“Exactly,” I try to reason. “Double the work!”
“You’ve just proved my point.”
I roll my eyes. “What point, Natalia?”
“That you need new shoes to do ‘double to work,’” she mocks. “Buy them.”
“Later,” I lie. “I need to work.”
“No. Go to your office and rest your feet. I can see the blood at the back of your sneakers!”
I wave her off. I noticed and felt it earlier, but I put on a bandaid. It seems the bandaid did nothing after all, it just keeps sliding off.
“Natalia,” I sigh. “Why’d you call me back here? I’m exhausted.”
One of my best friends rolls her eyes. “I wanted you to try this batch.”
“Natalia,” I sigh again. “You own a bakery. You are a bakingmaster.Please, I trust you.”
“I know you’re tired because you never say no to trying my recipes.”
I leave forward and put my head down on my forearms. “Fine. Gimme.”
“Good. Now take off your shoes,” Natalia says, setting a small plate with two cookies—one chocolate chip and the other a sugar cookie.
I toe the tennis shoes off and they land on the kitchen floor with a thump. I’ll mop the floor and sanitize this table myself. In a few. I moan when I stretch and flex my feet. When I was younger, I’d wear my shoes until they were torn. I can’t seem to kick the habit.
“This feels so good,” I breathe and grab a chocolate chip cookie. I take a bite. “And this…” Another bite. “…is a delicacy.”
Natalia’s nose scrunches up. “Really? I thought it tasted weird.”
“It doesn’t. Your taste buds are numb to your work.” I shrug. “It happens.”
“Mhhm,” she hums.
I stuff the rest of the large, round cookie into my mouth. “What?”
She shrugs with her shoulders and mouth, and puts another batch of her infamous cookies to bake—including her oatmeal raisin and peanut butter blossoms. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Natalia washes her hands again and comes back to me, snatching a cookie for herself. “How’s Levi?”
“Fine,” I mutter. “He said he’d let me know when we were going out.”
Her eyes widen as she chews. “He did?”
I nod, frowning slightly. I shouldn’t be frowning at all, right? “Yes?”
“So, what, he’s just going to text you whenever he wants about a potential date?”
I steal another freshly baked cookie and shrug. “It’s weird, right? Christian…he’s back and I’m?—”
“—forcing yourself to go on a date for no good reason?” Natalia finishes.
I thought I was finally ready to move on, to go on a first date after all this time. After keeping myself mostly isolated other than my friends and my bookshop cafe, I thoughtmaybeI could go on a date andtry.
I’ve spent all this time, single and mostly happy with myself that I never needed anyone to hold me at night—no matter how much I missed him. I grew independent and self reliant, just like my mother taught me. But I thought about it though.
