“I need cupcakes. Although should I be concerned about the burning smell?” I ask her, genuinely intrigued by what could have happened. She huffs a breath and wipes her hair off her face with her dusty hands, leaving a streak of flour on her forehead. I want to brush it off, to touch her, the memories of our night together creeping in.
“No! The oven’s on the brink of death, and the timer didn’t go off.” She huffs out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest. “How many cupcakes? What kind?” she spits at me, angrily. It’s cute.
Her unexpected presence has brightened my day; I might finally get answers to the ending of our night together. I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I school my features, trying not to give away how ecstatic I am to see her.
“Six cupcakes. Anything. Something girlie.” I shrug. God knows what sort of cupcakes I’m meant to buy. I didn’t ask, and Neive was vague this morning. Probably a little upset at the prospect of spending her birthday without her mum.
“Mmm, girlie cupcakes. For someone special, perhaps?” she asks me, as she raises her eyebrows. The hostility I received that night is still there, and I’m still at a loss as to why.
She boxes up a selection of pink and purple cupcakes adorned with flowers and what I hope is edible glitter. The crease in her forehead distracts me – her face sharp and her lips firm, but her hands delicate as she handles the box. She pushes it towards me with one finger, as if she doesn’t want to get any closer, clearing her throat and pulling me out of my head.
“Will a thirteen-year-old like these?” I ask, not having a clue what Neive is into currently. It changes every week. Reilly’s mouth pops open, and her eyes widen at my question.
“Unbelievable. So not only are you in a relationship, but you have a child?!”
What the fuck is she talking about? She must see the confusion on my face, even as she continues to berate me.
“I heard your phone call!” She practically spits the words out. “You lied to that poor woman on the phone about where you were and who you were with. You thought you could have your fun with me and run back to be a ‘family man’.”
She thinks I’m married! And she ran off instead of asking me. Not even giving me the chance to set her straight. Another person not stopping before jumping to conclusions. Unease settles in my chest, old wounds reopening. I haven’t got the energy to deal with this today.
“Right, anyway,” I huff, wanting to move this along and get out of here. She doesn’t trust me, no need to waste my time. “Can I just get the cupcakes? I’ve got a long day.” She rings me up, and I tap my card, grab the box and make my way to the door to get the hell out of there. As I reach for the door handle, I take one last look back at her. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, her chestnut red hair falling over her eyes, which are storming with disgust. There’s flour and batter covering her apron; honestly, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But she’s made her mind up about me, and I won’t be able to change it.
“I’ll see you around, Reilly.” My last words to her as the ding of the bell sounds when I exit. And honestly, despite the flight mode kicking in, a part of me hopes I will.
SIX
Reilly
His eyes drop as he nods and exits the shop. Defeated, guilty.
An attractive man in his thirties, in a black suit and tie, is holding open the door of a posh black four-by-four. He smiles at Elton, who only shakes his head in return, barely acknowledging his driver while climbing into the back. Is he too precious to open his own car door? Another arrogant suit who thinks he can do what he wants because he has a bit of money. I’ve had enough men like that to last me a lifetime.
“Not today, Satan,” I whisper to myself, trying to push through.
I poke at the burned edges of the cakes. Taking the job at this place – another bad decision.You are full of them.
I threw myself all in with him. “Stupid,” I scold myself. I let go that night and gave him everything. I’ve never been so sexually free. He blindsided me andcharmed me with his good looks and easy-going nature. I’ve been down this road before with my ex.
I find myself banging through to the kitchen as I dump the burned cakes in the bin.
How could I not have seen it was all fake? The jokes, the easy conversation, how he caressed and kissed me. I manage to soak myself as I throw the dirty cake tins into the soapy water – because of course the dishwasher hasn’t worked in three months.
How could someone put so much of themselves out there, and it all be pure deception? I open the cupboard looking for a new cake tin, only to be met with a jumbled mess, which in all honesty is my mess. As I grab the one I need, it all topples out around me, crashing to the floor. My head drops against the cold steel of the door. It’s not fair that a man so cold-hearted won the genetic lottery.
Leaving the mess on the floor for later, I grab my phone and dial the one person who has never let me down. It barely rings before she answers and her cheery “hello” singsongs down the line.
“Mum, I am so over today. Stupid oven keeps conking out … Eric is too cheap to replace it. The timer is off by about five minutes give-or-take on odd days, and about seven minutes fast on even. Knowing this patternshouldmake it easy to use, but it doesn’t, it makes it impossible. So now I need to start all over again!” I blow out a breath. Weighing out the flour in the industrial-sized stand mixer, I smash eight eggs on the side of the bowl and break them into the mixture with the dumped butter and sugar.
“Well it seems to be the perfect way to beat this anger out of you.” Mum chuckles. Her car door slams shut and the engine starts as the line goes quiet.
I calm my nerves to measure out vanilla essence. Baking is a science, and thebalance of vanilla and cream cheese is paramount to perfection. Plus, “Madagascan vanilla is expensive. Running this place isn’t cheap, Reilly. You don’t understand these things,”I mutter in Eric’s nasally voice. He inherited Sunshine Bakes – it shows. He has no passion or care, only ever looking at the bottom line.
“If you’re mimicking Eric out loud, I’m guessing you’re on your own again today.” Mum’s voice comes back as her phone connects to her car’s Bluetooth.
Turning on the stand mixer, I watch as the ingredients are sloshed against the side until they are perfectly combined. I have to tap the top every now and then to keep it from getting stuck.
“Yep, and the only customer I’ve had is someone I would have rather not seen.” A horn blasts, followed by a muttered, “Shit.” Mum’s a late braker.
