I take a step toward her. She does the same thing.
“Why are you always pushing?” I ask. “It’s like you find a nerve and just poke, poke, poke.”
“I can’t help it that you’re an uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated man who?—”
“I’m the uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated one?” I yell back. “You don’t want to go there with me, Juliana. If I remember correctly, you were the one who?—”
“What is going on back here?” Goldie comes in, her eyes wide.
“I should’ve known better than to bring desserts for you!” Juju shouts as she walks toward the door. “You can find someone else to do your bidding, Camden Whitman!”
She says something to Goldie under her breath, and I laugh.
“May as well call a jackass ajackass, Juliana.”
“Okay,jackass,” she mutters before she leaves the kitchen.
Goldie rips me a new one when Juju leaves, but my sister never stays mad at me too long. One of the many things I love about her. And with this being opening night, she probably has more mercy on me than I deserve.
The night is a success.
Even more than I’d hoped it would be.
I had my family surrounding me, my best friend Jackson, and even my favorite players from the Colorado Mustangs team—Weston, Henley, Rhodes, Bowie, and Penn—along with their wives. I couldn’t believe they’d all made the trip to Minnesota. My sister was thrilled to have her college roommate, Addy, who’s married to Penn, by her side. And of course, Juju was there, looking like a bombshell in a blue dress.
Speaking of the bombshell, she’s lingering after everyone has left for the night. It’s so late that I didn’t expect anyone to be here still, but she’s in the kitchen, gathering her pans, when I walk in.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being a bastard earlier when she says, “Are the rest of the desserts tucked away somewhere, or did you get rid of them all like I said you would?”
I growl, which delights her.
“You wouldn’t be asking that question if you didn’t already know the answer,” I say.
“Oh, I know the answer. I knew the answer when I left them here. Too bad I won’t be making any desserts for you again.”
She carries her pans to the door, and I call after her.
“Juju, wait. Let’s not?—”
She whirls around. “Let’s not what? Be civil to one another? Have the common courtesy to say thank you?” Her voice cracks, and I feel like the biggest jerk. “You’ve got it. Let’s not…ever again.”
She leaves, and I slump against the island, every earlier feeling of victory squashed with her words.
CHAPTER TWO
TROUBLE WALKS IN
JULIANA
It’s been weeks since the fight with Camden at his restaurant opening, and I still feel off. I survived a tense yet fun Thanksgiving, where we all celebrated together, and it was only fun because I avoided Camden like my life depended on it.
I’ve nearly burned the scones every morning, and that just does not happen.
The raspberry filling hasn’t set the way it should, and the lemon glaze tastes flat.
I’ve thrown away more than I want to admit.
I keep thinking of his face before I walked out that night. Pained, angry, confused. He looked like how I feel every time I’m around him.
