Chapter 1 - "what do you want?"

The scent fills my nostrils. I suck the aroma deep into my lungs. God, it smells so delicious.

I have not walked this part of town before. It is late, about 2 a.m., and I am trying to walk off my insomnia. Walking is good exercise, and with my new job, I don't get any chance to exercise. Because of this, I have gained a little weight lately, not much, just a little belly and the start of love handles. Maybe walking might help me lose it.

But what's that smell? Oh my. I can feel that delicious odor in my nose and it's making my taste buds sit up and take notice. My belly grumbles with hunger as I look about for the source of what heaven must smell like.

Just then, I turn the corner and see a sign flashing "BAKERY" in a window above a stylized neon coffee cup with blue steam shining above it. Another sign simply says, "Open 24 hrs".

I look inside and see a woman putting her trays of fresh-baked goodies into the window for display. She looks cute in that girl-next-door kind of way with her blonde hair pulled back to show her freckly wide face. She looks up at me and smiles an all-American smile - all white teeth surrounded by heart shaped lips of pink.

I smile back. My belly growls again.

Her smile, along with the aroma of the donuts, draws me to the door.

I know I shouldn't go in. After all, I'm out walking trying to lose this new weight I've gained, but . . .

I can't help myself. I push the door open, and I feel myself sinking in the steamy warm aromas inside, even more powerful than what I experienced on the street.

The woman greets me as she loads another tray into the display counter. "Hi," she says. "I'm Rose the baker, and I'll get to you in a minute, just as soon as I set this batch out."

"Um, hi," I say, thinking about how beautiful she looks, how bright and fresh looking. I can't help but wonder if she smells like donuts when she leaves here.

"Oh my," I say, those two words spilling out like a moan of pleasure, involuntarily. I am trying not to sound over-enthusiastic -- but failing miserably. "That delicious smell of fresh breads and sweet pastries, donuts, cinnamon, chocolate, fruit fillings and rising, expanding dough." I pause from the rush of words coming from my mouth. Am I really saying all this? "I just had to come in here. I couldn't help myself."

"Happens all the time," Rose says as she leads me to a small booth near the back, right next to another display case half-filled with trays of fresh-baked donuts, breads and pastries. "I'm just getting the new donuts out for the morning shift."

I am the only customer in her shop. I feel self-conscious as she stares at me, and I feel her eyes looking me up and down. She can probably see how tight my shirt and pants are with this new weight. Good God, what a fatty I must seem to her!

I resolved yesterday not to buy bigger clothing sizes because I feel that would just be giving up and allowing myself to get fat.

And I don't want to get fat. What am I doing in a donut shop then? I don't want to get fat.

"What do you want, hun?" Rose says, leaning over a little toward me. I notice that the top two buttons of her baker's outfit are unbuttoned and that her tightly-tied apron accentuates her hourglass figure.

"Uhm, well, just a cup of coffee," I answer quickly, trying my best to keep my eyes out of her cleavage.

"Haha, somehow I doubt that's all you want, mister."

"Uh," I fumble my words. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," she says, her eyes sparkling bright as dimples form on her cheeks, and she chuckles softly.

"No," I say in a flustered high pitchy tone. "What do you mean?"

"You come in here spouting all kinds of poetic words about the tempting delicious aromas of this place . . . and all you want is coffee?"

"Well, I-I-I d-d-don't know w-w-what I want," I stutter.

"Is there something you'd like to try?" she says suggestively, leaning in even closer, her nice firm breasts pushing against her blouse, the nipples now showing.

"Uh, oh my, it all looks so good," I say, glancing at the dozens of donuts behind the glass counter nearby.

When I look back at her, I catch her eyes again drifting down my body, measuring it and judging it, no doubt. She probably sees a lot of fat losers in a job like this. I regret how out of shape I've gotten lately. What chance would I have with any woman, especially a beauty like Rose with this 25 pounds of flab circling my waist? She is probably disgusted, thinking I'm another chubby loser out walking the streets late at night. A fat loser in a desperate search for fattening donuts.

Her voice pulls me out of these thoughts. "Well, what do you want?" she asks, her eyes again meeting mine.

(Continued)