“You say that now, but I’ll convince you.”
He looks at me with an unbelievable amount of earnest confidence, like he’s certain he can make me see things his way.
“You know that guy who just walked out? He can shoot straighter than you. He’s been here for me more than you.Muchmore. I don’t want to hit a big milestone that I’ve worked hard to achieve, and then feel disappointed because you didn’t show up to celebrate with me.” Finally, the bravado leaches from his expression. But instead of bringing me vindication and satisfaction that I scored a point, it makes me a little sad and more determined than ever to insulate myself from the effect he has on me. “You not showing up for the opening here was the last straw. I have no reason to stay in a relationship where I’m just your…” I can’t think of anything appropriate. “…emotional punching bag.”
“Bobbi, I’m sorry.” His voice is solemn.
The apology carries a gravitas that I didn’t think he was capable of. The air in my lungs goes still even as something in my heart stirs.He means it.Part of me wants to give him a chance. But I just can’t convince myself that he’s capable of changing. “I’ll accept your apology if you’ll stay away.”
“No deal.”
“What?”
“I’m not staying away, Bobbi.”
Chapter Twenty
Bobbi
The fresh heavy cream churns, mixing with the sugar and a dash of vanilla, getting the consistency I need before I can start decorating the cake. I introduced Josie to Japanese-style nama cream frosting, and she immediately became obsessed. Since I’m taking five apple pies for TJ, who will likely not share even one, I’m baking a cake for Josie and Cassie.
Nama cream is my favorite to work with because it’s easy to decorate with and tastes fantastic. Luxuriously rich without being overly sugary. I’m also loving it that more and more people I introduce it to agree with my assessment. But there is a downside: using it tends to trigger memories of Mexico.
I run the electric whisk to beat the cream. I added a bit of yellow food coloring, and the shade is just right—bright and cheery without looking radioactive. The choice between nama cream frosting and fondant was hard, but in the end, the former won out. Noah will like it better anyway. He’s apparently never had nama cream frosting before, and I want him to taste it on his birthday, even if it’s going to be more difficult than fondant for the particular cake design I have in mind.
The already cooled cake is sitting on the rack. I take two round sheets, then cut them into the right shapes. I put plenty of cream on top of one, then lay the other on top. Now it looks right. I want to make a cake with the theme of a guy getting kissed by his girlfriend. There isn’t enough time to get super fancy, so I’m keeping it simple, making both of them look like round yellow emojis.
Dark frosting out of a piping bag becomes the male emoji’s hair, the shade an exact match for Noah’s. And I do the same for the female emoji with golden frosting. Molded chocolate pieces for the eyes and mouths…voilà!
It was amazing luck that the Airbnb I rented has a fully stocked and generously sized kitchen. And even though it’s on the Pacific coast of Mexico, all I had to do was hit the local grocery store for the ingredients. Excitement and anticipation swell like balloons in my heart. Noah doesn’t know I’m planning to do anything special for his birthday. Hopefully, he’ll like what I’m making. I’ve baked for him before, but never a cake.
He’ll probably love it. He’s one of the most rewarding people to cook for. His appreciation is instant and honest. A blinding smile splits his gorgeous face and his eyes sparkle. Then he looks at me like I’ve given him the greatest gift possible.
It’s such a shocking yet lovely contrast—I used to bake for Dad, too, but his reaction was a grunty nod while his eyes stayed glued to whatever document he happened to be reviewing for work. He’d eat mechanically, but his expression always remained flat. I might as well have given him yellowed boiled brussels sprouts.
I put the finished cake into a box and drive to the beachfront cottage Noah got for his vacation here. It’s only ten minutes from my rental, and he invited me to stay there, rather than splitting my time between mine and his. He doesn’t know the reason I was at my place was the kitchen. His is cramped. Plus, I want this to be a complete surprise.
“Hey,” I say as I walk inside with the box. The windows are open, gauzy curtains swirling in the briny breeze as the ceiling fans spin lazily. The sound of waves slapping the white sand fills the house. “Noah? Hello?”
I put the cake on the glass-top dining table and head to the deck to check if he’s on the beach. He loves to swim and laze around on the sand to “work on his tan.” Funny since he’s already sun-bronzed. I’m the one who could use some extra pigmentation.
A soft groan comes from the deck. “Fuck…”
I head toward the sound. Noah is on one of the cushy deck loungers in nothing but swim trunks and sunglasses, showing off ridged abs and his surprisingly thick chest. His eyebrows are pinched together, forming a deep triple furrow. Sweat beads around his hairline, and his long fingers twitch. Despite the warm, slightly humid air, his complexion is slightly chalky. He murmurs something and jerks once, violently.
“Noah? Noah. Hey, it’s okay.” My voice is gentle, but loud enough that he can hear me over the surf. “It’s just a dream.” I put a hand on his shoulder, keeping the touch light and soft, so he doesn’t feel threatened as he pulls himself out of the nightmare.
He jackknifes up and swivels to sit sideways on the lounger. A hand snakes around my wrist and squeezeshardfor a second before he lets go. He yanks his sunglasses off his face and blinks up at me. Three heartbeats pass before he opens his mouth. “Bobbi…”
“Wakey, wakey, pretty boy.” I smile, looking down at him and pretending the grip on my wrist didn’t hurt. He didn’t know what he was doing in his sleep, and there’s no reason to make a big deal out of it.
He exhales softly, his shoulders sagging as he pulls me down to him. “Wow.” His arms wrap around me, his heart thundering against my chest. “Thank God.”
“Bad dream?” I run my fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.
“Yeah. It was… I was stuck in a dark tunnel and couldn’t find my way out. It was so weird because I knew it was a dream, but…”
Shock pokes a cold finger into my chest, and sympathy immediately fills my heart. I have a similar kind of nightmare, and it can leave me disoriented for a few moments after I wake up, especially if it’s still dark. “I sometimes have the same dream. If it’s a lucid one and I can tell I’m in a dream, I just breathe deeply a few times and remember to put my hand on the wall and follow it. I eventually hit the end, and the dream ends. Try it next time and see if it works.”
