by Sabrina Sol
“What do you mean?”
“You said your abuela always wanted you to go to college, so do that. Go back to school.”
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. I’m not saying apply to a four-year university. But maybe you could take some classes at a junior college or a trade school? This is your second chance. Take it.”
He couldn’t think of one single reason why he shouldn’t. “I have always wanted to take some business management classes. I could use part of the money for tuition and put away the rest until I’m ready to start my own construction company.”
“You want to start your own company?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. I’m tired of relying on other people to find me work. I know it’s going to take some time before I can be my own boss. But it will be easier taking on these temp jobs because I’ll know it won’t be like that forever. So now I just need to figure out school. I guess I can do it online, or I think Las Vegas has a pretty good community college…”
She frowned and took a step back. “Wait. Las Vegas?”
“I told you about that job offer, remember?”
“Yes. But for some reason I thought you were still going to look here in L.A.?”
“I was, but this is a guaranteed gig. I have to take what I can get.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure if you ask my brother, he’d be happy to give you some contacts.”
“Probably. But I really need to do this on my own.”
What he didn’t tell her was that he’d already asked Miguel. But his friend had pressed him hard for reasons as to why he wanted to stay in L.A. He didn’t feel comfortable saying anything about Amara for obvious reasons, but also because he wasn’t sure what to do with their relationship. Did she want more? Did he?
There was no better time than the present to find out.
“I can still come down on the weekends to see you,” he offered. “There’s a pretty decent motel down the street where we could…”
She put her hands on her hips—hips he wanted to grab hold of and not let go until she was screaming his name. “And what? Have a weekend booty call?”
Wait, no. He frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant we could spend some time together alone.”
“I don’t know…”
“Look, Amara. I’m trying here. Just tell me what you want.” Truth was he wanted her to tell him to stay—to give him hope that one day she could learn to love him.
Like the way that he already loved her.
The realization fell onto his chest like a piece of cement block—knocking the wind out of his lungs and striking terror in his heart. He loved her. Of course he did. But should he tell her? If he did, it would change everything. Forever.
“I want things to stay how they are,” she finally said. “I don’t understand why you can’t find something here and we can keep on doing what we’ve been doing.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Until when?”
She hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s time to tell me where you see this—us—going.”
“I… I don’t know.” She turned away, her arms wrapping around her middle, and moved toward the windows in front of the bakery.
Old defenses rose up. What if she did know, but didn’t want to tell him? Maybe he’d been all wrong about what had been growing between them? No, he told himself. He knew there was something there; he’d been feeling it for weeks. It was time for her to admit it.
And if she couldn’t?
Then you know what happens next.
“Why can’t you just say it?” he pressed.
“Say what? Why is this such a big deal?”
“Because it is!” He didn’t mean to yell at her, so he took a breath before starting again. “You still don’t know what you want—or you’re too afraid to admit it. And if that’s the case, then I’m sorry, but there comes a point where maybe I just need to stop asking you.”
It was partly true. He loved her, but he couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t even tell her parents that they were together. If he stayed he was risking his future—his sobriety—on someone who could hurt him deep. Deeper than anyone ever had before.
“So what’s it going to be?” He was pushing now, but he didn’t care.
She whirled around and glared at him, her hands fisted at her sides. “Why is this up to me? If you really wanted to stay then you’d stay. Don’t you dare make this my decision.”
Did she not care one way or the other? “If I go, I’m not coming back. Is that what you really want?”
“Does it even matter? Did it ever?”
Her words punched him in the gut. Hard. “Of course it does. Dammit, Amara! Isn’t that what this—us—was all about?”
She clenched her fists and marched across the room, stopping right in front of him. “What do you want me to say, Eric? We both agreed this was just about sex. We both knew it couldn’t ever be more than that because Trina told me that you didn’t come back here looking for a girlfriend. Plus, I’m so close to taking over the bakery. I can’t risk it now for something that’s just going to end later.”
And there it was. He’d agreed to sex and only sex, and now he was expecting her to feel the same way he did. She was right. He braced himself for the question he didn’t want to ask. “So this is over?”
“I guess so.”
There were no more words to say. She’d made it clear what she wanted. And it wasn’t him. So he turned around and walked out of the bakery, and away from Amara for the last time.
Chapter Twenty
Never in her baking career would Amara have thought she’d be crying over spilled water. Yet, there she was, bawling like a baby after accidentally tipping her water bottle over and onto a tray of freshly baked orejas. Water began to seep over some of the ear-shaped pastries, turning their sugar-coated flaky goodness into soggy, malformed messes.
They were drowning. Just like her.
It had been three days since Eric told her he was going back to Vegas. She’d been angry at first, angry enough to tell him the bakery was more important to her than he was. And when he walked out the door, it took everything she had not to go running after him and tell him she wanted him to stay.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Couldn’t risk it. If her parents knew about her and Eric they’d surely pull out of their agreement with Brandon, using the excuse that she’d lied to them all of this time. Brandon had invested his trust—and his money—in Amara. She’d failed her parents before by wasting their money on the cupcake shop. She wasn’t about to do it all over again. She owed it to them, to Brandon, to everyone to make sure this plan to reinvent the bakery went off without a hitch.
So she’d let Eric go.
The night he left, numbness spread throughout her body like a flu virus, leaving her tired, listless, and without an appetite. She’d spent the next few days in an absent-minded fog, forgetting things like where she put her keys or whether she needed two cups of flour or three for her anise gingerbread cookies. Then this morning, while taking a shower, she began to cry. Actually, not just cry, but wail. With her hair still caked in shampoo, she crumpled into the corner of the bathtub, her pain and heartbreak thankfully muffled by the jets of water cascading down around her.
Eventually, she managed somehow to leave the tub, get dressed, and walk to the bakery just as the sun was coming up over the rows of homes on the hilly, tree-lined streets. And when her thoughts threatened to pull her back into that sorrowful abyss, she just punched the dough harder or whisked the eggs faster.
But all it took was that one spill for the torrent of emotions she’d been trying to smother to come crashing back with a vengeance. The hysterical wave carried her from the middle of the kitchen into the dark pantry where she fell back against the shelves and sobbed into her hands. Loss, grief, emptiness. They were inside each tear that fell. So she let herself cry until her
soul had been emptied and all her tears used up. Exactly how long she sat there, Amara didn’t know. But it wasn’t until she heard a deep voice calling her name that she scrambled to her feet.
The voice yelled again. Crap! It was Brandon. Vaguely, she remembered him calling last night to ask if he could stop by today to give her something.
“Just a second, please. I’ll be right out,” she called back. She needed to clean herself up but she was trapped. There wasn’t a wall between the front of the bakery and the bathroom anymore so she couldn’t run in there without him seeing her. Looking around the kitchen, she spotted her large, shiny, not-yet-used spatula and grabbed it. Holding it up in front of her, Amara angled the impromptu mirror to check her reflection. Even in the blurriness of the metal, she could tell she looked like a disaster—a puffy, red-eyed disaster.
She sighed.
It didn’t matter. Brandon probably cared less than she did about how she looked anyway. So she blew her nose into a paper towel, smoothed her hair down and plastered on a smile.
“There you are,” he said as she walked out to meet him. “I thought maybe you had locked yourself in a freezer or something. Or does that only happen on TV shows?”
“Well, my freezer isn’t that big. So unless I accidentally fall into it somehow, I don’t imagine you ever having to rescue me from it.”
“Good to know. Although I doubt you’re the kind of woman who would ever need a man to rescue her. It seems to me like you’re pretty capable all on your own,” he said with a wink.
A year ago, she would’ve melted at that wink. Today, it barely made her smile. “Wow. Compliments and a gift? You should visit more often.”
“That’s right.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope and handed it her. “Open it.”
The twinkle in his eyes made her narrow hers. What was he so excited about?
She lifted the envelope’s flap and slid out what she could tell was another check. There was really no need to look at the amount. It was the balance of his first payment. Still, she glanced down and discovered a very different number…and blinked. Twice.
“What?”
“I decided to give you a deposit for the rest of the year.”
“Why?” Apparently the shock had rendered her only able to speak single words.
“Something tells me you’re going to be very, very busy soon and I wanted to guarantee a longer partnership.”
“Huh?” Lord. It was like she was a cavewoman.
“There’s something else inside the envelope. Take a look.” The mischievous glint and silly grin were back.
With trembling hands, she slid out two rectangular cards. They looked like concert tickets but when she brought them closer to read, she realized they had nothing to do with music. They were passes to the very popular, already sold-out Southern California Food and Wine Festival set for the following month.
“How?” Again with the one-word sentences. So embarrassing.
“You’re coming as my guest, and you’ll also be part of the tasting event. Well, not you specifically, but your desserts. And I figured that once people discover your bakery, you’ll have your hands full.”
The tears that wet her eyes came from happiness this time, but she blinked them back, careful not to let any—happy or not—sneak past the floodgates again. “This is amazing. You are amazing. I don’t know what else to say except ‘thank you.’”
“That’s enough for me. Well that and maybe one of those chocolate crepe things I’ve been eyeing since I got here.”
After tucking the check and the tickets safely back into the envelope, she placed it next to the register and pet it like a cat. She would open it again later and probably jump around like crazy after Brandon left. Right now, though, she needed to get that crepe.
As she watched him devour it, pure gratitude welled up inside her. Attending the Food and Wine Festival could be the break she needed to turn the bakery around. And the extra money would ensure she could afford the ingredients she needed in order to make only her best desserts for the thousands who would be attending.
This was huge. H-U-G-E huge. But why her?
“Can I ask you something?”
Still on the other side of the counter from her, Brandon put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Shoot.”
“Why are you doing all of this? I’m sure you could’ve found a more experienced chef or a more well-known bakery to partner with. Why us? Why me?”
“I already told you. I love your desserts.”
“Come on.”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for pretty girls who can bake.”
Months ago, she would’ve giggled at the compliment. Today, she shrugged it off. “I’m sure there are lots of prettier girls out there who can bake a lot better than I can. I’m serious. Tell me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I chose this bakery because I wanted more than just the same old deep fried ice cream and caramel flan on my menu. I wanted real, authentic desserts that reflected a true love for Latin food, but with a new modern twist. And I chose you, Ms. Robles, because you are as authentic as it gets.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat and pushed his empty plate to the side and threw his napkin on top of it. “Say, why don’t you come to the restaurant tonight? We can celebrate our new partnership over dinner.”
Part of her wanted to go. Maybe she did need a night off to forget her To Do list and forget Eric. It was a tempting offer, but it probably wasn’t a good idea, given her recent emotional outbursts. She didn’t trust herself out in public—or with other men—just yet.
“That sounds nice, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company. I’m a little distracted right now.”
“Distracted? Or upset?”
“Why would you think I’m upset?”
“Amara, I’m barely thirty-years-old and I own two very successful restaurants. I didn’t get to where I am without knowing how to read people and how to notice the little things…like, for instance, your red nose and sad eyes. Plus, I heard you crying when I came in.”
Her cheeks burned. Imagining what Brandon must think of her now scraped her raw. She covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to hide her quivering chin.
He reached over and pulled her hand down, his eyes full of concern—not pity. “Whoever he is, I’m sorry that he hurt you.”
They stood there holding hands for several seconds. Why was he staring so intently at her? Why wasn’t he letting go? Why wasn’t she?
The hard slam of the back door made her jump and she broke free from his grasp.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to…I don’t want you to think.”
“It’s okay.” She gave him a quick smile as she heard Daisy approach.
“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” Her cousin looked at her and then at Brandon.
“Brandon stopped by to drop off the rest of his deposit. And guess what? Because of him, the bakery is going to be part of the tasting event at this year’s Southern California Food and Wine Festival! Isn’t that amazing?”
Daisy shrieked, but quickly reined it back in. She gave Brandon a knowing smile. “Wow, that’s awesome! Thanks Brandon. You’re just always full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Amara crooked her neck and gave her cousin a hard glare.
“No need to thank me. I’m just happy to help the bakery.”
“And Amara, of course,” said Daisy, the innuendo dripping from her lips like the caramel at the bottom of a flan custard. Amara kicked her cousin in the back of her shoe and Daisy stepped forward, hitting the counter with her waist.
Brandon didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he gave her cousin one of his charming smiles. “And you, Daisy.”
Daisy raised her eyebrow at him and scoffed. “Me? How are you helping me, exactly?”
“Well, I heard you’re starting to get more requests through the bakery to help out with parties. I know a lot of famous people, and famous people like to have parties, too. All I need are some business cards or fliers.”
She laughed and waved him off. “I’m not a real party planner. I’m just helping out some of the bakery’s longtime customers. This isn’t something I’m going to do for a living.”
Brandon shrugged. “Too bad. Amara told me you’re in between jobs right now and this seems like the perfect opportunity for you to start your own your business. From what I’ve seen, you’d be really good at telling people what to do—you know—for their events.”
Amara stifled a giggle. No one had ever called out Daisy like that. She looked at her cousin expecting a smart-ass remark, but Daisy just gaped at Brandon. Amara couldn’t believe it.
“Okay then. I guess I better get going,” Brandon finally said, after a few seconds of silence. He waved and turned toward the door.
She met Daisy’s questioning eyes and mouthed, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, and Amara…” They both whipped their heads to look at Brandon, who was now holding open the front door. “That dinner invitation still stands. Just call me…when you’re ready.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
Only when the door finally closed behind him did she look at Daisy. Her cousin pushed her left shoulder. “What the hell, Amara? Why did you tell Brandon that stuff about me?”
“What stuff? About not having a real job? He asked one day, and I told him you were rethinking your career choices. What’s the big deal? He’s a successful businessman and could teach us a few things.”
“Well, judging by the way he was looking at you when I walked in, I think he’s wanting to give you some private lessons. If you know what I mean.”
Normally, Amara would dismiss any assumptions that a man like Brandon would be interested in her. But she couldn’t deny the strange sensation she felt for those few seconds when they held hands.
“You know I’m right. That’s why you’re not denying it.”
“No, I’m just not dignifying it with an answer. Besides, even if he did want something more, why are you so against it? Unless…”