by Nina Lane
She stared at him, her hand going to her chest. “If I’m everything, then how could you not even tell me you’re going to Switzerland on Monday?”
“I don’t know.” Luke paced back across the living room. “The plans were made months ago, and travel is just part of business for me, so I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m just going to work. I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Of course I care,” Polly said in exasperation. “I care about you too much. Don’t you know that by now? I’ve loved every minute . . . well, almost every minute we’ve spent together. And I couldn’t be more grateful for your help with Wild Child. But I know we both made it clear from the beginning that this was supposed to be casual and fun, and I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
Tension gripped him at the resigned note in her voice. He’d fixed his family’s whole damned company, for God’s sake. Surely he could fix whatever had gone wrong between him and Polly. He just had to prove he’d give her anything she wanted. He’d give her the whole goddamned world, if that’s what it took.
“I can’t spend our time together wondering,” Polly continued, “if one day you’ll decide there’s a deadline after all.”
Inspiration hit him like a lightning bolt. He turned back to her.
“Come with me,” he said.
“What?”
“To Switzerland.” He spread his arms out, relief flooding him as he realized he was making her an offer she couldn’t refuse. “You told me you’d wanted to travel, right? So come with me. Yeah, I have to work, but I can take the time to show you around, and we could take a couple of days and go to Paris. I know you’ve always wanted to go there, and there’s a train that leaves from—”
“Luke.” Polly’s voice sliced through his speech with quiet determination.
He stopped. “What?”
She approached him. For the first time ever he couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t see past the invisible veil that had descended over her eyes.
“Do you remember when I told you I’d once wanted to go to a pastry school in Paris?” she asked.
He nodded, sudden apprehension clouding his relief.
“The day after my birthday, I found out there’s a special pastry-making course being offered in Paris,” Polly continued. “It’s being taught by several renowned chefs, including Pierre Lacroix. I applied for the course on kind of a whim, not thinking I stood a chance, but I got an email a few days ago telling me I’d been accepted. Part of the reason was that they liked the innovation I showed in the creation of the Declairs.”
Luke heard what she’d said but for a second, he couldn’t process it.
“The course starts in September.” A faint wariness appeared in her eyes. “It’s a six-month series of classes followed by a three-month internship.”
“That’s . . .” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He should congratulate her, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“That’s great,” he finally said. “So what . . . what did you tell them?”
“Nothing yet. I wanted to tell you first. I have until the end of the month to send in my response.”
“Who else knows?”
“Just Hannah.”
“And what did she say?”
“She thinks I should go.”
“You mean Hannah, the sister you yourself said was irresponsible?” Luke said, his voice tightening. “Now you’re taking advice from her?”
“She’s still my sister.” Polly’s expression flashed with irritation. “And I also said she was brave, so maybe her advice is worth taking.”
“And has she given you advice about what you would do with Wild Child?”
“No.” She stepped away from him and bent to straighten the books on the coffee table. “She did say she couldn’t stay and run the bakery, though, so I don’t see how I could leave.”
“Of course you can’t leave.” The statement came out harsher than he’d intended.
Polly looked up. “What?”
“Things are just starting to take off for you.” Luke’s chest was knotting like an old fishing line. “A responsible business owner doesn’t walk out on her business right when it’s finally turning a profit.”
“I didn’t say I was walking out on it,” she said. “I wouldn’t shut the whole thing down, especially now.”
“But you’d abandon it?”
“No! I’d never abandon Wild Child. You know that. I’d hire a manager and try to oversee things from afar.”
“Yeah, that works,” he snapped. “What do you think would have happened to Sugar Rush if I’d left it to someone else and tried running it from Shanghai? You think it would be the company that it is now?”
“No, but we’re talking about two totally different businesses.”
“Business is business,” Luke replied. “And a responsible business owner doesn’t jump ship just to run off and pursue a pipe dream.”
Regret speared through him the instant the words flew out of his mouth. Polly stared at him, her eyes widening with shock and dawning anger.
“I didn’t say I’d decided to go,” she said tightly. “But it’s nice to know you always thought of my going to school in Paris as a silly pipe dream.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s what you said.” She glared at him, her jaw hardening. “And I wanted to talk to you about it because I was hoping you might be able to give me some perspective on whether or not it’s something that would be worthwhile and doable. But I can see you already have an opinion, so never mind.”
“Why would I ever think that your running off to Paris is worthwhile?” Luke retorted, and now the knots in his chest were starting to hurt and burn with fear. Christ, I could lose her for good. “After all the work we’ve put into Wild Child, and the results you’re finally seeing, what makes you think taking a pastry course in Paris would be any help?”
“Because it’s a once in a lifetime chance.” Polly fisted her hands on her hips. “I’d be learning from famous chefs. You don’t think studying with them would improve my expertise and reputation?”
Of course it would. It would also mean she was on the other side of the damned Atlantic Ocean.
“Improve your reputation at what expense?” he asked. “You leave Wild Child for Paris, and what happens to your business? What about quality control and staying on course? What about following through with your business plan? What about . . .”
Us?
Again the word stuck in his throat. He couldn’t voice it because he knew exactly what her response would be. After all, he’d been the one to tell her he couldn’t give her anything long-lasting. He couldn’t make promises to her. So why the hell wouldn’t she think it was okay to head off to Paris and leave him behind? To have a life without him?
Shit.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He had no idea how it was supposed to happen, or even what it was, but Polly heading off to live in Paris while he stayed here and immersed himself again in the cold business of Sugar Rush without her warm presence to give him everything he didn’t have . . .
No. That wasn’t it at all.
He took a breath and tried to think logically, but all he could see was a Polly-shaped hole in his life that would never be filled by another woman. Ever.
And yet he couldn’t ask her to stay. Because despite his remark about Paris being a pipe dream, he knew what this kind of opportunity meant to her. He knew what it would mean for her career, for her life. He’d once had the same kind of dream about one day making it to the big leagues, and though it was far too late for him, her dream—the one she’d put on hold four years ago—was now right in front of her. Waiting.
His shoulders felt tense enough to break.
“If that’s what you want to do, then go ahead,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “Good luck.”
She turned, the color draining from her face. “That’s it? Good luck and goodbye?”
�
�What else do you want? We both knew this would end soon. Hell, it sounded like you were ready to end it ten minutes ago because I didn’t tell you about Switzerland.”
“Oh, you mean your three-week long business trip?” Polly asked sharply. “Is that the Switzerland you’re talking about? It’s okay for you to leave like that but it’s not okay for me to want the same thing?”
“Three weeks is not almost a year,” Luke said, his voice unnaturally cold and tight to his ears. “But considering the number of times you’ve bailed on me, it comes as no surprise that you’d leave your business without warning.”
She stared at him. Jesus God, he hoped that glint in her eyes was a trick of the light and not tears. It took everything he had to take another step toward the door instead of hauling her into his arms and begging her to stay.
Because what if she did stay? Then he’d hate himself for having taken Paris away from her.
“I wanted your opinion as a friend,” she said. “As the man who helped me learn how to run a business efficiently and well. And frankly, if you’d given me a good reason to stay, I might have listened. But I want to go. I would have been a fool to turn down your help with Wild Child, and even though there’s a lot to be scared of, I’d be a bigger fool to turn down a chance like this.”
And that was just one of the reasons he loved her. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let fear stop her. She wouldn’t let anything stop her. Hell, she’d even charmed Aunt Julia, and that was saying something. Polly pulled people toward her with the sheer force of her atmosphere.
It was his own fucking fault that he didn’t know how to stay there with her. Defeat almost crushed him.
“Peach,” he said slowly, turning away because he couldn’t look at her any longer. “Of course you have to go.”
He started toward the door.
“I love you,” Polly said.
Luke froze. Her words poured through him like hot syrup, warming every corner of his soul. He shut his eyes and dragged in a breath.
“Even when you’re acting like an ass,” she continued. “I love you.”
I love you too. The confession lodged in his throat. Of course he loved her. So hard that the thought of her leaving was a physical ache. He’d fallen in love with her the instant he’d turned from the pool table at the Troll’s House and caught her staring at him.
And now he wanted a lifetime with her—one in which he would wake up every morning to find her curled up against his side. One in which she’d insist he go “off the grid” so she could take him to hippie music festivals. He wanted her hybrid pastries, teasing smiles, and her unending belief that life is meant to be lived with joy.
He wanted a lifetime of Polly.
But.
He couldn’t take Paris away from her. And he doubted his ability to sustain his commitment to Sugar Rush and make Polly happy at the same time. To give her the fairytale she both wanted and deserved. At least, not for years to come. And he’d sooner live his workaholic life for an eternity than ever . . . ever . . . be responsible for Polly Lockhart’s unhappiness.
“Go to Paris, Peach,” he said, unable to turn and face her. “Have fun.”
Before he confessed that he loved her too, that she’d put together all the pieces of his heart and made it whole again, Luke opened the door and walked back out into the dark.
LIFE GOES ON.
Polly expected to mope around after her break-up with Luke, nursing her wounds and feeling sorry for herself. Maybe even indulging in a jumbo-sized bag of Cheetos. But being a business owner meant that you couldn’t close for the day just because your heart was broken. So after a sleepless, tearful night on her lumpy mattress, she hauled herself downstairs at dawn on Sunday to prep for opening.
Pale light filtered through the layer of fog covering the sky as she let herself into Wild Child and locked the door behind her. Hannah had texted that she was up in San Jose for the weekend, the message reminding Polly that both her sister and Clementine would be leaving for good soon.
She set her bag on the counter. An air of desolation hung over the bakery, though she supposed that might be partly due to her mood. The tables and chairs were stacked to one side, and all the wall hangings had already been taken down and stored. Tomorrow they’d close for a week so Eleanor Pendergrass’s crew could come in and get the renovations work done.
Polly walked into the kitchen, focusing on getting things ready. She turned on the deep fryer for the doughnuts and Declairs and retrieved various batters from the walk-in refrigerator. She put tins of muffins into the oven and set a pot of butter and sugar on the stove to boil for the éclair pastry. After mixing up a batch, she dropped the pâte à choux into the fryer and set the crispy balls onto the drainer. As she started making the chocolate custard, a knock sounded at the front door.
She went to answer it, surprised at the sight of Hannah on the other side of the glass. She unlocked the door to let her sister in.
“I thought you weren’t getting back until this evening,” she said.
“I caught a ride with a girl who’s going down to LA.” Hannah followed Polly back to the kitchen. “How was your posh night at the museum?”
Polly was tempted to lie, not wanting to relive it, but she didn’t have the energy.
“Lousy, actually.” She checked the timer on the oven. “I looked good, though. I looked beautiful.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing. That was the problem.”
Hannah plucked a muffin from tray and lifted her eyebrows. Polly turned back to making custard and started spooning it into a pastry bag.
“You might have been right,” she mumbled.
“About what?”
“About me thinking there might have been some fairytale between me and Luke.”
Embarrassment rose in her throat. Hannah travelled and blogged about love traditions throughout the world, but as far as Polly could tell, her sister didn’t have any romantic notions about love. Maybe Polly should envy that about her too.
“There’s never a fairytale,” Hannah finally said.
Polly glanced at her sister. Hannah was staring down at the broken muffin, her forehead creased.
“Why did you leave?” Polly asked.
“I never fit in here. And I never liked it.”
“But that didn’t mean you had to leave me and Mom.”
“You were fine without me. You were like two peas in a pod, always so happy at the bakery and watching your movies. I was just more comfortable with Dad. And there was nothing for me to do when we moved to Rainsville. I wanted to see what else there was.”
“So have you found what you’re looking for?”
“I’m not looking for anything.” Hannah shot Polly a narrow look. “Certainly not for love.”
Touché.
Polly took paper liners from a shelf and handed them to her sister. Hannah started layering paper onto the display baskets in preparation for filling them with pastries.
“Did you tell him about Paris?” Hannah asked.
“Yes. He was . . . ambivalent. But he’s not stupid. He knows what a huge chance this is for me, and I know he’d never do anything to stop me from . . .”
Polly’s voice trailed off. What if Luke’s snappishness about the Art of French Pastry course was somehow calculated, if he’d been an ass about it because he didn’t want to give her a reason to consider staying?
No. She had only one reason to stay. Wild Child.
Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe it was time to let the bakery go and pursue her life abroad. To reinvent herself as a woman of sophistication and worldliness, queen of the culinary arts. Few people had a chance to take such a step at twenty-three years old.
And as painful as it would be to close her mother’s legacy, especially after all that she and Luke had done to save the bakery, maybe sometimes you had to let things go. If she closed Wild Child, she wouldn’t have anything to come back home to, or a business where she could apply all the things
she’d learn in Paris, but she could start over by herself. Somewhere. She just wished that thought made her heart feel whole and soft, not cracked like brittle, hard caramel.
A loud knock sounded at the front door. Polly glanced at the clock. Who could be at the door so early? Hannah went to peer through the kitchen doors.
“Polly.”
She looked up at the surprised note in her sister’s voice. “What?”
“You have customers waiting,” Hannah said.
“What are you talking about?” Polly set down the pastry bag and walked to look out at the front.
At least two dozen people were outside the door—men and women, young, old, middle-aged—and they stood in a line that snaked halfway down to the bail bondsman’s office.
Polly’s stomach jumped.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “There must be a mistake.”
“Considering Wild Child is on the window, I doubt that.” Hannah strode across the room and unlocked the door.
The crowd rustled with excitement as they saw her approach. She opened the door and held up a hand to indicate they weren’t opening yet.
“Good morning,” Hannah said. “Are you waiting for muffins?”
“No, ma’am.” The college-aged kid who was first in line peered past her into the bakery. “We wanted to get one of the Declairs.”
“We heard about them on the news,” his friend added. “Are they ready yet?”
“We’ll try to open a little early.” Hannah glanced at the rest of the crowd. “Are you all here for the Declairs?”
Good-natured shouts of “Of course!” and “Hurry it up!” filtered through the air.
“Not much longer,” Hannah said. “I’ll be right back.”
She closed and locked the door, amidst a rise of impatient groans from the crowd. She returned to Polly, anticipation suddenly lighting on her face.
“You’re on the map, Polliwog. Get the Declairs out for your customers.”