Elodie
I wipe the back of my wrist across my forehead. The weekend has been a flurry of baking. Now it’s Monday and my final push for the week. All my notes are spread out on the table, and I’m checking off each batch I’ve got done.
The street fair starts Friday evening and goes through late afternoon Saturday. Clem hasn’t been able to help. The library needs her to prepare a booth and set up an area for kids to play. The main part of the fair will be a block away from the library, but people will be roaming all over our small town.
Cruz comes through the back door, a bag in his hand from La Taqueria. “Carne asada, just for you.”
I groan. “That sounds so good. I’m starving. I’ve been preparing cookie dough and making extra apricot bread and whiskey glaze in case I sell out. What if I’m making too much?”
I’m planning less than what I had for the Billings fair, but I took on a last-minute anniversary cake order, another round of cinnamon rolls for a funeral, two birthday cupcake orders, and a family reunion. Everything’s getting celebrated this week while so many people are in town.
“You’ll sell them Sunday.” He almost sets the food on the table, but he jerks it back.
All my notes. He must be afraid to mess them up.
I rush over to gather them all into a pile. “What if people are sick of baked goods after the street fair?”
“That’ll only happen if they buy so much from you on Saturday that they can’t possibly stuff another bite in their bodies.”
I need Cruz and all his optimism in my life. I grab for another stack of mail I had pushed toward the wall. The return address for the correctional center Dwayne is in slips free. I scramble to stuff it under another envelope. When I peek at Cruz, he lifts his gaze from the stack in my hands. His smile is small but understanding.
I do not deserve him. I transfer everything to a clean edge of the island. “Have a seat.”
Adrenaline, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, pumps through my veins, but I grab us a couple of bottles of water like the mail is nothing out of the ordinary. For me, it’s not.
I’m fine. It’s fine.
Totally okay that I’m hiding a secret from Cruz and he’s been an open book.
It’s for his own good.
I hang up my apron and join him at the table. He’s already set out the chips and salsa. I ignore my food container and dig into the chips. He does the same. The crunching fills the silence between us.
“How was work?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since last night.
He went into work today for Iverson since Jamison went back to work and Cruz didn’t want her to worry about juggling a baby on her first day back in the office. He went home afterto feed his horses and do the rest of his chores. Naturally, he showered before he picked up our dinner.
“Good.” He opens his to-go container and steam escapes. “I like Mondays when we’re closed and I can just do work without having to put on a show.”
“Clem said tours go through the distillery several times a day in the summer. I can’t imagine the kitchen being open to public viewing.”
He nods and keeps eating. Am I imagining the awkwardness between us?
“Cruz . . . about my mail.”
He stuffs his fork into his rice and inhales. “You don’t have to tell me.”
I wipe off my mouth and take a drink of water. How can he be so accepting? He knows I’m keeping something from him, and he’s trying to act like it’s not bothering him.
I want to spill everything. Tell him every single detail. I stuff a chip into my mouth and bite down. A sharp point stabs me in the gums, and dammit, I deserve it.
What if I spilled the ordeal to Cruz? He’s a smart guy. Maybe he’d have ideas on how to stop my ex and his brother. I let my gaze drift over his still-damp hair and his clean T-shirt. He was so stressed that I wouldn’t trust him about the interested women that come and go from the distillery, and it’s because he can sense that I’m still walled off.
I open my mouth and his words from weeks ago filter through my head.
No. I can’t be a tell-all right now. I can’t risk putting Cruz on alert and doing something he’ll regret.
I chug another drink of water. But I can say some things. “Dwayne writes me sometimes.”
