“That’s a thing, people coming through town? Past boyfriends?”
“Something like that,” I say without turning around.
He goes on, “You’re very eager for me to leave, I’ve noticed.”
At that I give him a big fake smile, “And soon, you will.”
“You needn’t hate me so, I’m not truly trying to destroy your whole town.”
I roll my eyes and let the words slip out, “That’s not why.” His eyebrows try to fly off the top of his head. “I mean, I don’t hate you, I meant—”
“Too late now, you’ve admitted it. Some truth, finally. You are not the sweet little baker everyone thinks! You’re hateful. You hate me,” he teases.
I lean forward, “I don’t! I don’t like you, true. But I don’t hate you.”
“But the cause behind this dislike is not about the town,” he clarifies. He tugs at his collar again, too.
I lift a shoulder, “You’re a bully.”
“I am not,” he starts.
“You are,” I cut him off. “I’m surprisedyouweren’t the one picking on Benedict. You are rude, you put others down, manipulate and annihilate,and—”
“Annihilate?”
I shake my head, “I meant humiliate. You say mean things—”
He holds up a hand, “Listen, just because you don’t like how the truth sounds, that doesn’t make it mean.”
I get angry that he’s trying to defend some of the things he’s said about me and this town. “You are clearly used to getting whatever you want, Mr. Golden Boy all through your life, no siblings, just getting all the attention from your parents, right?”
“Something like that,” he says back to me.
I go on, “And it was probably likeI want a ponyandI want a sports carand now it’s here, son, have a whole town!”
“My father didn’t give me this town,” he argues, “I found it, I wanted it, I took it, honestly it—”
“Do you not hear how you sound like a toddler? You wanted it, so you took it? And whatever your accent,honestly, honestly!—all prim and proper and condescending all the time, why do you talk like that?”
“British boarding school,” he answers.
I laugh, “I don’t actually care about the answer! You sound ridiculous.”
“Well, now who’s being mean?” he murmurs.
“Me?” I screech. I stand and tick off his offenses on my fingers one by one., “You’re the one who has insulted my town, my ideas, my cafeandmy food and even my eyes.”
He stands too, talking quickly, “Now wait just a second, I may be blunt but I’m not unkind on purpose and you must be projecting aaalll of the past bullies you’ve ever encountered onto me because I would never insult your eyes,” he moves closer.
“You did, I heard you.”
His voice is low and he’s close enough to me that I can see the perspiration on his brow, even in the dark, “I don’t know what you heard but you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Wait, what?
I blink, frown, look down.
“Don’t do that, look up. Look at me,” he tips up my chin with a shaky hand. “Your eyes are otherworldly, own it. Take the compliment. It’s the truth.”
