by Kelsie Rae
I nod. “I’m the same way. That was actually one of the major selling points for this building. I like being close to the park. Sometimes, the city can feel a little suffocating.”
I walk a few steps from the kitchen to the family room before offering the glass to her. She takes a sip, and my eyes zero in on the motion before I can stop myself.
Boyfriend, remember?
Clearing my throat, I take a seat on the couch while making sure to leave an entire cushion between us.
If Indie notices our distance, she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she relaxes a little more into the couch, leaning her back against the leather as her muscles melt from exhaustion, and she releases a contented sigh.
“Thank you, by the way. This feels so much better than that damn welcome mat.”
I chuckle warmly. “Anytime. Does your boyfriend often leave you high and dry?”
Her back straightens in defense before she responds with another sigh. Only this time, it’s filled with defeat.
“Tony’s a bit of a workaholic and has a habit of forgetting the outside world, ya know? It’s not a big deal, and I should’ve thought about that before locking my keys inside. Needless to say, that won’t be happening again.” She rolls her eyes, trying to make light of her boyfriend’s ignorance.
I laugh dryly. “I think that’s probably a smart idea.”
A comfortable silence envelops the room as Indie takes another sip of water before resting the bottom of the glass against her leg.
Her phone rings, and I take her drink so she can answer.
From the quiet groan that escapes her lips, I assume it’s her boyfriend.
Giving her some privacy, I escape to the kitchen and start cleaning the empty glass.
I try to refrain from eavesdropping, but I fail miserably.
“Hey.” Her tone is short and laced with frustration. I don’t blame her. I’m pissed too.
“What? I must not have had service for a minute or something.”
Silence.
“No. I don’t have my keys.”
More silence.
“Yeah, I know. But you said you’d be home—”
She stops abruptly, and I assume he’s cut her off. My hands tighten around the glass, threatening to break it from frustration.
“I get that—”
I glance over at her to see her lips pulled into a thin line.
“Yeah. Okay. I’m at the neighbor’s.”
Her eyes flick over to me in the kitchen, and I turn around, pretending to be very interested in the utensil drawer organization instead of the completely uninteresting conversation happening behind me.
“Fine. I’ll be right there.”
I pause for another second so she can get her shit together before turning around and walking back to the couch.
She lifts her phone in the air then shakes the screen back and forth a few times. “Tony called. Obviously. He finally read my messages and just got home.” Her smile is tight, but I have a feeling it’s because of her boyfriend and not me. “Thanks for saving me tonight. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Indie. If you have a spare key, you’re welcome to keep it at my house. That way you won’t run into this issue again.”
“That isn’t a bad idea. I don’t usually run without a key, but my boyfriend promised me he’d be home, so I didn’t think it was a big deal.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance before yawning loudly.
That girl’s beat and needs some solid rest.
I grimace as the thought enters my head, trying to contain the protective feelings popping up out of nowhere anytime I think of her.
“Thanks again for letting me hang out here. Come to the bakery tomorrow, and I’ll save you a cronut. On the house, of course.” She winks playfully then walks out my front door.
Chapter 4
Indie
“Where were you?” Tony’s voice is full of accusation, but he doesn’t bother to get off the couch.
My hackles rise instantly, but I try to keep my overworked emotions in check. “I’m sorry––what?” I ask softly, feeling defeated.
“Where were you? You said you were locked out, so I rushed home to find you missing and not answering your phone. I was worried sick.”
I scoff at the overkill he’s spewing. “Rushed home? Really? That’s what you’re gonna go with?” Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I prepare myself for a fight that I don’t have the energy to battle.
“I was at our new neighbor’s place across the hall. He saw me sleeping by the door and offered me a place to hang out until you got my messages. My phone only rang once, and I answered it as soon as it did. Maybe I didn’t have service or something? I don’t know, but as soon as I saw you were home, I came right over. It isn’t that big of a deal. I’m exhausted and need to be up in”—I pull out my phone and check the time before dropping my head back in defeat—“three hours. I’m going to bed. If you’d like to talk more, we can do it in the morning when you stop in for coffee, okay?”
I turn to the bedroom when his cold voice stops me dead in my tracks. “He?”
Annoyance shoots up my spine, and I turn to glare at him.
“Yes, he. If you were ever home, I’m sure he’d love to meet you and chat about baseball or whatever.” I wave my hand through the air dismissively. “Don’t throw ridiculous accusations out there just ’cause you’re pissed I didn’t answer the phone for fifteen minutes. If we did that in our relationship, I would’ve been gone a long time ago.” My snarky comment hangs in the tense air for a brief second before I turn away from him and head to our bedroom.
I’m tired of fighting. Tired of the arguments in our relationship that have smothered all the highlights. I don’t remember the last time I actually enjoyed Tony’s company. That sounds harsh, but it’s the truth, and I feel like I should finally be honest with myself.
My mom likes to remind me that when you’ve been with someone for as long as Tony and I have been together, there are bound to be lulls. The problem is that this “lull” of ours has lasted about eight years. And even then, I can’t decide if I was ever really happy, or if we just started dating because it was what our moms, who are lifelong friends, expected us to do. I keep looking for the sunshine at the end of our dark tunnel . . . but I come up empty. Every. Single. Time. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this, especially when I consider the fact that I’ve been doing it for nearly half my life.
Pushing my negative thoughts aside, I strip off my smelly running clothes and contemplate rinsing off but decide against it because I’m so damn exhausted. I can shower in the morning. After throwing on an old, ratty T-shirt that reaches my knees, I slide under the cool sheets and slip into a fitful sleep for the rest of the night.
Tony never came in for his morning coffee, so I guess we’re still fighting. My heart aches at the thought of it. Another unresolved issue being swept under the rug.
Still, I force myself to focus on work as I push through the door that separates the kitchen from the storefront. When I find Rhett eyeing the muffins, I know that work is about to be a lost cause, because he’s one hell of a distraction. He’s wearing a classic business suit that fits him like a glove. The top button of his white shirt is undone, giving him a less stuffy look, and his left hand is casually tucked in his pocket. I might be in a relationship, but I’m not blind. The guy looks more appetizing than any pastry in my shop, and that’s saying something.
“Hey, you!” I grin while wiping my hands on my stained apron.
“Hey. So, I have to ask you something, and you can’t be offended.”
My eyes widen, and I take a second to ponder exactly where he’s going with this. “Should I be afraid?”
He chuckles before turning his crooked smile in my direction.
Damn, that thing’s potent.
“Maybe.”
I join in his contagious laughter. “Well, now I’m curious. Let’s hear it.”
“How
the hell do you not weigh five hundred pounds when you bake as good as you do? I’ve been dreaming about your cronut all night long.”
I bite my lip in an attempt to contain the blush that’s creeping along my skin.
“Umm . . . I run?” I reply, though it’s voiced as a question.
He grins. “I figured that out from last night. But I still think I’d need to run about fifty miles a day if I worked here. Are you sneaking drugs into your product to keep your customers coming back for more?”
I squirm at his innocent teasing. “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s called sugar. When you combine it with butter and flour, it makes for a wicked addiction.” My voice is soft, as if I’m unveiling confidential information instead of common knowledge.
He bounces his brows up and down mischievously. “I like it. So where’s my fix, dealer?”
My eyes crinkle in amusement. “Be right back.”
I grab a cronut from the wire rack and drizzle the white glaze on top, letting the excess drip onto the counter. After a few seconds, I grab a brown bag and take it out to Rhett.
He sets a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. My gaze darts to it, warily.
“Dude, it’s free,” I remind him, flicking the money in his direction.
He doesn’t pick it up. “Consider it a tip then. Gotta keep my supplier happy.”
I shake my head as a grin threatens to spread across my face.
“So, how’d it go with your boyfriend?” He’s trying to act casual, but I can tell he’s digging for information. I’m also a little surprised he brought it up. The last time he came in, he raced away like a bat out of hell, but today he’s staying to chat for a minute. I’m not sure my weak heart can handle his attention. Especially when it’s about my boyfriend. His mention of Tony feels like a wet blanket during a winter snowstorm.
“Umm . . . .” I stay silent as my face scrunches, and my eyes bounce around the room, landing anywhere but on Rhett’s.
“That bad, huh?”
Crossing my arms over my chest protectively, I finally let my gaze land back on him. “No, it was fine I guess? Just . . . the usual.” I nibble my lower lip in hopes of keeping my poker face in its place. Rhett has a habit of pulling my inner thoughts out into the open, and I’m not ready to dig into my failing relationship with him.
He nods, but his eyes shine with concern.
“I know we don’t know each other well, but if you ever need anything . . . .”
“Yeah. I’ll, umm . . . I’ll let you know.” I smile tightly while praying he changes the subject. This feels a hell of a lot more personal than our relationship should be.
“Indie.” His tone is just soft enough to lure me in. “I have a sister. I would want someone to offer her help if she ever needed it, too. I’m not going to deny that I was attracted to you when we first met, but as soon as I found out you weren’t available, my mind put you in the off-limits category. I only date single women. I have a firm belief in relationships and am not a cheater. You don’t need to worry about me making a move. Do you understand?”
My brows practically reach my hairline by the time he has finished talking.
“Umm . . . yeah. I’m not one, either.”
He smiles warmly at me, and the sight calms me instantly. The image soothes me like aloe to a sunburn, and I appreciate his effort to make me comfortable.
“Good. If you ever need someone to talk to, as a friend,” he emphasizes, “then I’m here for you.”
I nod.
“Thanks again for the cronut,” he continues. “These things are going to be the death of me.” He lifts the brown bag in my direction as a salute of some kind before exiting and strolling down the sidewalk without a care in the world.
“Bye,” I whisper to no one in particular. My gaze follows him until he rounds the corner and is out of sight, leaving me to deal with my conflicting feelings on my own.
I miss lunch. What was it like again? To be able to sit for thirty minutes, uninterrupted? It’s been so long, I almost can’t even remember—
Okay, I’m being a little ridiculous. It’s been two weeks. And it’s only nine in the morning, but still. My feet ache, and I need a break. These long shifts are killing me. Thankfully, Natalie and Sophie will be here any minute to continue training, and I can’t wait to get them up to speed.
“Speak of the devils,” I murmur, as their laughter bounces throughout the tiny shop along with the jingling bell on the front door.
“Come on, Noogie. We both know you’re in love with him. Why don’t you grow a pair and go after the guy?” Sophie teases.
Natalie’s cheeks are on fire, which is quite the feat considering her olive skin.
“Will you shut up? I am not in love with your brother! The guy’s an asshole!” She throws her hands in the air before groaning in utter defeat when Sophie continues, completely ignoring her protests.
“He isn’t an asshole! He just doesn’t know how to handle you, that’s all. Come on, if we’re going to be sisters, you need to marry him. I’m sorry, but we’ve been planning it since we were five. There’s no turning back now.” Her arms are firmly planted on her tiny hips as she finishes her rebuttal. The stance almost makes her look intimidating . . . if she wasn’t the size of a pixie.
“I’m ignoring you,” Natalie replies before addressing me. “Hi. Sorry we’re a little late. This blabbermouth over here”—she points to Sophie—“started asking random people on the subway what they thought of my love life.” Natalie rolls her eyes dramatically.
Sophie pipes in from behind her. “Speaking of, I’d love to hear your opinion too!” Natalie whips her entire body around and gives her the death glare.
“Not. One. Word,” she hisses between her teeth. Her reaction only seems to encourage Sophie’s meddling, as she’s grinning mischievously.
My eyes shift between the two girls, watching the showdown. Natalie doesn’t budge, and I can almost see the steam pouring from her ears. After a tense minute, Sophie backs off, sensing her friend’s turmoil.
“Fiiine.” She drags out the word. “I’ll surrender until a later date.”
Natalie’s body sags in relief. “Thank. You.”
I clear my throat subtly, hinting that I’m still here, and they’re definitely not alone.
“Now that we’ve cleared that up, are we ready to get some work done?”
“Yes! Let’s get our baking on!” Sophie’s excitement is almost palpable, and I grin in return before nodding.
“Hell yeah! Let’s get our baking on!” I agree.
Twenty minutes later, it’s clear to me that Sophie is not a baker. But she is a social butterfly and pretty good with numbers, so we set her up front at the register. After a short tutorial, she picks things up and runs full speed ahead while helping a multitude of customers like she owns the place. I love it!
Natalie, on the other hand, shows promise with baking, and I’m excited to put her to work in the kitchen. We’ve just finished decorating sugar cookies, and I’m currently showing her the ropes for filling éclairs. I made the choux pastry and crème patisserie earlier, so it should be relatively easy.
Taking the piping bag, I fill it with crème and twist the top firmly before handing it to Natalie.
“Here. You want to hold it tight and keep pressure at the top so it doesn’t ooze out onto your hands. There are a few ways to fill an éclair, but I like to poke a few holes in the bottom then place the tip of the piping bag into the small opening.” I demonstrate the movements while verbally explaining. “Next, you squeeze the filling in until it barely starts to seep out the sides.”
I help her force crème into the pastry. After a second, it oozes ever so slightly, and I release the pressure from the bag. Natalie smiles widely as she finishes on her own. Her face is glowing with triumph.
“That’s amazing!”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “It’s pretty fun, right? Keep it up. I’m going to start on the chocolate icing for the tops.”
<
br /> The back of Get Baked is relatively small, so we’re able to chat while we both continue working our own jobs.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Natalie says while delicately poking holes into the bottom of another éclair. “Where are you from? Do you have a boyfriend? What’s your favorite thing to do? Do you have any pets? A green thumb? Fill me in!”
I laugh. “I think Sophie’s rubbed off on you. That’s an awful lot of random questions in one sentence.”
She giggles before picking up the pastry shell and filling it. “You’re probably right. But I’m cool with it. Sophie’s the best. She might seem crazy, but she’s more responsible than you’d think.”
“Yeah, she seems like a fun person to be around.”
“She is. Now answer the questions! We have plenty of time to get to know each other, right?”
I continue stirring the melted butter and bitter chocolate on the stove while trying to remember her questions. “Let’s see . . . I’m from New Jersey, and I do have a boyfriend. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember. My favorite things to do are bake and run. I don’t have any pets, though I’d kill to have a dog, and I definitely do not have a green thumb. Your turn.”
“Fine. Born in SoCal. No boyfriend. No pets. Love to hang out with Sophie and go clubbing, ’cause she’s hilarious when she’s drunk. And I’ve never attempted to keep a plant alive, so I wouldn’t know if I have a green thumb or not.” She shrugs before finishing the last éclair and joining me at the stove.
I’m about to ask her about Sophie’s mysterious brother when Sophie’s head pops around the corner.
“You”—she points right at me—“have a visitor. And he’s a total ten.” She fans herself with her hand. “Please tell me his friend is single. Please, please, please.” By the time she’s finished begging, her eyes are wide and blinking dramatically, her lower lip is pushed out to epic proportions, and her hands are at her chest and pressed together like she’s praying fervently.
I shake my head, both amused by her antics and confused about who could possibly be asking about me.