“She says, stiffly,” he responds. He shakes his head. “I was dancing with you in my arms. Of course I got hard. That doesn’t mean I’mherefor sex, especially if you don’t want it.” He adds the last part like it pains him. But I’m probably imagining that—I’ve been wanting a genuine emotion from him for a long time. And sure enough, he smiles. “I love you, you know.”
It hits me like a rabbit punch, even though he’s said it many times before. Always lightly and brightly, without any weight. But when I heard it the first time, I didn’t know any better than to believe it, to dream of a beautiful future together—him and me creating a family with children at some point.
It didn’t take too long before I realized his idea of “love” was nothing like mine. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have let me down over and over again.
“You need to go.” My tone is brisk to hide the achiness in my heart. “I have to get some sleep. Early start tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I heard about your bakery opening. I’m really proud of you for making your dream a reality.”
“You know about that?” I’ve done some advertising, but why would he notice? And it isn’t like he’s been around for me to tell him. Noah can be surprisingly perceptive, but also totally oblivious at times. During our first few months, I thought he was the former, but as time went on I began to realize with an increasingly excruciating sting to my heart that the latter was more common…
At least with me.I was an open book with him—kind of embarrassing, but my fault for letting my guard down.
He plucks a croissant from the pan and takes a bite. “Jesus. This is like crack. I've missed your baking so much. I’d sell my soul for this stuff.”
My insides flutter, and my mind wants to interpret his comment to mean he missedmeso much, too. It’s irritating as hell because I should know better.
“If the stuff at your bakery is half as good as this, you’re gonna make a killing,” he says with a grin.
“Thanks,” I say gruffly.Do not let his compliment warm your foolish heart.
“I’ll be there to congratulate you.”
“Wait… You’re coming?”
“Of course! I want to be the first person to congratulate you.Andbring you your favorite flowers.”
“My favorites, huh? Do you know what they are?” I cock an eyebrow.
“White calla lilies,” he says promptly with an I-know-everything-about-you smile. His eyes darken with profound affection as he looks at me, and the wall inside me weakens. This man knows how to lay siege to my emotions.
Still, hope swells. We’ve never talked about what flowers I like, so for him to know that means he must’ve been observing and thinking about me.
Maybe this time will be different, and hewillbe there.
* * *
The next morning, colorful flowers are everywhere inside my new store. But none of them are white calla lilies.
My friend Yuna comes with her husband, Declan. She’s a Koreanchaebolheiress, and one of the biggest champions of my dream. As usual, she’s dressed to the nines in a gorgeous designer ensemble that fits her slim body beautifully, a cute wide-brimmed hat completing the outfit. A pair of stylish heels encase her small feet—but then I’ve never seen her in flats. She hugs me with a small excited squeal. “This is incredible! I’m so happy for you!”
Declan nods and smiles, lifting a half-eaten éclair and looking like some kind of advertisement for the pastry. But then he used to be an underwear model before he turned to acting. “This is amazing. The best I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” I smile brightly, even though it’s hard to focus on what’s going on.
Where is Noah?
When Yuna and her husband chat with some other guests, I check my phone to see if Noah texted to let me know he’d be late.Nothing.
My belly pinches. It’s been two hours since the party started. If he was going to come, he’d be here by now, so that he could be one of the people who congratulated me, if not the first like he said.
The door chimes as it opens, and my eyes dart to it, my heart trembling with uncertain hope again, only to deflate fast. It’s Ivy—another good friend—coming back in after taking a call outside.
He’s not coming.
The buoyant sensation I had earlier this morning has ebbed away. Every time the door opens and it isn’t him, bitter disappointment slices another sliver off my heart.
When the party ends, my friends and guests begin to leave, giving me hugs, wishing me well. I say goodbye with a smile so professionally frozen it actually hurts my cheeks. If anybody notices, they don’t say anything. They probably just figure I’m nervous.
