“You know I’m obsessed with your butt. I’m just complimenting a friend. He knows how he got that nickname, believe me.” Noah whispers, “Man’s got a whole bakery back there.” He shrugs. “It’s how he got the nickname.”
“Does he get aDaddyname too?” Jamie asks. “Wait. Why don’t I have one?!”
“Why do you want one?” Hunter shakes his head.
“Can’t I be like Tattoo Daddy or something?” Jamie asks licking his spoon.
“No, that’s taken,” Noah says simply, finishing the rest of his cup.
“By who?!” Jamie glares.
“Ian.” Noah slides me the empty cup to throw away. “Anyway, Bakery Booty, I want to help. Let me help.”
“Wait, it’s Bakery Booty?” Jamie’s brows pinch. “Why not Cupcake Daddy or something?”
“Why are you giving him ideas?” I hiss.
“Oh! I didn’t think of that. Too late. It’s like having a pet. You can’t just change their name suddenly. He’ll get confused.” Noah looks back at me. I’m getting whiplash. “Seriously, let me do this. We can think about a bunch of fun things we could do.”
“I don’t . . . This is a lot.”
“Think about it. Today, it’s not enough to just be a good pastry chef. You need to shout your craft from the rooftops and hope you shout loud enough to get someone’s attention. Doingevents will help draw in crowds. People need a gimmick. We can do game nights?—”
“No,” we all say collectively.
“Guys, don’t be jealous. Strip poker is just for us. It’s our magical bonding time, and I wouldn’t even think about doing it with anyone else. Something else, though. Game nights. Book clubs. You need to be more than just a badass baker with a great ass.”
That last part aside he may be right, but I can barely handle being a pastry chef, how the hell would I be able to do all that too? I’m not outgoing. I’m not Noah. I don’t know how to put myself out there. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to do all that.”
Noah takes his phone out. “What social media do you use?”
“Social media?”
Noah blinks at me. “Okay, wow. This is what we’re doing. This weekend I’m coming over after work on Saturday, and we’re setting up your social media. I’m going to teach you how to use it, then we’ll plan an event. This is what you need to do. Believe me.”
“Noah, this is a lot, I don’t?—”
“Listen to me.” His green eyes pin me in place. “You’re an incredible pastry chef. You are a kind, sexy, sexy, sexy man. We just need everyone else to know it too.”
“That I’m a great chef or that I’m sexy?” I joke.
“Both. Have you seen some of those thirst traps online? Believe me...” Noah takes a breath. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s very rare that I take things seriously.”
“You don’t say.”
“But I’m taking this seriously.” There’s a clarity in his eyes I’m not used to. For the first time ever I’m seeing Noah without all the bullshit. “I mean it. You’re incredible. This...” He waves at the empty containers of desserts they all have. “This is amazing. Everyone needs to know it.”
Something tight hits me. Something uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t know what I make is good. It’s just that day in and day out my customers rarely hit the double digits. This sense of impostor syndrome screams the loudest when I’m alone. I know what I make is great. Then I think about that and I don’t know, I feel...
Shame? Insecure?
I feel like I’m not good enough. I just want some reward for all the hard work I’ve put into this. I had to start over when we sold our old place, and I knew it would be hard. I just didn’t realize it would be this hard.
And I’m doing it all without her.
Maybe Noah’s right. “Okay.” Maybe this will help. “I um... can’t on Saturday night, though. I have a date at eight. So as long as we’re done by then.”
“I always support romance. We’ll be done by then. I get off at two from the library and then I’ll be over.”
