Book Two: Thirty Days, Book 2

by Bibi Paterson

  Taylor leisurely explores my mouth while his hands alternate between stroking my breasts and my clit. I am so damp and ready for him that when he slides inside of me it feels like he is coming home. A gentle rocking motion lights the sparks deep in my core, and I can feel the muscles in my pelvis tightening around Taylor’s cock. Taylor swallows my groans and I do my best to stay quiet, channelling the sensations inside. This only serves to make everything feel more intense. Taylor continues his slow pace relentlessly, and I start to feel my body stiffen as the first waves of my orgasm ripple through me. The ripple turns to an ocean-size flood as Taylor spills into me and I come with force. We lay there panting, and I stare deep into Taylor’s eyes. In this moment, I feel cherished and loved, and it is on the top of my tongue to tell him that, to spill my deepest, darkest secret. Yet I am still holding back, and I guess so is Taylor.

  The Twelfth

  I wake up alone, the bedclothes cold. I gather up my pyjamas from where they were discarded last night and pull them on before wrapping a robe around me. It is after ten and I feel sheepish for having slept in so late. I make my way downstairs and find Taylor and Nicola mooching around, cups of coffee in hand.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Taylor calls across from the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Please…” I mumble, in serious need of some caffeine. Yeah, yeah. I know you are supposed to go all decaf and shit when you are pregnant, but I am like a bear with a sore head if I don’t get my morning fix. I tried, really tried, but I lasted only about a week before I caved, so now I just try to limit myself to one a day. I hop onto one of the barstools and gratefully take the latte that Taylor offers me. I sip slowly, gradually waking up and feeling ready for the day ahead.

  Nicola suddenly squeals, and we both look over at her as she excitedly taps on her phone. “What’s up, Stix?” Taylor asks.

  Seeing us both staring at her, Nicola suddenly blushes. “Um, this guy, Chris, from school asked me out.”

  “And is he a douchebag like that Bryan guy?” Taylor asks. I can see him clenching his fists by his sides whilst trying to control his emotions. I know he is still trying to get to grips with what happened to his baby sister earlier in the week and the fact that he wasn’t there, but it was probably for the best; otherwise Taylor would have probably ended up facing assault charges.

  “No, Taylor. Chris is a good guy. I have liked him for ages, but he is kind of shy. He tried to warn me off Bryan, and I didn’t listen.” I can see that Nicola desperately wants her brother’s approval.

  Taylor softens his expression, clearly wrapped around his little sister’s finger. “Okay, Stix, but if he so much as looks at you wrong, he is going to answer to me. Understand?”

  “Yes, overprotective big brother.” Nicola sighs dramatically.

  “No, seriously, Stix. When I think about what could have happened to you the other night…” Taylor trails off, and a sombre expression crosses Nicola’s face as she is reminded of the reality of the situation.

  “I know, Tay. I know.” The words come out barely above a whisper. Taylor crosses the room and wraps his baby sister in a tight hug. She starts to cry softly, and Taylor rubs her back as he waits for Nicola to calm down, whispering soothing words into her ear.

  I don’t want to intrude, so I pad back upstairs to grab a shower in Taylor’s space-age Tardis. I have just finished getting dressed when Taylor pokes his head through the door. “Hey, beautiful. Breakfast is ready.”

  “Thanks. I’ll come down now. Is Nicola okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she is all good. Now come get something to eat.” Taylor holds out his hand, and when I reach mine out, he grabs it, pulling me in for a quick kiss before leading me downstairs. Nicola is already sat at the table, digging into a pile of waffles, so I slide into the seat next to her, helping myself to a waffle before adding some fresh strawberries and drizzling on some maple syrup. I am in food heaven right now, and I groan in appreciation as my taste buds explode with delight.

  “Seriously, Taylor, this is delicious. How come I don’t get fed like this every morning?” I joke.

  “Well, then you wouldn’t appreciate my culinary genius anymore,” Taylor teases back.

  It’s funny, when we are in Brighton, the flat feels like it is ours, yet the cottage and the apartment still feel like they are solely Taylor’s domain, that I am just passing through. Don’t get me wrong, I feel perfectly comfortable at either place, but I don’t feel like I ‘belong’.

  This thought plagues me through the remainder of the day, and I can’t shake the unsettled feeling churning in the pit of my stomach. We have just dropped Nicola back at Taylor’s parents and are heading back towards Brighton when Taylor suddenly turns the music down.

  “I am paying for the renovations to the flat,” Taylor announces, his imperious tone immediately raising my hackles. Well, that all came a bit out of left field.

  “Um, no way, Taylor,” I counter.

  “No arguments, Abby. You don’t have the capital to do the work, so I will pay for it.”

  “Okay, for a start, I don’t appreciate you ‘telling’ me this, instead of offering, so no, you are not paying for it.” My tone is equally stern as my anger builds.

  “What the fuck, Abby? Look, this is nothing to me. I don’t know why you are arguing with me,” Taylor counters, his words stoking the fire of indignation deep in my soul.

  “Shit, Taylor, listen to yourself. You insist on paying to renovate my flat, but then you say it is nothing?” I am practically shouting, “So which is it, huh? Am I nothing? Is this relationship nothing? Is our baby nothing?” All my anger, my frustration at Taylor’s lack of the ‘L’ word all bubble to the surface. The rational part of my mind knows I am blowing everything out of proportion, but another part is revelling in being able to let off some steam.

  “Calm down, Abs. Stop being such a child!” Taylor snaps at me. “I meant that the money is nothing.”

  “Well, if the money means so little, then why bother? I mean, really, if you want to invest into the flat, to help make it our home, then it should mean something to you!”

  “Seriously, Abby. Stop this now. You are deliberately misunderstanding me. Of course I care about us. I care about our home. I want to help make it a beautiful place to bring up our child. All I meant was that I have the cash, you don’t, so I want to pay to give you the home you deserve.”

  My anger deflates at Taylor’s words, but I don’t want to let him win this argument. Deep in my heart, my insecurities remain. I simply don’t trust that Taylor won’t leave me. And that is this crux of it. If Taylor pays for the renovations, when Taylor leaves me I know I will not be able to stay there. As this is part of my livelihood, I just can’t take the risk. No, I will find ways to pay for it all so that, at the end of the day, while I am happy to share my home with Taylor, it will always be mine. Well, and Bean’s as well.

  “Whatever. You are not paying,” I retort, not willing to concede to Taylor’s demands.

  “This is not over yet, Abs,” Taylor promises, an air of menace in his voice.

  I roll my eyes and retreat into a silence that haunts us both for the rest of the journey. We finally pull up outside the flat, and I scramble for the door handle before the car has even rolled to a stop. I slam the car door behind me and dart for the front door when I hear Taylor squeal off down the road. Just great, I think to myself. Yet again Taylor walks away.

  The Nineteenth

  I lay my head down on my pillow, exhaustion making my limbs heavy. It is only eight o’clock, but after the week I have had, I feel shattered. I am alone, as I have been most of the week. Taylor has been preparing for his trip to South America, and so he has been leaving most mornings before I have woken up, and arriving after I have fallen into bed. I suggested that he stay in London, but he insisted that he wanted to sleep beside me each night. Our argument, still unresolved, has been the pink elephant in the room that we are both studiously ignoring while pretending everything is fi
ne.

  Taylor, however, did make it to my first midwife appointment. Taylor had arranged for a sonogram, even though you don’t usually have one until twelve weeks. But I guess that is the advantage of having a boyfriend that insists on private health care. As we lay there listening to the heartbeat of our baby, staring at the strange little blob on the screen, the tears rolled down my face. When I glanced across at Taylor, I could see that he was just as affected by this as I was. The awe that we had created this little life was immense. Even just thinking about that moment makes me feel all emotional, or maybe that is just the hormones talking. I pick up the sonogram print that they gave me and stare at Bean. I know we are a long way off, but the promise of holding our baby in my arms is something I hold on to, knowing that when he or she arrives, our world will change completely.

  My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts, and I smile when I see Taylor’s message:

  Sweet dreams, beautiful. I have missed you today. Check in your bedside drawer…there is a surprise for you. T x

  Curiosity has me reaching inside the drawer and pulling out a wrapped box. I tear at the paper eagerly and find a brand-new iPad inside. I switch it on and find it already loaded with my favourite albums, books and even recipes. When on earth did Taylor find the time to do this? I call Taylor’s mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I tap out text:

  An iPad…you rock. Will fall asleep reading recipes tonight…Wish you were here. Xx

  I wait to see if I get a response, but when nothing comes through, I pick up my new gadget and have a browse of the apps that are already loaded. I scroll through the music and come across an album I don’t recognise. I click on Lovestrong by Christina Perri and immediately fall in love with her voice. I browse through recipe after recipe, my mind already dreaming up variations, as I listen to each track. Suddenly I realise that I recognise the current track. I can’t place the familiarity, but when I check the title of the song, ‘Penguin’, my mind is suddenly transported back to Taylor playing the guitar and muttering to himself. As I listen to the words, my heart swells as realisation hits me…Taylor was learning to play this song, and I can’t help but wonder why. I hit Repeat and listen to the song over and over until I drift off to sleep.

  The Twentieth

  I stand in the middle of the café and slowly take in my surroundings. I am simply amazed at the progress that the builders have made in only a week. The large display window has now been opened up, filling the room with muted natural light, brand-new spotlights highlight the recessed corners, the oak floorboards have been sanded down and resealed, and the walls have been repainted, each in a different shade of grey. The builders spent the day yesterday knocking through to the bakery and have put a temporary partition in place until we are ready to open officially.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Mum’s voice startles me, and I whip my head around as she walks in from the back.

  “Seriously, Mum, this is amazing!” I exclaim crossing the room to envelop her in a big hug, squeezing her tight.

  “Are you sure? I mean, I know we talked about it, and you liked the samples…” Mum trails off.

  “Absolutely! This is even better than I could have imagined, Mum. You guys have done an amazing job. So when are the fridges arriving?”

  As Mum talks me through the schedule for the day, I make copious notes on my now ever-present spiral pad. It is amazing how fast things happen when you can throw money at them. And with Mum in charge, things have been running more smoothly than I could have anticipated. She has this natural charm—well, that and the fact that she is stunningly beautiful as well—that just seems to inspire people to do whatever she wants them to do. I can only think that she was some kind of siren in another lifetime.

  With the majority of the structural work complete, it is now just the finishing touches. Along with the fridges arriving today, the builders are scheduled to get the counter installed straight away. Mum has already sourced tables and chairs from a couple of reclamation yards, and the big squishy sofas are due for delivery tomorrow. Boxes of brightly coloured charity shop finds and cushions line the walls, waiting for Mum to ‘accessorize’.

  “So when will we be ready to open, do you think?” I ask.

  “Well, I reckon we should have everything done and dusted by Friday. I reckon that you should open for a soft launch next Monday and then have an official launch party on the Thursday evening, the 30th. That way the staff can get used to everything before the big night, and it gives us ten days to ramp up the PR and get the invites, et cetera, out.” Mum is cool as a cucumber, and the short deadline doesn’t seem to faze her at all.

  “Wow, Mum, you have everything in hand. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Dad to do all of this. Probably be having a nervous breakdown by now,” I say seriously.

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Mum replies, imitating Nonna’s favourite phrase, her spot-on accent making me laugh.

  We chat for a couple more minutes before Mum reminds me that the guy coming to install the new signage will be here any minute, so I leave her to get on with her day and retreat back across into the Bread kitchen to catch up with my new apprentice, Kirri.

  I walk into the kitchen to find everyone hard at work. Kirri and Billy are getting on like a house on fire, producing all number of confections and making enough coloured icings to create their very own rainbow. Both of them have recently graduated and are itching to try out their own ideas but smart enough to appreciate that there is still a lot that they can learn. Andreas is particularly pleased that Billy has passed muster as I could tell he was worried to start with.

  As all the cakes for the new café are going to have to be produced in the bakery’s kitchen, there has had to be a little bit of a reshuffle to make sure that all three people can work in the space together, which seems to be working so far. I was a bit worried that Andreas would resent having to share his space, as it had been his domain for so long, but I think he is actually enjoying having some newbies to boss around.

  I take my time testing the samples that have been left on the side for me. Andreas and Bea will have already tried them and put out anything good enough to sell. Both apprentices are being trained to make the full range of breads and cakes, but I can already see that Billy’s strengths lie closer to breads and Kirri is definitely a cake girl like me. It is perfect…having a team that can cover all the bases means that everyone will be able to have the time off that they deserve.

  I can see Kirri and Billy are eagerly waiting on my feedback, so I go through each cake, one at a time, offering encouragement and tweaks and, in one particular case, the need to go back and read the recipe again. I make sure that my criticism is constructive, and both bakers eagerly take notes and don’t seem to be offended by my thoughts. I am so pleased with their progress, and I tell them both that, which in turn makes poor Billy go bright red. Andreas gives me a wink as I head out of the kitchen to catch up with Bea, and I can see he is pleased.

  .........................

  As much I resented my parents for forcing me into a general business degree, I can’t help but be grateful for everything that I learnt during my course. I still feel out of my depth, but as least the terror has subsided to mild fear. Once upon a time, the idea of dealing with Council bureaucrats would have brought me out in hives, but all I feel now is pride that I have managed to push through all my paperwork with minimal fuss, and now all I am waiting for is the final inspections once the works have been completed. Which, with my amazing powers of persuasion, and maybe the promise of some cakes to try, I have managed to schedule for Friday afternoon. Awesome.

  My next call is to a local artists group who I have been chatting to about exhibiting some of their work. They were keen enough when we started talking, but now that I actually have an opening date, I need to pin down something to put on our newly painted walls. Otherwise the café will just end up looking a little grey and grim. Annabeth squeals when I let her know that they
can come in and hang their works this weekend.

  “Look, I know we are just a cake café, and it’s not exactly the Saatchi Gallery, but hopefully it will help your guys get sales, and I would really like to do a little write-up of each artist on the website, with links to their websites if they have one…” I trail off, trying not to paint myself into a corner. Ha-ha.

  “Abby, don’t be silly. I think it will be a fantastic showcase, and the guys I have lined up are really excited. Plus most of them have already tried your cakes in Bread and are just itching for the café to open so that they can show off their works whilst scoffing scones.” Annabeth’s tone is breathy and excitable, and I find I am really looking forward to meeting her in person. We finish up by arranging a time for her to bring everyone in on Sunday with promises of coffee and cake.

  And that pretty much sums up the remainder of my afternoon. Call after call, lining up everything on my ever-increasing to-do list. It still feels like a long way off, but I know that each item I tick off is another step closer to opening and my dream coming true. I feel a smile stretching across my face, despite my exhaustion, and I start to hum a song. With a start, I realise it is the penguin song I had been listening to last night. I glance down at the ragged scars across my wrists, which are slowly starting to fade, and an idea begins to blossom in my mind.

  I am suddenly interrupted by the shrill ring of my phone. I am tempted to let it go to voicemail so that I can grab a five-minute break, until I see that it is Mum.

  “Hey, Mum,” I answer.

  “Hey, hon. Can you check what coffee machine you ordered as the delivery guy is here and it looks different from the picture you showed me.”

  “Yeah, sure. Can you get the model number off him? And just ask him to hang fire on the installation until I can check what’s going on?”