Love and Cupcakes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  “Harper told her. About me, I mean,” she stammered.

  “About—Oh.” He frowned at her.

  “I sound like a freak.”

  “I doubt that. You can’t help what you can do. Plus, it’s not like you secretly like licking people’s feet or anything.”

  Jack knew he was trying to make her laugh, ease her frustration. It only made her want to hit him. She tried to take the magazine back from him.

  “Would you give me a damn minute to read it?” He shook the magazine open with a loud pop. His face was hidden in its depths while he read.

  Jack stood, tapping her foot to a silent rhythm. It reverberated in the empty room with a muted slap, slap, slap. Her whole body shook from the jittery movement. Each time her toe became faster and louder, he set the magazine down and waited for her to calm down before continuing to read.

  “It makes the shop sound pretty kick-ass, so that’s good, right?”

  “Really, Hutton? That’s all I get?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about ‘Sorry, Jack. That really sucks.’ Or ‘You should call and demand a rewrite.’ Any little show of support would be nice,” Jack said. Her voice cracked. She closed her eyes and breathed deep.

  “Well, of course it sucks. And I’m sorry you’re upset.” He set the magazine down and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “But I don’t think there’s anything you can do. It is what it is. You can’t let it bother you.”

  That was much easier said than done. Logically she knew Harper hadn’t done it to hurt her. She probably thought she was helping to turn the spotlight on Jack. But all Harper had managed was to share a secret Jack had only told to a handful of people.

  She stepped away from him. “Did you just stop by to say hi or did you need something?” she asked.

  “Just wanted to check that y’all are coming over tonight,” Hutton said as he walked toward the door. “Aria’s got a few dishes she wants opinions on.”

  He wasn’t going to give her a chance to back out, she realized. Jack glared at his retreating blue shirt. She watched the street long after he’d gone. She watched until her eyes glazed over and stung.

  When Harper and Graham walked in, laughing at something Jack didn’t hear, she threw the magazine at them. Its pages rustled before it slapped to the floor at their feet.

  “Why can’t you learn to keep your damn mouth shut?” Jack asked and stormed out.

  It was childish. But it felt so damn good. There was nothing Jack could do to help it. The more she told herself it wasn’t a big deal, the more she wanted to cry.

  ***

  “What the hell was that all about?” Harper asked. She slammed the empty trays in the sink and stared at the back door. “Don’t you dare go after her. I want her to come back in here and grovel all on her own.”

  Graham stopped halfway to the door. His heart pounded in his ears as he lifted the tattered magazine. The cover was bent and mangled, its edges smudged from being thumbed through too many times. It fell open to the article before he even knew what he was looking for.

  Jack had circled Harper’s quote in a dozen loopy strokes.

  Scanning the article, his mood plummeted. “Damn.” He turned back to the cover. The scent speckles in the photo were unmistakable. “Damn it to hell.”

  He dropped it on the counter and jerked the door open. Her car was gone. He’d known it would be. His arms were heavy, his shoulders slumped. Staring at the empty asphalt, he ran through a list of what Jack would most likely do in her current mood. Graham pulled out his phone and called Hutton.

  “Ooh, you’re in trouble,” Hutton sang into the phone.

  “She called you? Do you know where she is?”

  “I stopped by. And she was in a right state when I left her. I came by to see if we were on for tonight and she just kept reading the damn article and quoting from it. I thought she was losing it. Like for good, losing it.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t say that to her. I know you forget that she’s a girl sometimes, but, man, she looked really upset when she left. If you did anything to make her feel worse, I will hurt you.” He stepped off the curb and paced behind the building.

  It smelled like wet cardboard and stale beer. The pavement glistened in the spotty, early afternoon sun, as if the sky couldn’t decide if it wanted to spit rain a little longer or give up. His shoes splashed in the shallow puddles.

  “Cool it, Graham. She’ll be fine.”

  “Fine? Really? Did you read it?” Graham asked.

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet most of the people who read it don’t even take it seriously. I mean, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it happen so many times.”

  “That’s not the point, Hutt. If she’d wanted people to know, she would’ve told them. It wasn’t Harper’s place to do it and it sure as hell wasn’t that reporter’s.”

  “Did she talk to you when you got back?” Hutton asked.

  “No. She threw the magazine at us and took off.” An engine idled. He turned toward the entrance to the parking lot. For a second he thought it was Jack. He started toward it, but stopped after a few feet when it pulled away.

  “She hasn’t had a good fight in a while. She was due. Ever since Harp came home, she’s been on edge. Now maybe she’ll relax a little.”

  “It’s not going to do any good if she doesn’t actually fight. Jack’s hurt, and you know as well as I do that she runs from conflict like it’s a fucking great white shark. We’ll be lucky if she speaks to any of us for days.”

  He rubbed at the knot in his chest. The pressure from his palm did nothing to stifle the building tension. Hadn’t the stunt he pulled the other day been just as much of a betrayal? Shit. I’ve got to find her. He needed to talk to her before she worked herself up even more. Maybe, if he got to her soon enough, he could diffuse the situation. Maybe he could find a way to fix it. To make her stop hurting.

  “Maybe space is what she needs,” Hutton said.

  “Yeah. But maybe not. I’ll see you later.”

  When he walked back in, Harper was reading the magazine. Sitting on the table, her legs scissored in front of her. All he could think was that Harper had no business being in the article, much less the shop after what she’d done. And while she could do things with icing he could only dream of, if it meant making Jack happy, he’d kick Harper to the curb. No questions asked.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. But she struggled to contain the smile that pulled at her lips.

  A part of him appreciated that she tried to feel bad. The other part wanted to tell her to get a grip. He settled for somewhere in between. “You should probably give Jack some space for a bit. Maybe not come tonight.”

  “You’re kicking me out of the club?” she mocked.

  “No. But I need to make sure she’s okay. And with you there, she won’t talk.” He slid onto the table next to her.

  “It’s not like she’s talking to you right now, either.” She bounced her heel off of his. She stopped when he didn’t crack a smile after a few times. “It’s just one lousy article. She’ll be okay, Graham.”

  “You don’t know how hard she worked to land that interview. Months, Harper. She spent months chasing the editor, sending the office free samples. It’s like wanting a puppy for Christmas and ending up with a goldfish.”

  “But the story is great. It makes both of you sound, I don’t know, magical. And it makes the shop utterly unique. Who can resist coming in now?”

  He drummed the rolled up magazine against his thigh. “I don’t think Jack sees it that way. She was already on edge after, after what I did. And then you went and told the world about what she can do,” he said.

  “Not the world. Just Sugar.”

  “You are so not funny right now.”

  “I am, a little. So, you’re gonna get her a puppy?” she asked. Her voice was soft, almost romantic.

  “Figuratively, yes.”

  “You’d be a damn good catch, Graham
.”

  ***

  Graham left Harper in charge and went straight to Jack’s. Knowing she wouldn’t answer, he didn’t bother ringing, just let himself in with the spare key she’d given him a week after she moved in.

  The only light in the room came from the radio and cast a mournful green glow on the floor. The sultry, Southern voice and soulful piano pulsing from the speakers made Graham think of first kisses and lying in the grass on summer nights.

  Jack was on the couch, feet tucked under her, staring at a blank TV screen. He couldn’t make out her expression in the dark.

  He sat next to her and leaned his temple to hers. The flyaway hairs fluttered against his skin. She smelled like oranges dipped in sugar. “I’m sorry. About last week. I never should’ve—”

  “Don’t, Graham. You don’t need to,” she whispered.

  Yes, I do.

  He let his mind drift so that the room would fill with the scent of mint and lime. His desire was so strong, he could almost smell it. He thought he saw the hint of a smile play across her face before she turned away. He linked his fingers with hers. Her hand was cold, stiff. He rubbed it with his other hand to get the blood flowing. Her fingers didn’t grip him back.

  They sat like that as minutes ticked by. The song’s lyrics boasted of true love and heartbreak and wishing life had turned out differently and praying nothing ever changed. The lyrics melded into the air and the fabric of their clothes, and merged with his skin until he was saturated with conflicting feelings too strong to ignore.

  He never knew what he wanted when it came to Jack. But that hadn’t always been the case. Graham could still see, as if it was tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, every detail of the last time he’d thought he could make things work with her. He’d given her a ride home from school, driving just under the thirty-five-mile-per-hour citywide speed limit to make it last as long as possible. His car smelled faintly like citrus, a potent mixture that assaulted his senses even after she’d gotten out at her house and walked through the downpour toward the front door. She turned and watched him as she continued, backward, along the sidewalk.

  He rolled down the window despite the rain. “Hey, Jack, hold up a sec.” He threw open the door and jogged to where she stopped. She only came up to his chin. But she filled up every inch of his vision. “Your brother is gonna kill me,” he said.

  “What for?” she asked. “You got me home safe and sound.”

  Instead of offering an immediate answer, Graham framed her face in his hands so that his fingertips tangled in her hair. It was warm despite the rain. With thick strands of it clinging to his hands, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. “That,” he said as he pulled back a fraction of an inch. He meant to keep the moment light, fun. But she stretched her arms around his back to pull him closer. And then they were kissing as if they were already halfway to bed.

  He tilted her head back so that they could breathe. The break in contact was all it took for sanity to set in. Brushing his hand through her hair, he backed away. Her hands dropped, trailing down his back and grazing the tops of his hips. “See ya later, Jaclyn.”

  She bit her lip and watched him walk away.

  He grinned at her from the car as she still stood where he’d left her.

  Even after fifteen years, he could still taste the subtle mix of lime and mint from Jack’s lip gloss. He squeezed her hand. When she turned to look at him, he was seized by the same intense desire. But this time he had years of restraint to keep him from kissing her.

  Jack turned away as if she could read his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice was shaky.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you deal with it? With everyone knowing about your dad and granddad? About you?”

  “I pretend it’s not real,” Graham admitted. He let his head fall back onto the cushion. He lifted their joined hands so he could slip his arm behind her neck without letting her go. Sighing, he said, “I think with my granddad, it was romantic. And everyone got caught up in that aspect of it. But then my father left and used that as an excuse, like it somehow made it okay to abandon his family. And now they’re all waiting to see what happens with me to know whether it’s real or not. To see if I’ll end up like him. Or worse.”

  “Do you think there’s some girl out there just waiting for you to find her and touch her for the first time so y’all can live happily-ever-after?”

  She tried to pull away from him, but he held her close. Her body was warm against his side. He could feel every breath, every hitch in it as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the smooth skin of her hand.

  “I don’t want there to be.”

  “But what if there is?”

  Graham sat silent, trying to decide how honest he could be with her. He listened to the quick bass beat emanating from the speakers. His heart kept time with it. “What if I’ve already met her and it’s just some stupid myth and I lose my chance with her? Then I’m no better than my father.”

  “I know what he did was shitty, but at least he wasn’t scared to go after what he wanted.” Jack turned so her lips were inches away from his. Her eyes were wide and dark. “You don’t have to wait until it’s too late, Graham,” she said.

  He could feel her breath on his neck. All he had to do was lean in, close the gap. “Jaclyn,” he whispered. She was a breath away.

  He’d intended to keep the kiss light, but the moment his mouth met hers, the rush of need engulfed him. He forgot about his father and his grandfather and Hutton and all of the other reasons he’d built between him and Jack. She now controlled his every breath, every heart beat. When her lips parted he tasted a trace of salt. He let go of her hand to tangle his fingers in her thick hair. He held it away from her neck and worked his mouth along the soft skin just below her jaw.

  She pulled back slightly, biting her lip, and met his eyes. Hers were a mix of confusion and need.

  He’d wanted this for too many years to count. Something niggled at the back of his brain, though. Some spark of a memory too quick to grasp. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “Your brother’s gonna kill me,” he said. The laugh that came out was quiet, short.

  “That’s what you said last time. Yet here you still are. Alive and well,” Jack said.

  Cupping her face, Graham brought her mouth back to his. Then he snaked his arm behind her back, pulling her closer so she was half on top of him. Her knee slid between his thighs and pressed against him. She met every urgent kiss with the same intensity. He felt her pulse jackhammering in her neck when he finally left her mouth and trailed kisses down to the fraying collar of her shirt that skimmed her collarbone. He ran his hands up her back, making her shiver, though her skin was hot everywhere he touched. Resting his hands on her sides, he grazed his thumbs over her ribs. He broke the kiss long enough to smile at her when she tightened her stomach muscles.

  “Maybe we should wait, until we’re both thinking more clearly,” she managed between ragged breaths.

  “Maybe we think too much,” he countered.

  Thinking had only managed to keep them apart thus far. I’m done with thinking. I know what I feel. I know what I want. He nuzzled her neck again. Her soft laughter cut straight to his gut.

  Jack wriggled away and held him at bay with a trembling hand to his chest. She whispered his name, but the hesitation behind it was loud enough to snap him back to reality. He reluctantly sat back.

  “You think I’ll leave, don’t you?” he asked. He could see her answer in the tightness of her cheeks and the slight downturn of her lips.

  “I’m worried that if you do, you’ll hate yourself for it. I don’t want to be the cause of that. You can’t help who you are or—”

  “Who you love,” he finished for her. He trailed his thumb from her ear down her jawline. He rubbed it over her bottom lip and watched her eyes flutter closed. “Don’t give up on me yet, Jack.”

  She laced her fingers with his again. “Never,” she
said.

  ***

  He’d woken the next morning, legs tangled with Jack’s, her face snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. Her warm breath on his skin was like an elixir, seeping into his pores and clouding his vision. They’d both slept in their clothes, which were twisted and bunched around them. Bits of flesh connecting here and there with little pops of electricity. The soft fabric hadn’t stopped him from feeling every curve of her body, every spike in her pulse as he kissed her over and over until they fell asleep, his lips still pressed against her neck where her pulse beat slow and steady.

  He’d kissed her again as he slipped his arm out from under her simply because he could. Then again before he left, leaning over the bed with one knee propping him up and his fingers trailing though her hair, just in case she changed her mind by the time he saw her again.

  Graham was still fighting himself not to turn around and go back to her when he rode into Hutton’s driveway. The small, white ranch was chock-full of windows. The navy shutters and cobblestone walk gave it a charming, old-fashioned feel. All that was missing from his friend’s version of the American Dream was the white picket fence.

  Not seeing Hutton outside, he walked around the side of the house. He poked his head in the kitchen door. As always, it smelled faintly of herbs and cream. He called out, and receiving no answer, let himself in. He pulled two bottles of water from the fridge, tore a chunk from the cinnamon-raisin loaf on the counter, and settled onto the kitchen chair to eat before Hutton appeared in the doorway.

  He was in bike shorts, a long-sleeved tee and bare feet. “I’m almost ready,” Hutton said.

  “No hurry. I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you about something anyway.” Graham picked at the bread in his hands.

  “Shoot.”

  “I know I’m not supposed to do this, but we need to talk about Jack,” he said. At Hutton’s annoyed look, he continued, “I went over to her place last night.”