“You’re talented.”
He half shrugged again. “I had good teachers. Although my first job was baking cupcakes at that little bakery near school. Not the manliest of jobs.”
Lindsay laughed. “I guess not. Is baking supposed to be manly?”
“Not if you ask my father. You may recall he was only so-so on letting me go to culinary school. I can make a mean frosting rose, but this was, like, the last indignity.”
“I do remember that. I only met your father that one time, but I remember his attitudes on gender being old-school.”
“That’s like saying ghost chilis are a little spicy. His attitudes about gender are less progressive than some cavemen. You know what he said when I told him about the job at the cat café?”
“Oh, no.”
“After he called me a homo—his word—he asked when I would be undergoing gender reassignment surgery. See, it remains his great shame that I’m not… I don’t even know. Hammering up drywall or in the NFL getting a concussion.”
“You know that’s all nonsense, right? Everything about you is great the way it is.”
He gave her a little squeeze. He appreciated the compliment and took it to heart, especially coming from Lindsay. “Thanks. I know that most of the time. Talking to him always makes me feel like garbage, though.”
“Baking requires difficult skills. A lot of them I don’t even have. I bet you can make one of those fancy cakes like on TV without breaking a sweat. I can bake a decent cupcake, but the frosting always looks deranged.”
“It takes some practice.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. And you know a lot about, I dunno, how to make carrot cake without the moisture from the carrots making it gummy. And how to make meat cookies cats will eat. Even your dad has to admit that meat cookies are pretty butch.”
He laughed. He hated talking about the garbage with his father, but letting some of it out now had been a relief in a way. He knew, intellectually, that nothing his father said mattered, that he didn’t need to live up to whatever standard for manliness his father wanted to impose. Brad was comfortable with who he was most of the time. It had taken some work to get here, though, and back during his first post-school job, getting the perfect swirl on top of a cupcake had felt like a failure, somehow.
He savored holding Lindsay and the soft feel of her skin under his fingertips and pushed the rest of it away. He didn’t want to wallow in his darker emotions when Lindsay was here.
He sighed. Just lying in bed with her chatting was satisfying in a way. He was a little afraid to ask her to spend the night, because he figured she’d freak and say no or start a discussion with him about where this was going, and he didn’t want to talk anymore. He just wanted to hold on to this moment for as long as it lasted.
***
As Brad started to drift off to sleep, Lindsay wondered if she should stay or go. It felt unfair to just sneak out without saying anything, so she lay there for a moment to see if Brad might wake back up. When he started to snore, she realized he probably wanted her to spend the night.
Lindsay’s stomach rolled over. This was all wrong. She hadn’t come here intending to sleep with Brad. It had happened, and it was good, but that was all that this could be. She wasn’t getting back together with him. They hadn’t worked the first time, and there was no reason to think they could now.
Before she’d dated him, he’d had a reputation as kind of a ladies’ man. He was good-looking and charming and flirted with everyone, even after he and Lindsay were in a committed relationship. He’d always insisted the flirting was innocent. It probably was. That hadn’t made Lindsay less jealous.
That moment when she’d seen Phoebe kissing him had seared itself on her mind. Lindsay had been hurt by that, which wasn’t exactly a state secret. Hearing Brad’s side had mostly convinced her that he hadn’t meant anything by what happened. But it had still happened. Phoebe had set them both up, probably with the aim of getting Lindsay to dump Brad so she could have him to herself. And, bottom line, Brad hadn’t said no. He hadn’t pushed Phoebe away or told her to back off. He’dkissedher.
But that was all water under the bridge. It was in the past. The problem for Lindsay now was that getting over Brad had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done—and she knew, deep down, she hadn’t been completely successful. No matter how handsome and charming and affectionate Brad was, no matter how many times he said the right thing or asked for them to get back together, she could not put herself through that again.
She sat up, which made Brad wake up.
“Huh?”
“I’m going home,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed.
“No, come on. Just go to sleep.”
“I want to walk home before it gets much later.”
“You can spend the night. I want you to spend the night. I’ll make you pain perdu in the morning.”
Leave it to the pastry chef to say “French toast” in the fancy way. And tempting as it was, she knew staying for breakfast would lead to spending more time together, and this had to be a one and done. “No, I need to get home. I–I need some time to think.” She nearly smacked her forehead. That was giving him too much.
Brad flopped onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. “You’re freaking out.”
