Nana took a long, careful breath. When she spoke again, her voice had slightly mellowed. “Very well. Just this once, I’ll allow it.” She turned her attention to me, and the ice returned in full force. “But Hazel…”
“I know, Nana.” I felt about six years old. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.”
She nodded once, sharp and final, then turned to address the gathered crowd. “Please, everyone, continue enjoying the gala. There’s still the bake-off competition to judge, and we have several wonderful dogs looking for their forever homes.”
The crowd began to disperse, murmuring among themselves. I could already hear the gossip starting. This would be the story people told about the Rescue Paws Gala for years.
I turned to Ignatius, who was dabbing at his bloody nose with a silk handkerchief. “I’m so sorry. This is completely unacceptable. If there’s anything I can do—”
“No apology necessary.” He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “These things happen. Though perhaps we should reschedule our date for a less eventful occasion?”
“That would be… yes. Thank you for understanding.”
He nodded to me, shot one final unreadable look at Brok, then allowed Vixen to lead him away toward the refreshment tent.
I waited until they were out of earshot. Then I turned to face Brok and Barnaby.
Brok looked like he’d been through a blender. Blood on his face. Dirt on his clothes. Grass stains on his knees. His hair was a mess. His expression was somewhere between defiant and guilty.
He’d never looked more attractive.
“We’re leaving.” I grabbed his arm and very carefully didn’t think about the well-defined muscles under my fingertips. “Right now. And once we’re out of here, you are going to give me an explanation.”
Barnaby and Brok shared a guilty, shifty look. I could already tell they were scheming. That was all right. I’d get my answers from them.
Even if I had to drag them out of him with a rolling pin.
If there was one thing I’d always treasured about Brok, it was that we’d never had trouble talking. Even when we were at odds about what Barnaby actually needed, we’d still shoot barbs at each other. I’d enjoyed every moment of it, and had missed it desperately when he’d left.
Today, I had trouble coming up with even a single thing to say. We just stood in The Cocoa Bean staring at each other. It was a hundred times more awkward than it had been with Ignatius Gray.
My feet hurt. The red dress felt too tight across my ribs, as if it was squeezing all the air out of my lungs. I wanted to take off these stupid heels, but I couldn’t make myself move. This moment just felt too important.
Brok stood near the door, taking up too much space. Grass from Nana’s lawn stuck to his shoes. Little green bits scattered across my clean tile floor. I’d have to sweep later. Add it to the list of things I’d have to fix because of tonight.
On the other side of the room, Barnaby fidgeted with the hem of his lavender sweater vest. “Hazel? Can I havea truffle?”
“Barnaby, now’s really not the time,” Brok mumbled. At least he was showing some remorse for what he’d done. But again, I disagreed with him.
This was the perfect time for chocolate. Because why the hell not? It wasn’t like sweets could make things any worse.
Turning away from Brok, I stalked to the walk-in cooler. My heels clicked against the floor, each step echoing too loudly through the quiet shop. I yanked open the cooler door.
The carob cake sat on the middle shelf where I’d left it, covered in plastic wrap. One week of work. Three failed attempts before I got the texture right. Five tries on the frosting. I’d checked on it every day. Adjusted the temperature twice. Made sure it stayed perfect.
To this day, I don’t know why I’d made it. I’d been busy with Nana’s cookies, with other orders. But the cake had still haunted me.
I grabbed the plate. A part of me wanted to throw it away altogether. But Barnaby had asked for something to eat.
I closed the cooler, letting the door slam shut behind me. The sound was satisfying in a way that probably said terrible things about my mental state.
I cut a generous slice, put it on a saucer, and shoved it toward Barnaby. “Here. Eat. Someone should get to enjoy it.”
His eyes went so wide I thought they might fall out of his head. He took the plate like I was handing him the Holy Grail.
I turned to face Brok and crossed my arms over my chest. The fabric of the dress pulled tight across my shoulders. “You ruined Nana’s gala,” I said without preamble.
Brok ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Hazel, I’m sorry about the scene—”
