“Cameron. Hi.” Gigi’s voice is light and airy, like we’re old friends running into each other at a coffee shop, rather than exes who had what Sloane qualified as a Category-5 breakup. “It’s been a while.”
I swivel, finally looking at her, and stare harder than a marble statue. “Gigi.” I offer nothing else. Nohow have you been. Noyou look well. Just her name, flat and final.
The silence stretches between us, uncomfortable and heavy. Jake shifts beside me, hunching over the table, suddenly very interested in his drink. Meanwhile, Logan has inched his chair closer to mine, his eyes bright, and is doing absolutelynothingto hide his curiosity.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight,” she finally admits. “I tried texting, but…”
Her voice trails off before she can finish the sentence with “you blocked me.”
I take a sip of my drink, buying time but hating that I need to. “Here I am.”
She watches me without replying, as if giving me one more chance to fill the silence and make this interaction easier for her. Naturally, I don’t say a word.
“I was hoping we could talk,” she says, her voice dropping to a more intimate volume. Her fingers toy with the stem of her wineglass. Red wine, the diluted color doing nothing to combat Logan’s allegations that her favorite beverage is a mixture of virgin’s blood and children’s tears. “It’s been a while.”
“No, thanks.” The words come out harder than I intend.
Beside me, Jake rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. He no doubt thinks my clipped response was rude, but I made sure to include the “thanks” part, so I don’t see the issue.
Her smile falters. She recovers quickly, but not before I catch a flash of annoyance in her eyes.
Join the club.
She swallows audibly. “I’ve changed, you know. I’ve done a lot of work on myself. Therapy, self-reflection. I’m not the same person I was back then.”
The audacity of her proclamation nearly makes me laugh. “Good for you.”
She reaches out like she might touch my arm but stops before she makes contact, searching my face. “I know I hurt you. And I made mistakes. But we were young, and I?—”
“Stop.” The word comes out cold enough that even unflappable Logan startles. “I don’t care what work you’ve done. I don’t care if you’re different now. That’s great for your current boyfriend or whoever’s next, but it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“We were good together once,” she says quietly, her voice shaky. “Don’t you remember?”
I do. That’s the problem. I remember thinking what we had was real, was worth fighting for. I remember apologizing for things I didn’t do, defending myself against accusations that turned out to be projection, and twisting myself into smaller and smaller shapes, trying to be enough for a woman who would never be satisfied.
“We’re done here, Gigi. We’ve been done for a long time. Stay away from me.”
With that, I stand and stalk away.
Gigi was my first real everything. First serious relationship, first person I really allowed to see me, first time I thought about a future beyond the next season.
But she also made sure she was my last, because there’s no way in hell I’m putting myself in that position again.
CHAPTER FOUR
kennedy
I arriveat First National Bank fifteen minutes early, clutching a leather portfolio that cost me a wedding cake order but felt necessary. Inside are spreadsheets, testimonials from clients, and photos of my work. Three years of farmers’ market Saturdays and custom orders baked in my apartment or ghost kitchens rented by the hour, all leading to this: a pastry kitchen on Maple Street with industrial ovens and enough counter space to finally,finally, scale up. To grow Crumb & Co. into an actualcompanywhere I can offer wholesale to local restaurants and coffeehouses and focus on custom cake orders and dessert tables.
The loan officer, a woman named Patricia Vance, seemed warm on the phone, but now, as I sit across the desk from her while she studies her computer screen, that warmth cools in real time.
Despite my fraying nerves, I straighten in the overly stuffed chair and paste a smile on my face.
“Ms. Caplan.” She looks up, her expression apologetic.
Dammit. I’ve seen this expression before—on my parents’ faces when I told them I was dropping out of law school a year before graduation, on my sisters’ faces when they learned my 401(k) was nonexistent and I live paycheck to paycheck. It’s sympathy laced with finality.
“I appreciate you coming in today and putting together such a thorough application,” she says.
