I tell him the whole story, carefully watching his face and catching all the old cues in his expression. It makes me miss him so bad that my bones ache.
“What’d Mr. Bruce say?” he asks.
“I didn’t tell him. I’m not sure it’s worth it. Marsha knows, I know…Godknows,” I add with a humorless laugh.
He nods wordlessly, toying with the scarf he set on the armrest beside his coat. “Pistachio cream, eh?”
My brow furrows.That’swhat he took from that conversation?
“Get your coat back on. I know where we can find some.” He’s already on his feet and shrugging into his coat. He alwayswasmore action than talk.
“Wait,” I say, feeling like I skipped a page. “What are we?—”
“You want to win, don’t you?”
I blink. Grunt. Nod.
“Good. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 11
"Well, what do you think?" I look from Nellie, who’s smearing a dab of green frosting off her lip, to Mr. Bruce, who brings a hand to his chest and moans.
"It's perfection. Pistachio perfection," he says emphatically.
My gaze gets sucked back to the place it longs to be—settled squarely on Jude. He’s leaning an elbow on the kitchen bar, a proud grin on his lips. Heat swirls around my heart.
"Heckyeah,” Nellie says, reaching for another one. “These areflippingamazing.”
I give her a subtle thumbs up because she’s nailing Don’t-Swear-December like a champ.
I look back to Jude. His eyes haven’t left mine. It feels like he’s thinking about something other than the topic at hand. Like he’s been reliving our time together the way I have been since he showed up. He holds my gaze just long enough to send that hot thrill through my chest, then turns to the taste testers at the bar.
"I knew she could do it,” he says. “You should've seen her go. It was like watching a mad culinary scientist in her lab. All I did was prop up my feet and watch her in action."
My cheeks flush like I just opened the oven. Sometimes, I think Jude gets off on igniting that response in me, my fair complexion giving me away at his whim.
Mr. Bruce clears his throat. "Well, I think it's safe to say that she has this one in the bag.”
I watch the group nod in agreement, and my confidence grows. That is, until they seem to remember something—a not-so-fun fact about me that none can deny.
Nellie’s first to articulate it. “So long as she doesn't panic.”
Mr. Bruce nods gravely. "Right."
When Jude stays silent, my thoughts flash back to the Zoom call. "That reminds me,” I say. “I told Marsha Langston that you and Jinxy were going to do the show with me."
Mr. Bruce's eyes go wide. A beat of panic pushes through me. “You offered, remember?"
"No, of course!" He nods some more. "That sounds good. I’m…honored.”
I gulp back the knot that forms in my throat as his eyes well with moisture.Thisis why I don’t want to tell him about what Patty did. Mr. Bruce doesn’t have kids of his own, but I think he’s come to see me as the closest thing to it. He might not ever forgive Patty, but for me, it’s different. I know there has to be something very wrong with a person who’s as mean as she is, which honestly lessens the blow. I’m just glad I’m not her.
"You two should probably do a test run with the cat to make sure things go smoothly," Jude suggests.
All eyes dart to the cat in the corner, who’s blissfully licking his paws after a good meal. Seeming to know we’re talking about him, Jinxy jumps off the couch and slinks toward the kitchen, his long, slender tail dancing like a charmed cobra.
To my surprise, he walks directly to me, smooths his lanky body against the side of my leg, then repeats the action with the other side of his small frame. An unexpected warmth settles inmy chest, and I reach down to stroke the little thing’s head. His skin is the texture of Chamois leather. I notice a fine layer of fur around his ears and laugh at how alien he looks.
