A flash of attraction to them deepens the teenage crush I had on them. And that shifts something in my core.
Do they even notice that I’m not a kid anymore? Not a teen? A fully formed adult?
Do they even care?
I scrape the bottom of my pint and shift between my feet, unable to let go of that thought.
Because I’ve always had a thing for guys older than me.
It’s been the bane of my love life.
Guys my age bore me.
Mom always said I was too mature for boys. She was right.
I glance up at Gabe, and he shoots me an“Are you okay”look. I nod and rinse off my spoon. “I think it’s time to go face the music. Dad’s not too happy with me right now, and I’ve been summoned to the bakery first thing in the morning.”
“And the munchies are fading into sleepiness.”
I flash Gabe another smile.
A grateful one that appreciates how he never asks me questions I don’t want to be asked.
Because although all of that is true, it’s not the reason I’m escaping.
Ducking out, I slink back into my room and wallow.
Fortunately, Gabe is right.
Sleepiness takes over, and my wallowing quickly turns to dreams of running, of people pointing and whispering about me, of the specter of my ex’s wife chasing after me for answers.
I keep trying to find a way to explain, but no one listens to me.
It makes my sleep restless, so in the morning, my head is stuffed full of cotton and my heart is heavy as I tie myself in an apron and ride in with my mom to open the bakery.
Dad’s already there and already covered in flour from the bread.
His assistant gives me the side eye as I hang up my coat and head to the front to clean and prepare the espresso machine, brew the iced tea, and fill the chests with ice.
I take the trays from Mom, glaze pastry tops, and sprinkle garnishes where I’m allowed, before putting out the finished products.
It’s the one thing Dad compliments me on. My displays.
At least I can do something right.
But then…we open.
The first burst of bustling ladies and shop owners to grab their to-go orders before they start their long days strolls in to smile and make small talk with me.
They don’t hide their looks or the soft words exchanged when my back is turned though.
I see them. I hear them. I feel them all.
It doesn’t stop with them.
I bet the bakery is having its busiest morning in a long time because there’s a parade of people who come in, and most of them are here for the gossip.
To see the poor girl who is in the middle of the second scandal of her life. This one bigger than the last.
