The Ingredients of You and Me

by Nina Bocci

  “No, I saw it and thought it was fine. Great, even. But she must’ve analyzed it frame by frame because she claimed to see all these feelings and emotions from the two of us. I just saw flour on my face.”

  Ugh. As much as I wanted to prove her wrong, I knew deep down that Jillian was right. Again. I tried editing out as much of the flirtation as I could but even I, Captain Denial, could admit there was a spark in that video.

  “Tell her we won’t make any more.”

  He scoffed. “I tried that. She actually said that she, you know…”

  “No, I don’t know,” I explained, wondering if he wanted me to guess.

  “She asked that I not see you anymore.”

  Shocked, I dropped the spoon that I was using to stir my coffee, sending it clattering to the table and dotting my shirt with droplets of brown liquid.

  “Is that so?” I asked, as calmly as I possibly could. “I get it, given our history. It would make it difficult for us to continue to record tutorials with the Golden Girls, though. Unless…”

  He shook his head. “I told her that not seeing each other was impossible. We’ve got the same friends. You’re in town for, well—however long you’re here, and it wouldn’t work because I really liked working with you.”

  I swallowed a bubble in my throat. There wasn’t anything in there about how he wanted to stay friends—not just that we shared friends. Admittedly, that hurt more than I thought it would. The hurt would ease eventually, but for now it was lingering.

  “Anyway, we talked about it, and she understood that it’s a small town and we have the same friends. So, we compromised and I said that I’d avoid spending time alone with you except for the videos, where we’ll be surrounded by lots of people.”

  I almost laughed. He did realize he was sitting in my kitchen at midnight and it was just the two of us, right? “And yet, here you are…”

  The oven timer dinged, and I was grateful for the interruption.

  Sliding on oven mitts, I took the cookie sheet out and plated two slices for him and one for me. At this point, I wanted my mouth full. Otherwise, I would say something vicious, like I used to write on cupcakes.

  He smiled up at me wearily after I placed a plate in front of him. His normally clear eyes were bloodshot and veiny. He looked exhausted.

  “We need to talk about more than just Jillian,” he said around a mouthful of pizza. He moaned, while I focused on pulling apart my crust.

  “I know.” I took a bite of my own slice.

  “It’s just… I find myself haunted by the way I left things with you in November,” he blurted, setting his slice down.

  Okay, we’re doing this.

  He folded his hands on the table and stared straight ahead as if I wasn’t in front of him. Maybe it was easier to tell me what happened if he wasn’t looking directly at me. “Okay, maybe ‘haunted’ is a bit dramatic,” he sighed. “But it is the first word that comes to mind when I think about you.” I stayed silent, urging him to continue.

  “Parker, I need you to understand that I really enjoyed our time together. Beyond the sex—which, don’t get me wrong, was fucking great—but it was more than that. I really thought—” He paused, his Adam’s apple bouncing as he worked through what he wanted to say. “I really thought that we had a connection. It wasn’t just a physical thing, though it’s clear we’re attracted to each other.”

  We’re, as in we are. Not were, as in past tense.

  I blushed, and if he noticed, he ignored it.

  “Even though I visited New York and you came here, it bothered me that you kept it—me—a secret. I thought maybe we could have done the long-distance thing because really, it’s not that long of a distance, but it didn’t seem like you were interested in continuing with the traveling. You were always too busy—”

  “Nick, I knew we couldn’t continue doing what we were doing if we were going to have anything more permanent. I was trying to give us a shot, but then you stopped returning my calls. Quitting cold turkey was rough for me to deal with.”

  “You kept blowing off our plans leading up to the holidays. I figured it was your way of signaling to me that you were over it.”

  “What?” I asked, dropping the pizza onto the plate with a thwap. “We had one conversation about the holidays, and I couldn’t commit because I needed to figure out my baking schedule. I never said I didn’t want to spend them with you.”

  “I still felt like you weren’t feeling the same things I was. That you weren’t as invested—”

  I cut him off. “I sold my business for you!” I screamed, realizing that I was in a little bit of denial at just how much my relationship with Nick had affected my decision to sell D&V.

  There was complete silence. Nick’s eyes looked like they were going to come out of their sockets.

  “I never asked you to—” Nick started.

  “I didn’t mean that. Well, not entirely,” I sighed, suddenly exhausted. “I didn’t sell it for you, exactly. But what we had—what we started—showed me I wanted more in life besides the shop and the hours, the stress and the hectic lifestyle. It made me realize that I wasn’t really living. Not in any way that made me feel great at the end of the day. And I couldn’t have the type of life I wanted with you if I was still living and breathing D and V. All the other reasons for selling are true, but if I’m being honest, you did play a role. I was excited to tell you about it, but…”

  “I never gave you the chance,” Nick finished my sentence, and his face morphed into one of anguish. “We were never really great at communication, were we?”

  “That would be correct,” I said. Our conversation was too little too late.

  “I was definitely feeling the same things. I don’t know how you thought differently.”

  Thinking back to late summer and early fall, I remembered the hope I felt with each text he sent. Each time he showed up on my doorstep unexpected or when he pulled me into his house with a searing kiss. Maybe things would have worked out if we’d tried harder. Maybe if I’d told him how much I enjoyed spending time with him, things would have turned out differently.

  “But I am sorry for that,” I said. “I know I wasn’t always timely on replying to things, but our hours didn’t sync very well with me being up at four and asleep at nine. But I always answered the following day.”

  He reached across the table and laid his hand on mine. “I guess we were just lousy at communicating. I wanted to spend time with you whenever I could, and I just felt like you didn’t rank me very high on the priority list. That hurt.”

  His candid answer made my stomach flip. “But why didn’t you tell me that instead of leaving me in the dark? You could have just explained what you were thinking. Instead, I was completely caught off guard by your behavior. That hurt so much.”

  “I’m so sorry for that. It’s one of the things I regret the most. I honestly don’t have an answer for why I ghosted you. I think maybe it was my pride. I didn’t want to hear that you didn’t feel the way I did.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “When I say that out loud, it sounds incredibly stupid.”

  I kept my head down, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Maybe it was just the wrong time for us. It wasn’t meant to be. I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe in the cosmic game of chess, our pieces weren’t meant to exist on the same board after all. I just wish you told me this then. Even if we weren’t meant to continue, leaving me hanging like that was an awful thing to do.”

  His pizza long forgotten, Nick’s left hand joined the right and clasped around mine. He nodded. “I feel terrible. Maybe that’s why I feel haunted when I think about it. I handled it poorly, and I know it’s all on me.”

  Scooching forward, I leaned closer to him. “I don’t need you to apologize now or feel guilty about it. I’m just telling you so that maybe we can move on to being friends,” I said, repeating his words from earlier.

  “I’m going to be blunt,” he said, rubbing his
thumb against the top of my hand. “There are a lot of feelings that I have for you that aren’t just friendly. It’s why I told Jillian I’d avoid being alone with you. It’s because I know there is some validity to her concerns.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from agreeing. From saying I know, me too. That would have gotten us in trouble.

  We could ignore the tension. Or allow it to fade as it surely would. Eventually.

  “I won’t confirm or deny having similar thoughts,” I said slowly. “But, Nick, I’ve dealt with a lot of terrible breakup messages to home wreckers and I’m not going to be that person. You’re with Jillian now.”

  “I know.”

  “And that makes things really complicated,” I continued, needing that extra reminder that we could not, we would not, be crossing that line again while I was here and he was with her. “Not to mention that we can’t seem to get our shit together to have an honest conversation. Why couldn’t we do this in November?”

  “I don’t know. I wish we did. Things might have been different. But I also hope you know that I would never cheat,” he said seriously. “Never.”

  I swallowed. “Then answer me this. When did you get together with her?”

  “What?” he asked, looking up. His eyes were even more bloodshot than before. He looked exhausted, and for a second, I felt guilty bringing it up. But what better time was there than the present when you were looking for deep answers?

  “I’ll repeat the question. When did you get together with Jillian? Before, during, or after us?”

  He took a deep breath, his hand stilled over mine. “After. I would never have cheated on you.”

  “I believe you.” It was the truth. Nick and I were similar—loyal and monogamous. Even though whatever we had last fall wasn’t “serious,” we’d had a talk early on that we’d be monogamous. He must’ve stopped calling and messaging me when he met her. Granted, he left me confused, but we were undefined and long-distance, and it wasn’t like there was a conversation in which we outlined what the relationship was.

  “I won’t pretend that I’m not still hurt or mad, because I am, but I don’t have the urge to grind your nuts in a food processor anymore.”

  He smiled. “I wish I could take things back, Parker. I’ve missed you.”

  I couldn’t respond. Not that I wasn’t feeling the same way, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let the words come out.

  “Are you feeling a little less drunk?” I asked him, just as the clock in the foyer chimed one. I yawned. The coffee hadn’t had its intended effect on me. And not on Nick either, judging by the fact that he too was covering up a yawn with his hand.

  “Here’s what I suggest,” I said. “You crash here. Either stay on the couch or in one of the guest rooms, and in the morning, we can forget this over some eggs and bacon? That I make, because we both know you can’t make eggs or bacon,” I said, remembering his well-intentioned but sad attempt at breakfast after one of our nights together.

  He smiled brightly, his dimples deep. “Deal,” he said, sliding out of the breakfast nook.

  Nick helped me clean up the table, tossing the trash away and filling up the dishwasher. He even helped scrape the icing off the counter from my previous baking attempt and licked his finger. “This is delicious. What is it?”

  “Cream cheese frosting. I’m trying to create new recipes that are mine again. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s still pretty good,” I explained, feeling a deep sense of relief that maybe, just maybe, my mojo tide was coming back to shore.

  “What do you put it on?” he asked.

  “Cakes, cupcakes. Number-one rule of baking, friends don’t eat all of the icing without sharing.”

  Nick smirked, his eyebrow rising slightly. “Sorry about that. Maybe we can pack it up and eat it tomorrow with breakfast.”

  “Deal.”

  We made quick work of the dishes, mixing bowls, and blades.

  I walked to the front door, Nick right behind me as I locked it. He spied the knife sitting on the small side table and tipped his head in question.

  “Something you want to tell me?” he asked, picking up the large chef’s knife.

  I smiled, taking it from him and bringing it into the kitchen. “I thought you were a burglar earlier. It was midnight and a man was knocking on my door. I was going to use it for protection.”

  Nick laughed. “Parker, I don’t know anyone else who makes me laugh as much as you do. Truly, you’re one of a kind.”

  “Funny, I say that about Mancini all the time,” I explained, and his expression softened at the mention of his number-one fan.

  “I owe a lot to that woman,” he said, waving his hand for me to go first up the wide wooden staircase.

  He paused on the landing. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I crash here? I can call an Uber if you prefer.”

  I turned. From my vantage point, two steps above him, I was able to get a really good look at him. His skin still held its summer glow, though maybe not quite as rich and golden as it had been in July. The slight laugh lines around his eyes deepened as he waited nervously for my answer.

  “It’s almost two in the morning and I have guest rooms. It’s what friends do,” I insisted.

  “We’re friends, right, Parker?” Though he asked the question with conviction, I still didn’t believe it was all he wanted, and that was bad for both of us.

  “Almost, Nick.”

  The steps didn’t creak as we climbed, but I was still aware of every footstep as we reached the second floor. This felt like a turning point for us—in a good way, I hoped. It would be good to lose the undercurrent of sexual tension and work on our friendship. We needed to be able to play nice.

  Besides, Nick left me confused once. Was I really willing to risk feeling that way all over again? We could be friends—I just needed to make sure that anything else that lingered was ignored.

  Because that always worked.

  Nick had cleared out of the guest room sometime after I crashed upstairs. So quietly that I didn’t hear a peep. At least he was considerate. He left the room so spotless that I thought I had imagined him being there.

  There was no note, no text. Just like last November. The only proof that he was here last night was the shoveled path to where his truck was parked and the fading boot prints left in the snow where he escaped.

  I took five minutes. Five minutes to be annoyed and a little bit hurt that we literally had just decided to be friends. To act like normal people. And here he went, fleeing in the middle of the night.

  He really knew how to bruise a girl’s ego.

  Instead of ruminating, I decided to move on. I made coffee, extra strong, a bagel, extra butter, and a plate of bacon, extra crispy.

  All of it made me feel exponentially better until I checked the paper that was so kindly delivered to my rental. Flipping it open, my buttery finger smeared the black ink across the front page. It was an article about the available spaces in the bank building, and the companies that the town council was hoping would occupy them.

  The largest available unit was almost done with its remodel. It would be an upscale restaurant called The Vault—an aptly named restaurant with modern fare that was brilliantly using the fact that the original bank vault was still inside. It was being billed as the centerpiece of an out-of-the-box dining experience.

  The other spaces were also supposedly spoken for. Though I was under the impression after my conversation with Cooper and Emma that the unit next to Charlotte’s was still up for grabs.

  A town council member was quoted in the article as telling the reporter that a chain pharmacy was interested in the space next to Charlotte’s shop, and that the council was sure to approve it. The opposing opinion came from Cooper, the mayor himself, stating that all options were being considered and that nothing would be finalized until they entertained all offers from interested parties.

  “Okay, well, that’s good news,” I said around a mouthful of bacon. />
  With no time like the present, and with no time to dawdle, I grabbed my cell phone and called Mancini.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hello, dear!” she said, sounding out of breath.

  “Mancini, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no,” she puffed, and I heard her tell someone to wait a moment. “I’m at my senior aerobics class, but we’re almost done. How are you?”

  I swallowed the rest of the bacon, along with the nerves that had built up. This wasn’t what I had originally discussed with the ladies, but I wondered how they’d react.

  I often blamed Mancini for putting the cart before the horse. Was I guilty of the same thing?

  “Dear?” she asked again nervously.

  “Sorry. I’m okay, I just wanted to chat with you and the rest of the ladies about another idea I had before we headed to your house for another video.”

  “Oh! An idea. We love those. Girls, we’re meeting Parker after class!” she shouted, and I could hear a flurry of activity through the phone. “How’s an hour from now? I could come get you or…?”

  “No, no. I’ll call an Uber and meet you guys at Charlotte’s shop. Is that okay? It’s near your aerobics class, right?” I asked, hoping that I wouldn’t be putting them out too much.

  “Perfect. Oh, we’re all so excited. See you soon, sweetie!”

  * * *

  I arrived at the shop with time to kill before the ladies got there, and texted Cooper to see if he could meet me.

  Emma had given me a key, so I walked the space wondering again if this was a good idea. “Yes, but D and V started with a squirrelly idea, and look where that ended up,” I said to myself.

  There was a light rap on the door, and I turned to see Nick looking through the glass.

  I opened it for him and stepped back, letting him decide if he wanted to stay inside or outside. I crossed my arms and continued walking around the space, my back to him.

  “Do you want to be alone?” he asked.

  I shrugged in response, the sting from this morning still fresh.