by Sara Whitney
He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Instead of answering her question, he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Of course.” She plopped into a café chair to pick apart the tangle of the remaining banners, draping them over the shoulder of her denim overalls as she separated each one. “When you called me last night, you sounded so…”
Lost. She didn’t say the word out loud, but it’s how Erik would finish that sentence. He was lost in a churning, seething ocean, and he didn’t know how to stay afloat.
He grabbed the strings from her shoulders and finished looping them around the walls of the shop, stepping back to survey the effect. “Looks good.”
“Mmm.” Gina’s noncommittal answer bordered on irritated, and Erik jammed his hands into his pocket.
“What?”
“Testy,” she said. “I can’t help but notice that since I got here, all we’ve done is talk about grand-opening stuff.”
“I asked you how the new job is going.”
“Oh, sorry. Five minutes on my exciting career debugging laptops, and the rest on grand-opening stuff.”
“Right, because you came over to help me get ready, and it’s happening tomorrow,” he grumbled.
“No, I came over because you’ve been hurting for days, and when you finally reached out, I came running over to let you pour out all your troubles. But all you’ve done is deflect and avoid.”
Erik growled and stalked to the kitchen, where he continued to deflect and avoid by grabbing a tray of unfrosted key lime cupcakes from the fridge and banging them onto the countertop. Gina followed and calmly handed him the icing bag. He snatched it from her and started aggressively piping green-tinted icing onto half a dozen naked cakes before she spoke.
“I actually did have better things to do with my Friday night, you know,” she said. “New gal in town. Lots of social options. I turned down a date with a lawyer to hang out with you.”
He slammed the bag down, unconcerned about the icing that shot out to cover the countertop in a sticky layer of sweetness.
“Ah, so you’re pissed,” she said calmly.
“Yes, I’m pissed. She didn’t stop to think about me. Only herself.”
Gina moved around the counter to grab a towel. “Oh yeah? Because she’s the one who benefits financially when this place earns a profit?” She moistened the cloth and began wiping away the green smears.
Erik’s jaw tightened, but he refused to acknowledge her point. Instead, he recalled yet again the sick dread of looking into the lens of the camera and knowing he was being broadcast across the city in all his tongue-tied awkwardness. And then the even sicker dread when he realized that Josie needed a partner who would happily step in front of a million cameras for her.
“She doesn’t want to be with someone like me.” He bunched his shoulders and pushed the words out even though they hurt to say out loud. “I can’t make her happy.”
“She said all that? ‘Erik, you’re a big, silent man-ape, and I hate it. What I need is a silly, shiny, shallow man to make me happy.’”
“Of course not.” He nudged her aside and grabbed the cloth to finish wiping up the icing explosion. Gina’s sarcasm burrowed under this skin. It was minor league compared to Josie’s MLB-level skills, but it still rankled. Then again, he hadn’t seen Josie lose control of her temper at all recently, and in that last, awful conversation, she’d looked downright defeated. The Josie he’d met four months ago probably would’ve lunged for his eyes.
“She’s always going to be chasing some new kind of validation.” He addressed his words to the green streaks of icing on the towel. “I can’t be with her knowing I’ll never be enough.”
And fuck, he’d known that from the beginning. Known that women like her craved something more exciting than men like him. He’d just let himself forget for a little while.
Gina wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze, her head barely clearing his shoulder. “Listen, the girl isn’t stupid. She knows a good man when she sees one, and you’re a good man. She’ll come around.”
“Maybe.”
“And if she doesn’t, that just means more grand-opening leftovers for me.” She released him and selected a cupcake, peeling away the wrapper with a grin.
“Remember when I said I was glad you were here to help? I changed my mind.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t actually have any better plans tonight. That lawyer seemed totally boring. Although…” Her face reddened.
He tossed the towel into the sink. “Although?”
“Christine left me a voicemail.” She too casually adjusted the strap of her overalls and didn’t meet his eyes. “She wants to talk about things. Relationship things.”
“That’s good,” he said, glad that one of them had positive news to share. Then he noticed Gina’s frown. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. I love her. I miss her. It’s… complicated.” She looked up, a wan expression on her normally friendly features. “I’m hoping we can move past all our shit, including my post-breakup rendezvous with Closing-Time Timmy.”
Chagrined at the reminder that he wasn’t the only person in pain in this kitchen, he pulled her into a hug, sticky green icing be damned. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s what I’ve been wanting to say to her.” Her soft laugh ended on an even softer sigh. “So we’ll see how it goes when we talk.”
“Say the word and I’ll bake all her favorite desserts for you to give her. If she’s anything like you, the way to her heart is through her stomach.”
“Damn straight,” Gina said. Then the bell above the door jangled, and she pulled away. “Expecting anyone?”
“No. You?”
She shook her head, and he tried to quash the flutter of hope in his chest. What if it was Josie, here to apologize? Or to let him apologize. He wasn’t sure which was more necessary, but at this point he’d be willing to try either one if only to ease the pain in his heart at the thought of never seeing her again.
Yet when he walked into the front of the shop, he found a dark-haired woman where he was hoping to find a flame-haired one.
“Hey!” Lily crossed to the center display case with a vase of purple tulips in one hand and a large cardboard box tucked under her arm. “I wanted to drop by with good wishes for tomorrow. Sorry I can’t make it; the Cubs are in town, and going to the games keeps the spark alive in my marriage.”
Erik wasn’t too keen on pondering someone else’s happy relationship at the moment, but he was touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thanks.” He accepted the flowers and set them next to the cash register.
“No pollen, no scent,” she said, pushing her dark, shaggy hair behind her ear. “And this was on your front step.” He stepped out from behind the counter to accept the long, flat box while Lily turned in a circle to take in what he’d accomplished with help from his friends. Well, his ex-girlfriend and her friends. The pain intensified.
“Great floor.” She ran a battered sneaker along the mellow gleam of the refinished wood. “Did Josie help pick out the wall color? And is she here? I was hoping to say hi.”
The pain turned into a wave of bleak despair that threatened to pull him under, and all he could manage was a short “No.”
Lily’s smile vanished. “Oh, I’m sorry. That sucks. You two were cute together.”
He forced himself to hold still while she patted his arm in sympathy.
“But hey,” she continued, “at least she helped free you from Dora. Oooh, do you think the old bat’ll swing by to wish her favorite former employee good luck?”
“If Dora walks through my door, I’m torching the place and starting over.”
Lily snorted, then cocked her head. “Josie made you funnier, you know.”
“I’m sure it’ll pass.” That prompted another burst of laughter, followed by a flower-scented hug.
“I’ve got a few more deliveries yet, so I need to run. Good luck tomorrow!”
With a last squee
ze, she slid out the door, and Erik turned over the package she’d handed him as he walked behind the counter to grab a knife. He didn’t recognize the return address, and when he slit open the tape, he discovered a dozen oversized black-and-white photos packed inside. He picked them up, being careful not to smudge the glossy surfaces, and flipped through the high-contrast shots of the tools of his trade. A pastry bag on its side. A spray of flour across a countertop. A cake mid-icing. The images emerged from the soft-focused background to glow as if they were lit from within. These weren’t photos; these were art.
“Oh cool.” Gina emerged from the back and peered over his shoulder. “Where’d those come from?”
Josie. It had to be. Who else would’ve captured his livelihood with such care? “Her special project. She must’ve ordered these before…” Regret locked up his vocal cords, and Gina rubbed a soothing circle on his back in a gesture similar to Lily’s. Since when did a breakup give the women of the world the right to maul him with their sympathetic touches? It just reminded him of the woman whose touch he missed every day.
“Shame not to display them,” she said. “They’d look great framed and hung up.”
She pointed to the yellow walls flanking the dine-in area, and damn, but she was right. The stark images would stand out against the bright backdrop. Was that what Josie had intended? His fingers twitched to text her—hell, to call her—and ask. But he stopped himself. What they’d said to each other had felt pretty fucking final, and making it through tomorrow’s event would be hard enough even without official confirmation that his stolen time with her had truly ended.
He again pictured her laughing with the guy in the suit at the TV station on Tuesday. Yet more proof that he wasn’t the man for her in the long run. But he’d accept this gift from her, this precious glimpse of her talent. And he’d hang them in the business she helped create. His heart might crack every time he looked at them, but they’d also remind him of the woman he loved but hadn’t been able to keep.
Thirty-Two
Josie heard her apartment doorknob rattle but couldn’t muster the strength to pull herself up from her sprawl on the couch to see if it was a friend or a serial killer. Honestly, either would be fine.
“’Sup?” She flopped her arm over the back of the sofa in a half-hearted wave. “If you’re a stranger here to kill me, make it quick.”
“’Sup?” came Richard’s amused voice. “That’s how you greet possible murderers?”
“Yes.” Gravity pulled her arm down, and she tucked it back under her cheek and resumed staring into the middle distance. “I welcome death.”
“Oh geez.” He moved around the couch and surveyed the scene in front of him with a wrinkled nose. “What’s happening here?”
“I’m wallowing.” She flopped to her back and propped her head against the sofa arm.
Richard brushed a few stray chip crumbs off the couch cushion next to her leg. “Clearly.”
“You’re a happy newlywed. You don’t get to judge me,” she said dully. Finn and Tom were off doing an out-of-town couply thing, so she’d called in sick and devoted the day to her private grief. She would’ve thought so much crying would leave her hollow and empty, but instead she was heavy. Leaden. A dense monument of sorrow who just wanted to be left alone.
“Why are you here?” she grumbled.
“Byron’s having dinner with his brother tonight.” Richard moved an empty ice-cream container from the couch to the coffee table, flipped the bottom of his suit jacket up, and perched gingerly on the cushion next to her. “And you didn’t answer my last five texts.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Right.” He nudged an empty wine bottle on the floor by his foot. “I was worried, so I used my key to check on you.”
“That’s supposed to be for emergencies.”
“I think that’s what this is, sugar bum.” He leaned close to study her face, and she didn’t have the strength to slap a hand over her puffy eyes and oily T-zone. “The last time you had a breakup, you were closing down bars and dragging us all to sushi joints over the Indiana state line just because you could.”
“Yeah, well, last time my heart wasn’t destroyed.”
Richard rocked back in surprise. “That’s… incredibly honest. Where’s the sarcasm? Where’s the Josie sass?”
The concern in his tone made her swallow hard. “I don’t think I have any left. I’m broken.”
He made a sympathetic noise low in his throat. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“No.” With a soul-deep sigh, she pulled herself into a sitting position and reached for a magazine just to have something to do with her hands. She thumbed through the pages, aware that she was miles away from conveying “just enjoying my casual Friday night at home, thanks.”
“So are you going tomorrow?”
Her heart lurched. “No.” The word narrowly escaped her tight throat.
“Are you really not going to go see all that hard work pay off?”
The mild disapproval in his voice rankled. “Of course I’m not.” She sniffled miserably. “We b-broke up.”
“Help me understand what happened here.” He reached over and pulled the magazine out of her hands. “Because I’ve spent some time with him, and I’m here to tell you that Erik the Viking is wild about you.”
She exhaled a shuddery breath and dropped her chin to her chest. “He told me we weren’t happy.”
“He did? That shocks me.”
“Well, he told me I wasn’t happy.” She impatiently brushed away a tear. How did she still have moisture in her body left to cry out? “He said I measure my self-worth by how much I help others succeed.”
She looked to her friend for commiseration, but Richard merely tipped his head fractionally to the side before he said gently, “Oh sweetie. Did you not know?”
“I…” She looked at him helplessly. The nightclub launches, the galas, the open houses. Even his and Byron’s wedding. Had she really used the accolades from all the events she’d spearheaded to paper over the neediness inside her?
“Poor Erik.” Richard stood and walked to the kitchen. “Want some water?”
“Excuse me?” The words hit her like a slap to the face. “Poor Erik?”
“Yeah, I think you want water,” he said calmly, grabbing two glasses and filling both. “And yes, poor Erik.”
“So much for loyalty,” she huffed.
“Oh stop.” Richard returned to the couch and handed over one of the tumblers.
“Why are you taking his side?” She swiped at her eyes with her shirtsleeve. “He dumped me.”
Richard didn’t answer right away, taking a sip first. “Let’s take a second to think like Erik.”
“No.”
“No?” His perfect brows arched.
“It hurts too much.” Her voice broke, and she tilted her head down so Richard wouldn’t see the misery in her eyes. He nudged her chin up and tucked a lank strand of hair behind her ear.
“Your light is gone. It’s hard to see.” Richard patted her cheek, then leaned back. “So let’s imagine you’re an introvert who just wants to bake cakes. One night you run into a fire demon on the subway who entrances you with her heart-stopping beauty and her indomitable spirit.”
“That’s a generous interpretation.” She bent to scrounge around the floor near the couch in search of a hair tie. She’d given up caring about her normal grooming standards a few days ago and probably looked like she was wearing a fright wig.
“And then you quit your job and agree to work with the bossy fire demon to open your own bakery. She takes your picture and makes you a website and wants to put your face on a van. Is any of that something you thought you wanted?”
She paused with a fistful of straggly curls in one hand and an elastic in the other. “I suppose not.” She turned that idea around in her brain. “But he was so angry, Richard.”
The memory of their fight was a punch to the gut, even days later. It was like
he knew exactly what to say to cut right to the heart of every insecurity she harbored. Unwanted. Unwelcome. Unchosen. She’d told him about her mom, about her past. She’d laid herself bare in all her fashion-loving, impulse-following frivolity, and he’d held her and soothed her and accepted her as she was—until he hadn’t. Yet again, she hadn’t been worth the trouble, and that knowledge made it hard to breathe.
“It sounds like he was unkind, yes.” Richard nodded. “But he’d just been on television. Television. Imagine you’re Erik talking into a camera.”
She reclaimed her glass but couldn’t bring herself to do more than stare into it. “He hated every second.” Her cheeks flushed in shame yet again that she hadn’t thought it through.
“I’m sure he did.” Richard charged ahead with his logically laid-out argument. “I’m sure he felt like you were pushing your version of success on him. Has it occurred to you that he might have just wanted you and not your help with his business?”
Someone wanting her. What a novel thought. Her clients wanted her for her marketing savvy. Her mom wanted her as a daughter accessory. Was it possible she’d let herself believe that Erik only wanted her if she was helping him?
Maybe Erik and Richard both had a point. Maybe she got her self-worth from helping others succeed. Maybe accepting that Erik loved her meant accepting that she was good enough on her own. And maybe she’d reacted so badly when the man she loved brought all this to her attention that she’d tossed a bomb into the middle of their relationship.
“I ruined everything,” she whispered.
Richard pursed his lips. “Do you think he was going to break up with you on Tuesday, regardless of what happened?”
“Well … No.” In truth, he’d given her zero indication that he’d planned in advance to end things. Which meant…
“Maybe it was just a fight,” Richard said. “And you both jumped to the worst possible conclusions.”
Josie’s brain turned this new idea around and pulled it apart to study its guts. They’d been happy. More than happy. This had just been a fight.
But that burgeoning spark of hope fizzled out when she remembered his words. I never wanted to want you. She loved him with her everything, and he resented his feelings for her. She wanted to lie on the floor and howl at the unfairness of it until she dissolved into dust.
