Baking Up Love

by Simone Belarose

  “Don’t give me that, Sam. About you. Why you were out there instead of at the hotel, or in your car, or better yet why you didn’t come to me when you needed a place to crash.”

  We walked together in silence, broken only by the occasional chirping of crickets. When she spoke again her voice was soft and low. If there had been the slightest breeze her words would have been swept away. “I got kicked out the day I asked you for a job at the Bakery.”

  I fought down a surge of anger. “Kicked out?” At least it hadn’t been too long. I was afraid it’d been weeks, or that her hotel job had been a lie.

  “Yeah, the manager agreed to put me up for room and board if I worked there. But that was before the rush of new people and I figured, hey the hotel’s doing better, why shouldn’t I get paid more?”

  “And your boss didn’t agree,” I finished for her.

  “Pretty much.” She hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself. “Said I was ungrateful for the help he’d given me and that he had it on very good authority that the recent boom was going to be over real soon.”

  For some reason I couldn’t name, that sent a chill up my spine. “Did he say why?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Nah. I didn’t have anything else lined up so after my shift ended that night I stayed up a few hours and went to the bakery to wait for you.”

  “Wait. You worked all day at the bakery and you hadn’t slept?”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Sam!”

  She stopped and turned to me. “It’s true, Thomas. I work all sorts of odd jobs. What kind of schedule do you think somebody with no prospects, no money, no family, no friends, and no education can keep?” Her voice jumped an octave with each word until she was screaming by the end.

  Fists balled at her sides. It took a moment for me to realize she was crying. “What kind of jobs are there for people like that, huh? Nobody wants to train anybody new. Everybody wants years of experience, it doesn’t matter if you’re smart and capable. You’re not different. You’re not special. You’re just a loser that people take pity on. Nobody really care-”

  I was there in a heartbeat, arms folding her to my chest and tears in my eyes. I knew how she felt. More than she likely realized. What prospects had there been for me after high school? Not much. Grades weren’t good enough for scholarships, no money to go to college otherwise and I had no other talents.

  Sam let it all out. Her fists came up and pummeled me in anger. Trying to push me away but I wasn’t going to let her. She would have sunk to her knees if I didn’t hold her up.

  “You’ve got me, Sam. No matter what you think, you are special, and I know you’re smart. Who gives a fuck what other people think? Whatever happens, my home is always open to you. Do you understand?”

  She wailed and screamed at me, pushed and struggled against me with renewed fervor. “Look at you. Who the fuck do you think you are? Some loser who never left the town he was born in. Couldn’t make a business work without some hotshot girl coming in to save the day. Fuck you, Thomas.”

  I let her tire herself out. Let her words roll off me because I knew behind all that bluster she was in so much pain. And there it was, the common thread between her and Claire.

  They were both afraid of being vulnerable, of lowering their guard. I couldn’t stop the world from hurting Sam, but I could provide her with a safe haven. A shelter from the storm, so to speak.

  Her voice took on a pleading, heartbreaking quality. “Look at me.” She spoke into my shirt, soaked from her tears. “Yelling and beating on the one guy in the entire world that cares for me. Not because he wants to get in my pants, but because he legitimately cares. And what do I do? I fuck up the one good thing he’s got going. Because that’s what I am. I’m a fuck-up.”

  She clutched weakly at my shirt, bunching it up in her small fists. Her body shook with the force of each sob. “I don’t deserve you.”

  I was getting tired of hearing that.

  Grabbing her shoulders, I pulled her away from me. For a heartbeat her grip tensed but it eased up when she realized I wasn’t forcing her away. I was trying to look into her shimmering blue eyes.

  “Do you see me?”

  She nodded, lips trembling.

  “Do I look like a fucking idiot?”

  The sharpness of my words startled her. Slowly, almost as if she was afraid she shook her head.

  “Then trust that I know who does, and does not deserve my love and attention. Trust that I know what’s best for me, even if you think you’re not worth it.” My grip tightened on her shoulders. I needed her to understand. “You don’t get to decide who loves you. The only thing any of us gets to decide is what we do with the love given to us. That’s all we can do.”

  “You’re…crying.” Her voice held a note of wonder and she reached up to touch my face as if to confirm the tears were real.

  “Of course I’m fucking crying.” I crushed her back to my chest. “My best friend is in pain and thinks that I don’t care about her. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

  She shook her head against my chest and sniffled.

  “No more of that. You’re my best friend, Sam. My sister and I love you. There’s nothing you can do about that, so how about you stop and just accept it for once?”

  For a long while she didn’t say anything, just clutched at my shirt and quietly shook with each sob until she was emptied out. It would be just my luck for Claire to somehow come by at this exact moment and have her suspicions confirmed.

  Thankfully, nobody saw us. It was just Sam and me, and all that was between us stayed there where it belonged. She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve and I eased my hold on her.

  “I ruined your shirt with my snot,” she said with a sniffle and a weak laugh.

  “It’ll wash out. C’mon, Sam. Let’s go home.”

  She nodded and followed me in silence the whole way. I tried to engage her a few times, but she wasn’t paying much attention. I don’t know what was on her mind, or if she’d be okay.

  I only could hope that I had gotten through to her.

  She deserved love, safety, and a lot more besides. She was like the family I never had. If love is wanting more for somebody else than you want for yourself, then I knew I loved Sam. It wasn’t the love I felt for Claire, but it was just as deep and strong.

  I wished I could show her that she was the only woman for me. That Sam was my sister, not my lover. But seeing as I couldn’t do much about that right now, I’d help Sam the best I could. That at least was something I was capable of.

  21

  Sam

  That was the second time I’ve cried like a little bitch in front of Thomas. What the fuck was wrong with me? If I kept down this road I’d wind up one day with pigtails, painted nails, and other girly shit I had no interest in.

  Okay, a little interest. Everybody likes to feel pretty.

  But that didn’t make it okay that I’d let myself break down like that. So what if the last month, hell the last year had been one colossal fucking disaster after the other?

  I was Samantha Bridges, and a Bridges kept their shit together.

  After we got back, Thomas made us a quick snack. I tried to resist, I really did, but who could really say no to s’mores? I mean what isn’t to love? He had this little handheld blowtorch thing that I saw him using on some of the dishes he made in the bakery.

  With a single click it spat out a jet of deep blue fire and he toasted the marshmallows to perfection while I was tasked with the glorious duty of sandwiching them just right.

  A task I totally crushed.

  I hadn’t talked at all on the way back. Thoughts had zipped around my head, each one telling me to do something entirely different until I was so confused that I did nothing.

  It was like my brain had shut down.

  Thomas tried to talk to me, a few attempts that I could barely pay attention to. But after the delicious s’mores and the way t
hey brought back memories of bonfires and festivals in the middle of nowhere, I found myself opening up.

  “You deserve better than what’s been dealt to you,” I told Thomas, curled up on his super comfy couch. The seats had a way of sagging that felt like I was being cradled.

  We were watching some black and white horror movie shit he was so fond of. He looked back at me with a raised brow. I hated the haunted look I saw in his eyes now. There’d always been this sappy sort of romantic sadness in him that I knew some girls just ate up, but it had deepened into something worrying.

  Like a chasm that widened into a yawning pit, that hint of mysterious sadness had spread and taken something vital from him. That spark that made him who he was, despite all the pain and his shitty past.

  “So do you,” he said, turning back to the movie.

  It was hard not to be mad at Claire for it.

  I mean, if she was as smart as Thomas said she should have seen the clues right in front of her. Who has an affair and is still fully clothed? Really. I had a towel on, and sure that was easy to misconstrue unless you noticed the pillow on his lap and the blanket over me that didn’t include him.

  I took a deep steadying breath. Getting mad at Claire wasn’t going to get my best friend back, and it definitely wasn’t going to get them together. Trouble was, I’m pretty shitty with emotions. It’s like I convert everything into anger.

  For all that Thomas did for me, for opening his home to me and giving me something good for once in my fucking life, he deserved better. I ground my teeth at the injustice of it all. It was easier than reflecting on my own life and how it had come unraveled so completely that I had started living out of a tent and trash bags.

  I was right though, no matter what Thomas says. I didn’t deserve him, he shouldn’t be my friend let alone my best friend. Honestly, sometimes I wished there was some spark of attraction between us. Just so I could show him some proper fucking gratitude that didn’t feel weak and limp.

  Something that didn’t include talking about my feelings.

  But there wasn’t, and as much as I tried it can’t be forced. In a way I was glad there wasn’t. With every other guy, even ones I didn’t care about, the sexual tension laid there between us. It always got in the way, eventually. And it was a shitty thing to have to deal with and constantly be aware of.

  Is this smile making him think he’s got a shot? Is that touch on my arm him getting too close? With Thomas, I didn’t have to worry.

  A hug was a hug. He wasn’t going to suddenly try to kiss me. I could be myself around him, and every time I left Sunrise Valley I wondered why I was stupid enough to leave him behind.

  He was the only family I had left and I was constantly ditching him. Sometimes I could be such a bitch.

  If I was Claire I’d be worshipping the ground Thomas walked on. I mean the dude fucking cooks like a five-star chef, is ripped to fuck and somehow doesn’t realize just how good looking he is. He’s the whole package, humble, sexy - I’m not into him that way, but I’m also not fucking blind - and stupidly sweet.

  What was her deal then? Shit, give me five minutes and I’ll find him a girl that would do anything for him. Give me a month and I’d be beating off the ladies with a stick that wanted a piece of him.

  What’re you, his pimp?

  Now that was an idea… No, no it’s not. I shook my head to make the thought go away.

  The point was that Claire would be nuts to think Thomas would cheat on her, let alone be so careless as to do it out in the open in the apartment they shared. And that’s when I realized what I had to do.

  Maybe Claire was crazy but she didn’t understand the truth. If the picture Thomas painted was as accurate as I hoped it was, she was a smart girl with a good education and absolutely zero life skills.

  Not that he told me so in those words but I could read between the lines. I mean, the way the girl just clammed up when the man of her dreams confessed his love for her was beyond stupid. Who does that? People who don’t know how to deal with relationships.

  She probably never had to deal with difficult situations like this often in her life. Probably never been in love the way Thomas was. Well, she better be if she knew what was good for her. Especially if I was going to go through with my plan of tracking her down and telling her the truth.

  Because I knew in the depths of my soul that Thomas would never do what needed to be done. Claire needed to know the whole truth, and Thomas would never betray my trust like that. He’d think he was somehow hurting me by telling her he’d found me living in a tent.

  So I’d do it myself. I let out a long, body-shaking yawn that loosened up every muscle in my body and made me feel like jelly afterward.

  I’ll do it tomorrow, I thought to myself, trying to focus my tired blurry vision on the movie.

  I woke up to find the living room dark, the TV off and no sign of Thomas. He must have tucked me in because I was all warm and snug under a blanket I didn’t recognize. I checked the time on the cracked screen of my phone. Nearly six in the morning.

  No time like the present, I guess.

  I got up and raided the fridge for some easy snacks. Thomas being, well Thomas, he had a wide assortment of ingredients but very few things that were something you’d just pop in.

  That man would make everything from scratch if you let him.

  I managed to find some pancakes he must have made sometime before and I dropped them into the toaster - my favorite way to reheat them. Poured myself some orange juice and brewed a little coffee.

  One of the few things Thomas had taught me that had stuck was how to make a good cup of coffee. I knew all the common ways, pour-over, french press, immersion brew, Aeropress, percolator, and a siphon pot he’d apparently lost or broken since the last time I was here.

  Breakfast was a rushed affair, though I had time to savor his coffee. People just didn’t understand how rare and beautiful a good cup of coffee was. They thought they did but then those same assholes went out and bought coffee off the shelf.

  They had no idea how much fresh - that’s less than a week after being roasted - coffee affected the taste. He must have switched to a new blend because I didn’t recognize the notes of caramel and vanilla. So he was experimenting with different types, that was good.

  If I had time I would’ve gone through the pantry and looked to see what blends he had, if he even marked them. He had a terrible tendency to leave everything unmarked. I had started marking everything on my own in the bakery because I knew Thomas would forget.

  With a full belly, I snatched up my phone, changed into some proper pants and threw on my jacket. Then, creeping on the balls of my feet I snuck into Thomas’ room as he slept.

  He was a wicked light sleeper and the hardwood floor in his bedroom was a fucking minefield of creaks and groans. Good thing I knew them like the back of my hand. This place had been the only steady home of mine for the past several years.

  His phone was on the nightstand charging. Careful to avoid the board directly in front of it, I leaned awkwardly over the nightstand bracing one hand on the wall it was butted up against. With my other hand I snatched the phone.

  Straightening, still careful of that board right in front of the nightstand that creaked like the door in some haunted Victorian house, I unplugged the phone and hooked the wire through one of the drawer’s handles.

  I was out of the apartment before I could stop myself and turn around. I didn’t have a key so I left it unlocked but we lived in Sunrise Valley. Who the fuck was going to break into a baker’s apartment in our little town?

  The first thing I had planned to do was get a gas canister, hightail it to my VW I left parked in the back of an abandoned parking lot, fill it up and go off in search of Claire.

  There weren’t that many places to lie low and I was reasonably certain none of Thomas’ friends would be sheltering her, but just to be sure on my way down the steps I went through his contacts.

  His lock screen
pattern hadn’t changed in all the time I’d known him and I was browsing his phone call history in moments.

  “Nearly forty phone calls to Claire,” I said to the cold pre-dawn air. “Jesus dude, you really got it bad don’t you?” I shook my head and dug deeper. I found his other contacts but stopped short as I turned into what should have been an empty parking lot.

  Nobody else lived here but Thomas, I suppose Claire had a car. I think I remember seeing something big and bulky. What was here in front of me though was not that. It was a half-rusted station wagon straight out of the eighties or early nineties if I had to guess.

  Looked like something you’d see on an old VHS home movie in the background with lots of screaming kids.

  Naturally, I cased it.

  You couldn’t put something like this in front of me and expect me not to use it. I knew it wasn’t Thomas’ because he wouldn’t be caught dead with something like this. Whoever had this car didn’t take care of it one bit.

  I’m not talking about the rust, which is a pain to get rid of, but the way the interior was filled with trash and empty takeout containers. It was almost too gross to steal.

  Almost.

  One of the many useful skills I learned in my strange life was how to let myself into places I wasn’t invited to. With the advent of the internet in my teens I had every teacher possible at my fingertips. And I soaked it all up like a sponge.

  It was one of the very few things that I managed to retain and even improve upon as I grew up and out of my other childish hobbies.

  I was going to go back upstairs to get a coat hanger, but seeing as it was a small town and all I figured I’d go for broke and try the handle. It opened. That’ll save me some time.

  Now I knew my luck couldn’t hold. Sure it was a small town with like zero crime, the worst thing anybody’s probably been arrested here for is jaywalking, but there was no way the keys were in the car.

  I flipped the visor down, no good. Tried the other, nothing. Rummaged around a bit before I caved and broke up the fuse box before I saw them. Are you fucking serious? This is just asking to be taken.