Of course, the same can be said for the landlord lottery. If I’d known he’d be the one to inherit the building Bobbi’s Sweet Things is in, I would’ve thought twice before signing the lease, regardless of its fantastic location or his mother offering me the flexibility of committing for only one year rather than five.
“It’s the gluten in the air,” he insists. “It’s hurting me even now.” He waves a hand, then closes his eyes as though torn between unbearable pain and intolerable bliss.
He’s probably dying inside that he can’t eat anything in the bakery because of his “gluten allergy.” Who does he think he’s fooling? I saw him scarf down two burritos from a food truck just last month. Afterwards, I asked the guy manning the truck if they had gluten-free tortillas, and he looked at me like I was crazy.
It’s extremely tempting to put Floyd in a headlock and shove a cookie down his throat just to show him I know he’s a filthy lying roach. Except my cookies are rewards, not punishment.
He props an arm on the counter and leans closer. “But regardless of my struggle, my fiancée would love a vanilla chiffon cake with strawberries and white nama-cream frosting from your bakery. So you’re going to make it for her.”
“And if I don’t…?”
He stiffens like the possibility of rejection never entered his mind. “You will.”
I lean closer as well. “No, Iwon’t. I don’t have to do business with people who come here to insult me.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re jealous of Reggie, now that she and I are engaged.” A leer creeps over his face, and I resist the urge to shove it away. He thinks he’s this generation’s Casanova, despite all the evidence mirrors must provide. “The prototypical woman scorned. Devastated because I am now taken.”
“I’m really not that invested in your personal life.” Somehow, he’s gotten into his head that I harbor an unrequited love for him because I baked the custom cookies his mother ordered to celebrate his employment.
“But if you don’t make that cake, I won’t just raise the rent by fifty percent, I’ll kick you out as well.”
“If you kick me out, you won’t getanyrent.”
“You could put in a comedy club, Floyd. It would be classier than this,” Reggie sneers, and I really want to smack her a few times. It takes talent to make me want to hit a pregnant woman.
“We need a cake big enough for a hundred guests. Something impressive and pretty,” Floyd says. “I expect it to be ready whenever we set the date!”
“So you’re expecting in two ways now. Hopefully a baby will satisfy you.”
“Ow, my back.” Reggie puts a hand at the small of her back with a small smirk at me. “Man, it isn’t easy carrying this child.”
“I told you you didn’t have to take care of the cake. Let’s get you home and comfortable,” Floyd says, running a soothing hand along her back. He turns to me with a snarl. “Make the damn cake or else, Bobbi!”
He escorts her out. Although he’s nobody’s idea of a great catch, part of me does feel sad and lonely. He’s a jerk, but even he knows how to treat a woman he’s having a relationship with.
Noah, on the other hand? He has a prettier package and an amazing ability to make me feel like the most special person in his life, but he doesn’t treat me like I mean anything.
I shake my head. Time to think about something more urgent and relevant to my life than an ex I haven’t seen or heard from in a year.
I really need to look for a new location with a saner landlord. But that feels like surrendering, and why should I have to relocate just because Floyd is an asinine pig? Besides, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to find a spot as good as this. Relocation will also mean unexpected expenses.
I make a mental note to consult a lawyer. There’s no way what Floyd is doing is legal. Tenants must have some rights.
Breathe out. Relax. The nastiest part of the day is over. Friday can’t get any worse than a visit from those two. Besides, I have a date to look forward to later this evening. This guy I found on a dating app sounds promising. If even half of what he said is true, we’ll hit it off great. Reggie and Floyd are just a blip on the radar.
The door chimes. I paste on my friendliest smile, which instantly cracks.
Noah!
He saunters in, like all the broken promises aren’t still lying between us. What’s worse is that he’s even better looking now. Sadly, nobody has found him annoying enough to break his nose since last time I saw him—its bridge is still narrow and straight. His cheekbones are more prominent, probably from a bit of weight loss—and why do I have to notice that?—although his wide shoulders and thick chest fill out his pale gray T-shirt beautifully, and well-worn jeans hug his thighs perfectly, hinting at his lower body strength.
It’s infuriating that he’s wearing the same smile full of empty charm, and even more so because I’m noticing how gorgeous it is. I despise that he’s tall enough to tower over me, and his entire body somehow looks both largeandlean at the same time. He should be a dork with a pencil neck and skinny arms. A wildlife photographer doesn’t need that height or that much muscle.
“Hi.” His tone is friendly. Charming even.
I can’t respond. I might crack under the weight of my fury and what he meant to me. He can’t possibly expect me to say anything friendly, and I’m not going to hint how much his last disappearing act gutted me.
Noah can stand in front of me all he wants. But in my heart, where it counts the most? He’s in my past. Forever.
