She squints and bends, looking for imperfections I can’t see. “Chocolate mocha, bourbon chocolate, and cayenne chocolate. All with a simple chocolate frosting.”
“Sounds delicious. Wedding?”
She nods and pushes her glasses up. “On a Monday. They’re getting hitched at the courthouse, going to the river for pictures, and then they rented the rec room at the senior center to have the reception.” She straightens. “I’ll put the crumb coat on when I get back.”
“What if I tire you out too much?”
“Then you’ll have to tell the happy couple that you fucked me silly and that’s why their three-tier cake looks like shit.”
“I’ll try not to sound like I’m bragging.”
She laughs while untying her apron. “I’ll run upstairs. I told you I could’ve driven.”
“I get to have you to myself longer if I pick you up and drop you off.”
“So damn sweet.” She swings by me to give me another kiss, and I make it a much longer one this time before she disappears upstairs.
I keep to the edges of the kitchen on my way to her little table. Pulling out a seat, I spy a return address I’ve seen before. I pick up the envelope. How often is this guy mailing her? Why hasn’t she thrown it away?
Does she still care about him? Are they still in touch?
My fingers tingle to take out the letter and read it, but I won’t. She trusts me, and I’m not risking that. I set it down how I foundit, push the chair back in, and go to wait by the door so she doesn’t have to question whether I looked or not.
The dread still lingers. It’s not the same feeling as when I find my own letters in the mail from my dad. A correctional facility in Colorado, but not the same one. What a coincidence that we’d both know someone in prison and that they’re in the same state. Does she want to vomit when she sees Inmate Dwayne’s letters like I do?
No, this heavy feeling inside me is different. We’re more than dating, and we’re not just fucking. I care for her. She means a lot to me. I don’t want to let her go. But she’s still working through some things, and for whatever reason, she doesn’t want to share them with me.
The back of my throat aches from something that feels like hurt.
She lands at the base of the stairs. “Sorry you had to wait.”
Her hair is still up, and she’s kept her glasses on, keeping that cute and sexy mix. She’s in shorts again, and another shirt that doesn’t reach her waistband. My mouth goes dry and my worries from seconds ago dissipate as quickly as the heat from her ovens. It doesn’t take much to undress her when she’s like this, but I can strip her out of her sweats just as fast. “Lookin’ hot as always.”
“Same goes for you. Let me grab the bread I made for you.”
“You baked me bread?” She said she would, and I didn’t doubt her, but I didn’t expect her to make me a priority.
She picks up a small box off the island. “I made fancy white bread, but also a loaf of sourdough. If it’s too much, maybe the guys at Foster House will eat it.”
They’d gobble up every crumb. Touched, I take the box from her. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
It’s not for her, but it means a lot to me. She not only remembered my comment, but she cared enough to do something about it.
I load her into the pickup, put the bread in the back, and take off, scanning the sidewalk for a guy in golf clothing and a smug expression. I haven’t seen Dean again, and she hasn’t mentioned a problem customer again. He must’ve left town by now.
When I pull up to my house, I park outside the garage since there’s a lull in the drizzle. Rufus is on the porch in his little igloo doghouse. He waddles out, his corgi butt wiggling, barks once, and goes back in his hut. A small sigh leaves her. I cast a questioning gaze her way.
Her expression is at peace. “I just love your place. Rufus is adorable.”
My chest puffs out like I’m a kid and she told me I run really fast in my new shoes. “Rufus knows he’s adorable, but the cows disagree, and you get to see the inside of my place this time.”
“Can’t wait.”
Neither can I. All the guys I work with have seen the house, but I haven’t brought a woman home. Not even the Hawthorne sisters have been inside, and I’d consider them in my friend circle.
I have a friend circle. Another one I built outside of the Baileys. Moments like these show me how far I’ve come.
