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ereardon · 9 months

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The Back Seater and the Baker || Chapter 1 [Bob Floyd x f!OC]

Overview: Bob hasn't seen Haley Nichols since he was fifteen. But when Haley shows up out of the blue with one sentence that throws Bob for a loop – "I'm turning thirty in two weeks, are we still on?" – all of the feelings from their childhood return. Bob never thought that Haley would remember the marriage pact the two made when they were just kids, even if he never forgot. So what happens when Bob falls all over again for his childhood crush? And what will Bob do when he discovers the real reason she came back to capitalize on the pact is to secure her inheritance and save her bakery from bankruptcy? Will he believe Haley when she confesses that she loves him, too?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x OC [Bakery owner Haley Nichols]

Tropes: Marriage pact

Chapter summary: Bob gets a surprise at his front door; Haley grapples with how to save her bakery business

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Word count: 3K

Series masterlist here; next chapter here

It had been a long day. Bob was dragging the moment he left the training facility, drenched in sweat, dehydrated from a day in the skies.

The only thing he was looking forward to was taking a nice cold shower, putting on a pair of pajamas and ordering Thai food.

So when the doorbell rang just as he was pulling on a shirt, hair still wet from the shower, he groaned audibly.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, padding down the hallway of his small cottage. He thought it would be Phoenix with a case of beer under her arm, or Bradley with the door to his Bronco flung open, beckoning Bob to join everyone at the Hard Deck.

He yanked the door open perhaps a little too hard, face stone cold in preparation for turning down whatever nitwit idea his friends had.

That’s why you were almost knocked over from the weight of his angry stare as the wooden door swung open.

Bob’s eyes went wide as he took you in, standing on his doorstep, a smile spread across your face.

“Haley?” Bob asked. He sounded like he was seeing a ghost. That’s what happens when you haven’t seen or spoken to someone in fifteen years, you thought. He looked older, but so much better. Blond hair pushed back messy from his face, wire glasses perched precariously on his delicate doll-like nose, blue eyes wide and clear, perfect little pink lips opened in surprise.

“Hi Bobby,” you whispered softly.

“What, uh, what are you doing here?” he stammered.

You grinned. “I turn thirty in two weeks,” you said as realization started to creep through Bob’s brain. “Are we still on?”

***

You were nine when you met Bob Floyd for the first time.

You were thirteen when you decided you loved him.

You were fifteen the last time you saw him, or at least what you thought would be the last time. Waving his hand in the middle of the street as you sobbed, watching him from the back of your dad’s pickup truck, your fingers pressed against the glass in the back of the cab as you sat turned around in the backseat, watching until his form became so small that he disappeared beyond a hill in the road.

You were thirty the next time you saw Bob, standing on his doorstep, asking if he remembered the marriage pact that the two of you had made as kids in the South Carolina low country.

***

You were up to your ears in buttercream. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Why you had agreed to take on a three-hundred person wedding two days before the event you had no idea.

Actually, you did know why. They were going to pay you four thousand dollars. And you desperately needed it.

“Need help in there?”

“God, please,” you groaned, using the sleeve of your jacket to push the hair out of your face as you filled a piping bag. “Can you stir the lemon curd?”

Calvin nodded, taking over at the stove, stirring the large vat with a wooden spoon. He looked you up and down. “No offense, but you look like shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well I’m not trying to win a beauty competition, just want to get through this wedding in one piece and I’ll be happy.”

“You shouldn’t have taken it,” he said, as if you didn’t already know that. “We’re behind as it is.”

“In more ways than one,” you huffed, bending over the metal prep station, swirling a perfect ring around the edges of the cupcakes.

Calvin put one hand on his slim hip. “You gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“We’re both thinking the same thing,” he said. “Grandma Lee.”

You looked up at him with eyebrows furrowed. “No fucking way.”

Calvin shrugged. “Then it’s your funeral. And the bakery’s.”

“Were you this much of a pill in culinary school?” you asked.

“One thousand percent,” he said with a grin. “Even worse when I was dating Dylan. God, remember him? He was gorgeous.”

“He stole from you,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, but he was hot.”

You laughed, shaking your head as Calvin flicked off the heat on the stove. “Grandma Lee is not an option.”

“Why not? She’s filthy rich and old as fuck.”

“Because she hates me,” you said. “And she’s mean.”

“Mean, but rich,” Calvin reminded you with a knowing look.

You set the pastry bag down on the metal table with a sigh.

He held up his hands in a sign of defeat. “Hey, it’s not my business that’s about to go down the toilet,” he said. “Way I see it is, either you marry a billionaire overnight, you call Grandma Lee, or you lose the bakery in three months when the bank forecloses.”

“Isn’t there a secret fourth option?”

“Nope.”

You refilled the pastry bag. “Sell feet pictures on the internet?”

“With those fucking hobbit feet? You’d be lucky if they didn’t make you pay to post those.”

You rolled your eyes. He was right and you both knew it. Even if you hated to admit it.

***

You brought it up first, on a crisp fall day as the two of you were walking through the marshes. Bob didn’t know it yet but you were moving in a few weeks. You refused to admit that it was real. That it was happening. Instead, you grabbed Bob’s hand.

“Bobby?” you whispered.

He smiled at you. Behind him, the sun was starting to set softly, tossing a halo of light around Bob’s already golden head. “Yeah?”

“How old is old, do you think?”

He smirked. “I don’t know, thirty?”

“So if I’m thirty and still not married, and you’re thirty and single, should we do it? Get married?”

He squeezed your fingers. Bob looked at you like you turned on the sun every day, lighting up the world. You could feel his smile all the way to your toes. He grinned. “No way will you not be married by then.”

“Shut up.”

Bob laughed. You loved the way he laughed. He didn’t do it often, only when the two of you were alone. He was shy back then, and quiet. He hid behind a pair of bulky glasses, shirts a size too big, a backpack overloaded with books. But you loved him. You had said so six months before, as the two of you kissed for the first time under a weeping willow on the edge of your grandparents' property.

He had said it back. It was the best day of your life.

You looked at Bob expectantly and he realized you were serious. You were the one with all of the ideas. Bob was just along for the ride. But he knew even back then that you wouldn’t lead him astray.

He trusted you.

Bob leaned in, brushing the hair from your face back behind one ear, the right one which stuck out more than the left. He nodded. “OK,” he whispered. “I’ll marry you when we're thirty.”

“Shake on it,” you murmured, sticking out one hand. Bob slid his long, slender fingers into yours and you wrapped your warm ones around his, gripping him tightly. You never wanted to let him go. “No going back,” you added.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

***

“I, uh, what?” Bob stuttered, his mouth still popped open in shock. He shook his head quickly. “I mean, um, come in, we’re letting the cold air out.”

You stepped over the threshold and Bob closed the door until it was just the two of you standing in the small foyer of his house, staring at each other.

Bob adjusted his glasses with one hand. They were wireframes now, and his blue eyes looked massive behind them. You hadn’t expected the fervor that would course through your veins, seeing him again. The desire. How even after fifteen years, it felt like he was the first boy to ever look at you and truly notice you.

You smiled. “Got anything to drink?”

Bob frowned, stepping into the kitchen and you followed him. He opened the fridge, scanning it with his eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the store,” he admitted before pulling out a bottle of sparkling water. “I have this?”

“Anything stronger?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, my teammates pretty much cleared me out last time they were here.”

“That’s fine,” you said, reaching out a hand. Your fingers brushed over Bob’s and he almost dropped the bottle but you caught it, smiling up at him. He felt woozy. “Sit,” you said. “You look a little green.”

“Thanks.” Bob took a seat at the small kitchen nook in the corner and you rummaged around for glasses before pulling out two and pouring water into each. You slid one toward Bob.

“Drink,” you said and he lifted the glass to his mouth, sucking half of it down. “Feel better?”

He shook his head. “Haley, what are you doing here?” he asked softly.

Your smile fell and Bob wanted to kick himself. “You’re not happy to see me.”

“Honey, that’s not it,” he said and that small drawl came jutting out. You smiled. “It’s just, it’s unexpected. It’s been a while.”

“I know.” You leaned forward, pressing one hand over his on the wooden table. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Bob said. “We were just kids.”

“I could have tried to stay in touch better,” you murmured.

“We tried,” he whispered. "We did our best." The unspoken hovered between the two of you.

You nodded. “I’ve missed you, Bobby.”

“How’d you know where to find me?” he asked.

“Grandma Lee.”

Bob nodded. Your grandmother knew everyone and everything in Mount Pleasant. No doubt she had somehow kept track of the Floyds.

Bob studied you. You were beautiful. As kids, you had been a little gangly, awkward. By fifteen, the year you moved away, you were just starting to come into your beauty. But now, another fifteen years had passed and Bob could barely believe he was breathing next to you. Caramel colored hair, big green eyes, stunningly white smile. Your fingers pressed into his. “Bobby,” you whispered. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I, uh, I don’t have plans.”

“Let’s go out,” you said. “Dinner. On me.”

“It’s been a long day, Peanut,” he mumbled and you smiled at the nickname.

“OK. What about tomorrow?”

“Um.”

You grinned. “Not taking no for an answer, Bobby.”

He frowned. “What are you doing here?” he asked again. “In San Diego.”

“I came to see you.”

“After fifteen years?”

“If you don’t want to get dinner, I understand.”

“No, no!” Bob shook his head furiously and you smiled. “I just, feels random is all.”

“I had some vacation time,” you said, “and like I said, I’m turning thirty at the end of the month.”

“You can’t be serious.” For the first time, Bob raised his eyes to yours.

Your lips pulled back in a perfect smile and Bob felt it in every inch and crevice of his body. He thought you would have forgotten about him. Even if he had never forgotten you.

Somehow, you had always been there in the back of his mind. A looming countdown. Perhaps he had always just been counting down the days until he turned thirty on the off chance you showed up, looking to seal the deal the two of you had made over a decade ago. And now here you were, like he was dreaming.

You shrugged, lips still quirked up in a smirk. “Maybe, maybe not,” you said, teasing. “Don’t you want to find out?”

***

Bob tapped his foot nervously. On the bar next to him, a ginger ale was growing warm.

“Floyd? You doing OK?” Nat took a sip of beer and squinted at him. “You look antsy.”

Bob thought about confiding in her. Of the daggers, he was closest to Phoenix. But on the other hand, he hadn’t wanted to bring you here tonight. He had wanted the two of you to simply get dinner somewhere off the beaten track. But when he had gotten conned into going to the bar for pre-birthday drinks for Fanboy, he texted you to move your date and you had volunteered to meet at the Hard Deck first before heading to the restaurant.

Phoenix leveled Bob with her brown eyes. “Spill.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just don’t want to stay too late.”

She looked over at the corner where the group was already calling for shots. “They’re going to get rowdy. I say stay for one more round and then you can Irish goodbye.”

Bob nodded, picking at the cup of pretzels between his legs. He was too nervous to notice that you had just stepped into the bar, wearing a pair of jeans and a tight tank top, brown hair pulled back into a soft bun with a few tendrils framing your face. You spotted Bob immediately, his back partially turned to you, and started to make your way toward where he was sitting at the bar.

You tapped his shoulder twice and smiled as he turned, face automatically lighting up.

“Hi,” you whispered, cheeks flushing. Even in a bar crawling with men in uniform, Bob was still so handsome in a way that swept you off your feet.

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. After a moment he scrambled to his feet. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Tequila soda? Casamigos if they have it.”

Bob raised an eyebrow but nodded. He turned around and flagged down the bartender as you fidgeted. Nearby, a group of rowdy men were on their way back toward the bar when a handsome blond narrowed his gaze on you.

“Hey sugar,” he said and you placed his accent in a millisecond. “New here?”

“First time,” you said.

The brunette woman next to him smacked his arm. “Shut up, Hangman. Can’t you see she’s with Bob?”

Hangman barked out a laugh just as Bob turned around from the bar with your drink, handing it to you gently.

“Here you go,” he said. “No Casamigos, I’m afraid, but Penny said this was good.”

You accepted the glass and took a sip. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Hangman turned his gaze between the two of you. “You know Bob?”

You let your free arm wiggle up over Bob’s broad shoulder, resting on the back of his head as your fingers threaded through his hair. “I’m his fiancé.”

All eyes turned to you. Bob blushed. “She didn’t mean that.”

You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “Well, technically he hasn’t proposed. But I think he’s going to.” You winked up at Bob and he turned a darker shade of crimson.

The brunette crossed her arms over her chest with a smirk. “Care to fill us in, Floyd?”

“Guys, this is Haley.” Bob held out one palm toward you. “Haley, this is the squad. That’s Phoenix, Fanboy Hangman, Rooster, Payback and Coyote.”

“I’ll never remember those names. Except maybe Coyote, I like that one.”

The taller man in the back grinned. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Haley,” Phoenix said, settling down on a stool. “We’re going to need the full story of how you know Floyd here.”

“Oh, you know,” you said softly. “Childhood friends fall in love. Girl moves away. Girl comes back fifteen years later because her thirtieth birthday is coming up to see if boy still remembers the pact the two had to get married when they were thirty if they were both still single.”

Rooster barked out a laugh in the back of the group. You dropped your hand from Bob’s shoulder, letting it dangle at your side, brushing against his hip.

“But I’m having a hard time convincing him,” you said with a smirk. “Maybe there’s someone else.” Despite your light tone, your heart froze in your chest. What if there was someone else?

Bob looked down at you softly, shaking his head. “There’s nobody else, Peanut.”

“Floyd here has been girl-free as long as I’ve known him,” Hangman said, clapping Bob on the shoulder before ordering another beer at the bar.

Bob grimaced as Rooster piped up for him. “Not to say he doesn’t get hit on his fair share,” Rooster added. “Bob is a hot commodity around here.”

“Not true.” Bob’s voice was quiet. Without thinking, you intertwined your fingers in his at your side and squeezed. He looked over at you and you smiled reassuringly.

“So how long has it been since you’ve seen each other?” Rooster asked.

“Fifteen years.” You glazed over the summer that you turned seventeen. It was something you and Bob hadn’t spoken about since it happened. Perhaps it was better to stay unsaid.

“Long time,” Phoenix said, tipping her head, examining you. “Why’d you come back?”

“Had some vacation days,” you said. “And I’ve never been to San Diego.”

Phoenix nodded but there was something behind her eyes. Bob squeezed your hand affectionately. “We actually have dinner reservations,” he said quietly, “so we should be getting going.”

There was a collection of groans from the team and you smiled, eyes trained on Bob. The two of you made your way out of the bar and you were pleasantly surprised to find that one of his hands was pressed against your back, guiding you through the crowd.

“This is me.” Bob pointed to a black pickup truck.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “You don’t like it?”

“Oh that’s not it,” you said, pulling open the passenger door and scooting in. “Just not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” he asked, tugging the truck into gear and peeling off down the road.

You leaned your head back against the headrest, looking over at him. “You’re different,” you whispered, eyes freely examining him. “In a good way. Better than I had hoped, I guess.”

Bob gripped the wheel tightly, eyes locked on the road. He snuck a glance over and noticed you taking him in and blushed. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured.

“So you’ve thought of me?” you teased.

“Peanut,” Bob said and the nickname rolled around in the cab of the truck, penetrating every pore on your body. It was syrupy and delicious and it rolled off his tongue like he had never stopped saying it. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You’re the one that got away, Bobby,” you whispered, turning to face back through the windshield. “Always were.”

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