“Stop,” I said, stomping my feet. “I think he’s just playing me for free cakes.”
Keaton peered in from the front—he had a wad of bills in hand. “I think if he does come in, we should get him to inspect the apartment,” he said. “If he’ll do it for free, and you know, it’ll also give you some time alone.”
“Listen, last night I found out—” I grabbed my phone from the front of my apron, cutting Whitney off. “I was looking him up online, and I found something. I was in bed, so I didn’t even want to tell either of you about it.”
They looked at each other, and in that moment of quiet they threw out all their ideas.
“He used to be in prison.”
“He doesn’t even like cake.”
“His name isn’t even Rick.”
“He’s married.”
My heart sank. “Yeah,” I let out. “Or he was. I found pictures of it. They’re old. Like from twenty years ago.”
“Well, I’ve never seen him talk about a wife, or anyone,” Keaton said.
“Or husband,” Toby added.
“Or anyone,” Keaton snapped.
“Guys!” I huffed. “Hewasmarried. Someone called Samantha. Someone who lives in Snowflake Springs.”
Keaton gasped. “I love that place. They always have fresh snow on their slopes.”
Tobias whipped at Keaton with the hand towel from his apron pocket. “Stop saying stupid rich-people shit,” he groaned. “Skiing or whatever.”
“We’re not doing this again,” he said.
Once more, I raised my voice. “He’s single,” I said. “According to his social media profiles. But his picture is from like ten years ago anyway, so I don’t even know if he’s like even using it, or—” I groaned. I hadn’t wanted them to keep bringing him up because my brain was already doing that, and I had questions, but who was I to ask them of him. He was just someone who appeared when the alarm went off. Outside of that, we didn’t know each other.
“There’s one way to ask questions,” Keaton said.
“No,” I said, looking at the smoke alarm on the ceiling. “If he comes in, then fine, but until then, please can we not mention him? And I’m not taking him upstairs to view thealarms. Let me just bake my feelings. Last night’s texts don’t prove anything, he was probably drunk or something.”
“Or something,” I heard them both repeat under their breath.
***
Just after lunch he came in, dressed in sweatpants and a matching gray hooded jacket—they were fire department branded. He arrived with a large blue bag on his shoulder. I watched as he looked right through from the front counter to me in the kitchen, my face flustered from the heat of the oven.
I stared. He was gorgeous and I was smitten—I think. Jeez. I didn’t know what to think now.
“Right on time,” Keaton said, as he turned and mouthed that he was sorry.
He’d done this to me—whether it was in that slip of time after breakfast and before my outburst, I didn’t know, but it felt like a punishment. Like there was candy in front of me and I’d been told not to touch it. It made wanting to touch it even more appealing.
“Okay, so I’m a little busy,” Keaton said. “And Toby is busy decorating too.”
Toby was away in his element, unfazed by anything going on around him as he made some realistic cakes—they were huge money-makers since social media blew up thewholeis it cakephenomena. And Keaton led the six-foot-something god with his sweatpants clinging to him in all the right ways straight to me. Rick attempted to make eye contact with me, but my focus was on every inch of body.
“I actually put in a request last night,” Keaton said, nodding his head in animated gestures. “We should really get everything in the apartment looked over.”
It’s why he mentioned it—theyhad done this last night when I was away with the fairies in my little space, giggling over Rick’s text messages like they were a poorly illustrated book. He didn’t share a single emoji.
“So, I take it the birthday boy is going to show me around?” he asked, pulling the heavy bag on his shoulder and flexing a muscle in his arm, which I’d only ever really seen happen on myself after I’d put it to use with some very hard work—hand-whipping egg whites. I was parched, literally and sexually.
