She nods. Silent.Damn it.
Some days, I can’t tell if she’s happy they’re gone or not. This is one of those moments when I’m not sure because even though her eyes and reactions tell me she’s heartbroken, dinner with her parents told me otherwise. Like she’d rather not have them come visit at all.
“Natalia—”
“They’re enjoying their retirement,” she says, an emptysmile encompassing her lips—not once touching her eyes. “I’m really happy for them.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You don’t have to be, though.”
Natalia chuckles, a dry sound I wish she’d never make again. “Why wouldn’t I be? They’ve worked hard. They’re been through a lot. They deserve this.”
“You deserve the same thing.”
“Ahh.Pfft.” She waves me off, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t…I couldn’t…”
“You deserve the same thing,” I say again, stepping closer until her bent knees are brushing my thighs. I press my palms into the steel until the point of pain so my arms don’t wrap around her.
Natalia shrugs with her mouth and shoulders, trying to appear unconvinced and indifferent. “One day. I have my bakery.”
“Natalia, the bakery doesn’t mean…” I shake my head. The Black Cat doesn’t mean she’s happy, and she thinks that by telling me that she “has her bakery” I’ll ease off. I know when Natalia isn’t happy; I know her better than she thinks I do. But for the sake of saving tonight, and not wanting to ruin this camaraderie, I digress. “I’m glad you have your bakery.”
“That isn’t what you were going to say,” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing up at me.
I sigh and step back, tucking my hands into my pockets. It’s a terrible habit around her, always having to sit on my hands or restrain them so I don’t reach out to touch her.
I wonder if she’sactuallyclueless, and other times I wonderhow could she be so clueless?How much louder can I show her?
“What I was going to say doesn’t matter,” I rasp and lean my hip against the table. “You say you’re happy.”
She squints with suspicion. “You don’t believe me.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “You say you’re happy.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Why should I?” I ask too quickly. “Never mind. Let’s see the cupcakes.”
“No.” Natalia pulls the paper box to her chest. “Don’t do that.”
I arch a brow and my hands twitch in my pockets. “Why not? You do it all the time.”
“But that’s not you,” Natalia says quietly. “That’s my thing.”
“Nat…”
She clears her throat quietly and hops off the steel stool. “Here.” She pushes the paper box to me again. “Six flavors. Just tell me your favorites…whenever.”
“Natalia, don’t do that.” I sigh, following her toward the door. “I didn’t?—”
She swings around, her eyes red as she peers up at me with flecks of pain around her dark pupils. “Why not? I always do.”
This is one of those moments I wish I had some sort of super power so I could know what’s going on in her head—to know where she’s at. Every time I think I’ve found a cleared path, a safe way to her, I only encounter another road block—a giant detour sign, or a dead end.
I slap my hand over her head on the door, holding it shut should she try to get away before I can ask, “Are you happy, Natalia?”
Her mouth opens to speak.
“Don’t tell me you have your bakery,” I say. “Don’t list off things that you thinkshouldmake someone happy. Are. You.Happy.”
