He eyes me warily, expression suddenly guarded. “I don’t know. Haven’t thought much about it.”
My face scrunches up. Somehow, that’s worse than wanting to pay off debt. “What do you mean you haven’t thought about it? Don’t tell me you’re here because you justreallywant that platinum rolling pin.”
“The what? I don’t know what that means. But no, I don’t care about that either.” Three lines crease between his eyebrows as he frowns.
“What other reason is there to be here?” I sigh, confused, sipping from my mug and letting the warmth swirl across my tongue before swallowing.
Alex runs his hands along the counter as he straightens but doesn’t speak. His expression has gone completely unreadablein the silence. Back and forth, his fingers trace the edge of the marble. The shift unsettles me, and weight of everything he isn’t saying is claustrophobic.
“Winning is important to my family. My father is the one who signed me up and insisted I come on the show. My being here wasn’t optional, so here I am.” His tone is clipped. “My answer is boring. I’m far more interested in what you would do if you won.”
I stare into the coffee mug that’s now clutched between both hands, wanting to push Alex to tell me whatever he’s holding back but not willing to risk this moment with him. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I decide that the only way he’s going to trust me with the secret pieces of himself is if I go first.
“I want to open my own bakery,” I start, lifting my eyes to meet his and praying I don’t see judgment in them. His entire body relaxes, and an encouraging smile plays on his lips, so I keep going.
“Picture an old-fashioned ice cream or soda shop, with the checkered tile floors, chrome bar stools, the whole shebang. The awnings outside are a bright neon pink, and there’s an accent wall of the same shade behind the bar.” My eyes crinkle at the corners as I squint, envisioningTaylor’s Treatsin my mind’s eye.
“Keep going,” Alex whispers, eyes dancing over my face.
“I see my bakery as a place of happiness for the community. A bright spot in the neighborhood where people come because they know they’re loved and welcome. I want to put my own flavor spins on all the classic pastries and create incredible custom orders for birthdays, baby showers, and all the best moments in people’s lives. I want to make the world feel a little lighter, you know? Help people believe things can be good again.”
Alex stays quiet, that small, reserved smile on his face, during my entire TED Talk. I realize I’m smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt, and heat floods my face. I’m sure he didn’t want to hear all of that, but once I got started, I just couldn’t stop myself. I bite my lip, tucking my hair behind my ear, and look away.
“Sorry, that was a lot. The short version is that I’d like to start my own business.”
Alex shifts, coming around the counter and using two fingers under my chin to guide my gaze back to his. “Hey, don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t hide from me after you just shared your dreams. It’s a beautiful idea, Taylor. I can see you doing all of that. You won me over, and I hate everybody. If there’s anybody out there who can make that dream a reality, it’s you.” He says it quietly, nodding to emphasize his words.
When I don’t respond, he uses his thumb and forefinger—still under my chin—to move my head in a small nod.
Emotion swells behind my eyes, and I blink back the tears threatening to fall. It feels good to be validated by someone like Alex. If someone so put together and talented believes in me, then there’s no reason I shouldn’t also fully believe in myself.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching.
He rubs his thumb along my cheek, then presses a quick kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling.
When I open them, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and notice Joe and one of the camera crew hovering nearby. They weren’t there when I sat down, but based on the satisfied look on Joe’s face, they definitely caught our entire interaction.
Maybe they’ll take pity on me and this scene won’t make the final cut.
If Alex notices them, he doesn’t say anything as he quietly takes his place next to me, brushing his hand over my thigh before returning to his phone.
It’s a small gesture, but it sends electricity skating down my spine at the gentleness and intimacy of the touch. I dip my head and press a kiss to his cheek before pulling out my phone, silently scrolling next to him. Just two people sharing a quiet morning together before the insanity of the week intrudes.
?????????
By the time I badge into the building, the glow of the weekend has completely abandoned me.
The sky outside is still a pale, early-summer blue, but inside the call center is all washed out under buzzing fluorescent lights. The rows of gray cubicles stretch out in front of me, identical and endless, each one containing someone already logged in, fully resigned to ten hours of customer service calls.
The difference between the lively baking tent and my drab daily job has never been more apparent or offensive than it is right now.
I pause for a second just inside the door, letting the atmosphere wash over me: the low murmur of voices speaking in practiced customer-service tones, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, the occasional sharp ding of a call connecting from someone’s too-loud headset.
It’s amazing how quickly this place can drain the color out of you. I suck in a sharp breath. I can’t believe I’ve survived this long in such a joy-crushing job.
