glow.

Lining the street and creating an image that looks straight off a postcard are the quirky yet iconic pastel-painted houses with little flower boxes under the windows.

I head down the street. First stop: coffee. I don’t even have to say a word when I walk in. The barista, Zoe, spots me before I enter and nods, already putting the finishing touches on my order.

“Mornin’, Am! Your iced oat milk latte with a double shot’s already ready!” she calls out, sliding the drink across the counter.

“Thanks, Zoe! Lifesaver, as usual.” I flash her a grin and slip a couple of bucks in the tip jar before grabbing my caffeine fix.

Sipping my coffee, I head back down the street. I live three blocks from the bakery, and I love my little daily commute. It’s the perfect walk, especially when the weather’s on point like today.

I run into the local grocery store, grab two bulk-sized bottles of vanilla extract, and head on to work.

I turn the corner and spot our bakery—Sweet Talk. It’s housed on the first floor of a renovated Victorian, pastel blue with iconic bay windows and a quaint little porch out front. The white and pink sign above the door is cute but professional, and the little chalkboard sign out front always has some sassy quote of the day.

Today’s reads: ‘Gobble ’til you wobble.’ Classic Claire.

As I get closer, the smell of fresh pastries hits me like a warm hug—sugar, cinnamon, a hint of pumpkin spice. My mouth’s already watering.

With a grin on my face, I open the door, ready to dive into the day.

I step in just in time to catch the daily cuteness overload of Claire giving her husband, David, a kiss goodbye. He’s in his gym clothes, heading out for his pre-work workout, and they’re both grinning like lovesick teenagers.

“Don’t lift too heavy, mister,” Claire teases, giving him a playful tap on the chest.

David chuckles, wrapping an arm around her and leaning in for a quick kiss. “You just focus on continuing to grow our little man in there,” he says, resting a hand on her huge bump.

Claire can’t hide her smile. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll come out flexing, ready to bench-press his crib.”

It’s such a wholesome scene I could gag, though I’m genuinely happy for her, of course.

David catches me watching and waves. “Morning, Am! Try to keep this one out of trouble while I’m gone,” he says, gesturing to Claire.

Claire giggles. “You know that’s a full-time job.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, I don’t get paid enough for that.”

David kisses Claire one more time, shooting her a wink before heading out the door. She watches him leave, her smile lingering, and I can’t help but feel a little pang of jealousy.

“Girl, you are so lucky,” I say, tossing my stuff down behind the counter and grabbing my apron. “Seriously, where does one find a man like that? Asking for a friend.”

Claire laughs, brushing her long brown hair out of her face.

We get right into our usual routine, sliding into the flow like clockwork. Claire always shows up early to start on the breads; meanwhile, I’m all about the pastries, making sure everything’s ready to roll by the time we unlock the doors.

“Here’s hoping today’s as nuts as yesterday,” I say, tying my apron. “I’m still not over how we nearly sold out of everything.”

“Seriously,” Claire agrees, punching down a ball of dough. “Feels like we can barely keep up. Honestly, though, your holiday marketing is killing it. People are coming in droves.”

I grin, pulling the vanilla extract out of my bag and setting it on the counter. “The trick is to get ‘em in the door. The taste of the goods is the real marketing. They’ll be back for more, no question.”

Claire laughs. “True. One bite of your caramel apple turnovers and people are done for.”

“Exactly.” I start setting up for the day’s fall specials, getting out the goods I’d prepped the night before. “So, I was thinking we’d do some pumpkin spice croissants—light and flaky, but filled with that sweet, creamy pumpkin goodness. And maybe some pecan pie Danishes. Oh, and when it gets closer to Thanksgiving, I’ve got a cranberry-orange scone recipe that’ll knock their socks off. We’ll throw in maple-glazed donuts, too, because, well, obviously.”

Claire hums approvingly. “You’re an evil genius.”

“Thank you, thank you. I try.”

I head into the back, ready to get to work. I start by rolling out the dough for the croissants, dusting the counter with flour, and carefully folding in the butter layers. The repetitive motion is soothing, but my mind starts drifting back to my sexy neighbor.

The image of his legs, muscles flexing with every stride as he ran off this morning, keeps replaying in my head. Those thick, powerful thighs. My hands move slower on the dough as my thoughts go from inappropriate to downright naughty.

I imagine him here in the bakery. He lifts me up onto the counter, flour flying everywhere as his lips trail down my body. His strong hands grip my thighs, pushing them apart as he—

Snap out of it, Amelia.

I shake my head, trying to get my brain out of the gutter, but it’s not easy when the man across the street is literally sex on legs.

A knock on the window pulls me out of my daydreams. I glance up and see Mrs. Anderson and her daughter, Cynthia, standing outside. They’re regulars, usually here at the crack of dawn for their coffee and a couple of muffins. Mrs. Anderson’s waving at me, looking like she’s got something on her mind.

I check my watch, it’s a little before opening, but she’s got that look that says this is more than just an early breakfast run. I wipe my hands on my apron and gesture for them to head to the front door.

I crack the door open with a grin. “Wow, you must really need your caffeine and muffin fix this morning.”

Mrs. Anderson barrels inside and pulls me into a tight hug. I stand there, totally caught off guard, my arms awkwardly sticking out.

“Uh… what’s this about?” I ask, laughing as I pat her back.

She pulls away, beaming. “It’s for that cake you and Claire made for Cynthia’s wedding shower!” she gushes. “It was absolutely stunning. You girls outdid yourselves!”

Cynthia, her daughter, nods enthusiastically, her designer bag slung over her shoulder. “Seriously, Amelia, it was the talk of the shower. Everyone was obsessed. I had to remind people to stop taking pictures and to actually eat it.”

“Well, I’m glad it was a hit,” I say.

“Yes, in fact, it went over so well, we want you to make the wedding cake, too!”

“Wow, really?” I reply, both surprised and flattered.

“Yes, really. We want something truly spectacular,” Mrs. Anderson says. Cynthia nods excitedly. “We’re going all-out.”

Internally, I’m throwing a full-blown party. Wedding cakes are no joke, and landing this one is huge. “I’m sure Claire will be on board,” I say, keeping my voice calm despite my excitement. “But I’ll talk it over with her once she’s done in the office.”

“Perfect! We can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Cynthia says as they grab a couple of scones from the display.

I ring them up, watching them head out with a wave before going to the office and telling Claire the good news.