Sweet Cheeks

by K. Bromberg

  “Yeah. I know. Do we have the capability to do it?” I ask, knowing it means I’d have to hold off on paying him back because I’d have to redirect those funds to buy the extra supplies needed to make this work. I bite my lip and wait for him to say no.

  “If we don’t, we’ll make sure we do.” Something about the way he looks at me right now causes my breath to catch. It’s like looking at my dad. The expression on his face is identical to the one my dad would give me when he was proud of me. Every part of me preens from his unshakable support. “Breakup cupcakes. Who would’ve thought?”

  “I know. We’ve received about ten orders for them today.”

  That catches his attention. I can all but see the cogs of his mind turning. “We need to update the website ASAP. We’ll dedicate a whole page to this product and start looking into how to sell franchise opportunities to other stores to help with this increased demand. Internet sales are where it’s at, and if we could get something going on that front then—”

  “Whoa. Slow down, turbo.” I laugh but feel the same excitement he does.

  “There are divorce support groups like this all over America, Say. You could tap into this niche.”

  “One thing at a time.” I roll my eyes at him but silently sigh in relief. This phone call might be just what the bakery needs to turn the tide toward success and not failure.

  “I might not kill him after all,” Ryder mutters as I walk out of the back room.

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Are you a camera @SweetChks? Because every time I look at you I smile. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  “Dude, do you have any coffee in this joint?”

  Fuck, I’m tired. And hyped. Dreading the long day ahead but loving that I get to see her today. I shuffle down the carpeted hall I used to practice my baseball slide on and into the kitchen. It’s painted a different color now but that doesn’t erase the memories it holds. Of where the jar used to sit on the counter full of the cookies I would steal from Saylor. Of the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator where Mrs. Rodgers used to hide a stash of candy we all would sneak from when we didn’t think she was paying attention. Of sitting down for meals and there was always a place setting made up for me whether I asked to eat here or not.

  Ryder sits in the same location as when we were kids, but at a different table and lifts his eyes to meet mine. He looks as worse for wear as I feel—and points his finger to the Kuerig on the counter.

  “Thanks.” I brew some coffee, doctor it, then sit across from him and think that this is where it all started for me. My love for Saylor.

  We sit in comfortable silence. The kind two friends who have known each other forever can sit in without words and figure out how we feel about the turn of events.

  “Do you think Jenna’ll show?” He raises his eyebrows and pushes one of the tabloids to the side he was looking at to see if shit was dying down.

  “If she knows what’s good for her, she will.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Is my IOU paid off yet?” I chuckle. Thinking about back then—a few months after I’d left for Hollywood and was waiting for filming to start—how he helped my mom out, separating their mess of finances when my dad came after her in their divorce. How I had no money to pay him, but he called in favors anyway and got everything I needed to help get her taken care of. And despite his continued denials, I know he paid money out of his own pocket to get those favors done for me.

  “Make her cry again, I’ll still punch you. I don’t care how famous your ugly ass is.”

  “So noted.” I nod my head. Tuck my tongue in my cheek and prepare myself for the day ahead. “She have any clue about today?”

  “Not a one.”

  Good.

  I miss her.

  It’s sure as shit going to be hard to stick to my guns and not talk to her when I see her.

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks Are you still in need of a cardboard cut-out holding a sign selling your wares? #10Days #MadA-Game #GrudgeCupcakes #Anticipation

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl Only if I get to place the flour handprints. In the right places. #IveGotGameToo #10Days #TalkIsCheap

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks Proud of you. Class act the other day. BTW, what’s the most important thing in a kitchen to you? #GameOn #48Hours #ActionIsBetter

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl Granite slab on the island. With flour. And sugar.

  #MmMmGood Can we skip the next #2880minutes?

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks I’m a man of my word. What are you going to do to try to break me of it? #Decisions #GameChanger #ILoveIcingInYourHair #CountersAndFlour

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl I’ve got my ways to make you talk. #MadSkillz #GameChanger

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Better bring your A-Game @SweetChks Mine’s stronger. #HayesFTW #ShipsSink

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up and have a Twitter flirt with Hayes. It’s the first time he’s responded and it’s ridiculously silly that the small interaction put me on cloud nine. Yet it has.

  Between the divorce organization proposal I spent all night working on that I sent to Ryder for his opinion, my little morning exchange with Hayes, and the knowledge I get to speak with (and hopefully see) him in forty-eight hours—after his asinine ten-day rule is up—today feels like it’s going to be a good day.

  I slowly enjoy sipping my coffee and spend a little extra time getting ready. I feel relief and contentment, which is welcome after a tumultuous couple of months.

  “Say? You’re going to want to come down and see this,” DeeDee calls up the stairs, just as I finish getting ready. There’s something in her voice that reminds me of the first time Hayes came to Sweet Cheeks.

  I shut the door to my apartment and jog down the stairs to find the bakery abuzz. A camera has been set up in one corner. Men in dark clothes with headsets huddle in another. All of the tables and chairs have been pushed to the side of the room except for one set. A tray of my most lavishly decorated cupcakes has been set atop it.

  What the hell is going on?

  The slew of photographers outside has grown tenfold with their cameras held at the ready, all vying for shots of what’s going on inside the store.

  “What the—?” I’m about to lose my temper. Just because the letters on the logos of their jackets belong to one of the biggest entertainment networks—doesn’t mean they can just waltz into my bakery and take over without asking.

  It’s then I catch the look on DeeDee’s face—huge grin and excitement palpable—and then Ryder standing beside her looking just as excited but with guilt mixed in.

  “What’s going on?” My hands are on my hips and accusation is in my tone.

  “The studio rented out the space for the day. They gave Hayes the okay to do a few interviews here for his upcoming movie.” Ryder challenges me to argue with him but all I heard was Hayes and here and my heart leaps into my throat.

  “He’s coming here?”

  “Do you not want him to?” The smirk on Ryder’s lips is half-cocked.

  “Yes. No, I mean, yes, he can come.” I’m ridiculously flustered. A million questions and thoughts run through my mind, but the one that rings the loudest is I get to see Hayes.

  I don’t think of the crazy-ass press outside who I lied to when I said there was nothing exciting happening here. I don’t worry about whether the Divorce Support proposal is good enough. I can’t. Because my mind and body are focused on Hayes Whitley and getting to see him again.

  Over the next hour, I watch the people in the bakery prepare for the interview. I rearrange the cupcakes on the staged table. I pepper my brother with what seems like a thousand questions as to how this happened, but of course, get very little out of him. I roll my eyes at DeeDee when she te
lls me she had no clue until this morning. Her answer seems suspect, considering her extra effort at cleaning up last night.

  And my eyes keep flickering to the storefront, waiting, wanting, then waiting again to see Hayes. It’s been way too long. I miss him.

  The photographers scurry like mice when a black limo pulls into the parking lot, and the person who gets out of the car is the last person I ever expected to see here.

  My hands stop fiddling with my hair. My feet stop shifting in anticipation. That simmering ache over getting to see him again burns cold. Every part of me freezes when Jenna Dixon emerges from the car.

  The photographers become frenzied. Their cameras vie for the best shot. And she stands there, quite the picture in her skinny pants and low-cut top with her sleek hair—smooth and straight, and perfect lips turned up in a practiced smile. Completely soaking up the attention she needs almost as much as the air she breathes.

  I dislike the bitch instantly.

  “What is she doing here?” I sneer, saying it loud enough that the network camera crew inside chuckle out loud, telling me they are more than aware of the situation.

  And within seconds the chaos from outside fills the bakery when she opens the door and steps inside. The door closes. The sound mutes.

  But her eyes find mine. Hold. And every part of me wants to kick her out. Tell her to take her bullshit lies and get the hell out of my store, because she’s not welcome here.

  What in the world was Hayes thinking by setting up the press junket here when she’s taking part? Is he crazy? He knows how quick my temper is. Surely he doesn’t want me to give the tabloids any more fodder to print about.

  The room falls silent and the tension stretches across the distance. I refuse to back down and look away first. I’m surprised when she walks up to me, the click of her heels on the floor the only sound I can hear.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Her voice is throaty. Reserved. Aloof.

  Flustered but aware of the many pairs of eyes on us, I respond immediately. “Sure. Here. Right back here.”

  I usher her into the kitchen, then point to a stool if she’d like a seat and just stare at her as the unsettled feeling within me takes hold. Her lips purse as she plays with the strap of her purse. She all but looks at her nail polish so she doesn’t have to look at me. It’s not hard to infer she has zero desire to be here.

  “I want to apologize for the things I said. I meant no harm by them and—”

  I clear my throat at the blatant lie. She shifts her feet and looks around the room. The pained look on her face at having to rephrase her apology that’s already hard enough for her to give is priceless.

  But I’m not backing down.

  While some good may have come out of the bullshit she handed me, it also caused me to question how I feel about being with Hayes. And because of that, let alone the myriad of other things she’s put Hayes through, I find slight enjoyment in watching her squirm.

  I have zero sympathy for her.

  “If you’re going to apologize, you might as well not lie in the midst of giving it.”

  There’s a flash of anger in her gaze before she reins it in.

  “I apologize for insinuating that you were the reason Hayes and I broke up.” She spits the words out like a selfish child refusing to acknowledge she did wrong.

  “And?” I prompt. And I’m not sure why I do because I couldn’t care less what this woman says, and yet I’m curious how she will complete the phrase.

  “And?”

  My phone vibrates against the counter. The sound fills the room as I stare at her. “Yes. And?”

  She emits a dramatic sigh and glares at me. “I’m sorry for any trouble I brought to either of you.”

  I twist my lips as I stare at her. Hollywood royalty in my tiny kitchen, and I’d never switch places with her for all the money in the world.

  “Thank you.”

  That’s all I choose to give her. Because while I’m not one to hold a grudge, I’m also not one to forgive blindly someone who has intentionally hurt those I love.

  She turns with a flip of her shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and stalks out of the kitchen into the bakery. It’s not until she’s out of sight that I sag against the counter and let the nerves that quietly owned my body at what just happened take over. I blow out a fortifying breath, tell myself to get my shit together and be glad if I never have to see Jenna Dixon again.

  However, I know how hard that must have been for her to do. Either that or Hayes threatened her with something . . . because I have a feeling apologies are not something she’s used to giving.

  My phone buzzing again reminds me I received a text during that uncomfortable exchange. When I pick it up, I’m greeted by a text message from Hayes.

  I hope she’s back there groveling for you to forgive her. It may not be sincere, but Jenna giving an apology is a miracle in itself. And yes—surprise—I am here today. Doing a few interviews. Setting the record straight on the things I can. But don’t think I’m backing down from my promise. No talking. I said ten days, Saylor, and I meant ten days.

  My breath catches in my throat when I realize that if Hayes knows Jenna was in the kitchen, then he’s already here. And at the same time, I really hear the words of his text.

  He’s not going to talk to me? He’s just going to sit there all day, be available to everyone else, cause a flurry of paparazzi with first Jenna and then him in my bakery, and yet he won’t talk to me?

  I snort. Yeah, right.

  Needing to see for myself, I head toward the café up front. When I walk through the doorway and see him, every part of my body reacts. My heart. My breath. My nerves. My libido.

  And then they shift into overdrive the second he looks up from the person he’s speaking to and locks eyes with mine. I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room, but equally, I’ve been given air for the first time after being deprived of it. He grants me a half-cocked smirk, a raise of an eyebrow followed by an ever-so-subtle lift of his chin. My God, he is desire personified.

  But damn him to hell because with his presence, my body comes alive. I want. And need. And crave everything about him. The emotional and the physical. His attention. His laughter. His next minute. His forever.

  Time stands still in the seconds we’re connected, so much so that the moment he’s pulled away—a question asked to him by a guy wearing a headset—I wonder how I lived without this feeling. God yes, the current situation is a clusterfuck at best, and yet, it is worth it for this feeling right here. He is worth it and I marvel at how this connection between us can be so strong, so quickly.

  But then again, hasn’t it always been there?

  Because love is like magic. You can question it—how it happens, when it will happen, why it bowls you over when it does happen, and how you existed before it happened—but you might never get the answer.

  Sometimes you just have to believe in it and its process.

  Watching him is torture. Hearing his laugh and catching his fleeting glances cast my way is comforting. That little zing of current when our eyes do connect before he returns his attention to the interviewer is empowering.

  It’s like my body is plugged into an electric current with him here. Every chuckle is a jolt to my libido. Every smile causes a tingle through my body. Each dart of his tongue to lick his lips results in a surge of want coursing through me.

  So I opt to decorate cupcakes at the front counter today, unwilling to be separated from him when he’s sitting here in my space. I feign indifference all the while paying attention. He’s charming and courteous and funny during his interviews. He pays close attention to the questions, thinks before he answers, and is entertaining. He also takes the lead, not letting Jenna say too much but smiling politely when she does, except of course when the inevitable question comes up.

  The “I’d not be doing my job if I had the two of you together and neglected to ask about the state of your relationship cons
idering the tumultuous rumors over the past several weeks. Is there anything you’d like to clear up?”

  “Thank you, but it’s a private matter.” If I wasn’t already standing at full attention, I sure as hell am now with Jenna’s response.

  Irritation flickers over Hayes’s face for the first time during the interview. I notice the break in his mask and hear the insincerity in his laugh. “It’s a private matter that was made public, so I’ll address it.” He raises his eyebrows. Looks straight at the interviewer. “Jenna and I dated. We broke up quite some time ago, before it was public knowledge. The relationship had simply run its course. I did not cheat or sneak away to a tropical island to have a secret rendezvous with my mistress. However, in the months following our breakup, I did happen to run into my high school sweetheart whom I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. She had recently split from her fiancé. We reconnected and feelings were still there between us. The rumor that I cheated on Jenna, or that my new girlfriend did anything unsavory, is a complete fabrication made up by someone to sell pictures to the highest bidder.” Hayes breaks his gaze from the reporter and looks to Jenna. His jaw clenches as he waits for her to look his way. “Isn’t that right, Jenna?”

  She swallows over the contempt evident on her face. The look that says she wishes what he said wasn’t true, but nods her head in agreement. “Yes, that is accurate.”

  “Thank you for being so candid, but I’d like to ask a few follow-up questions about the time frame—”

  “Let’s not,” Hayes says with a flash of his smile before expertly redirecting the reporter back to discussing The Grifter. And a few questions into the redirect, Hayes glances over to me, and our eyes hold for a split second before shifting back to the interview. But I see the small show of a smile on his lips. Catch the see, I said I’d make it right in his gaze.