by Piper Rayne
“I’m serious.”
“I thought they were friends? Didn’t they play football together? There’s a picture of the two of them in the glass case with that trophy when we won state all those years ago.”
I was a sophomore when Trevor was a senior. I kind of remember Brock and Trevor hanging around one another, but only because Trevor was actually nice to me. He’d smile and say hi in the hallway while Seth scowled as if I was the reason for our parents’ fallout.
“They were, from what I remember. But there’s no denying that Trevor lost his battle with addiction.” I go to the sink and wash my hands. “Anyway, I have to go if I’m gonna be on time.”
“Okay, but tell me… are you showing up naked with only a rain jacket on?”
I shake my head at my little sister. “Stop watching all those romance movies and meet the rest of us down here on Earth.”
“I bet Brock would love it if you did,” she singsongs, heading toward the front of the store. “I hope you waxed. No one likes a hairy pussy anymore, FYI.”
“Elsie!” I scold as though she’s my child.
I walk out the back door, double-check that it’s locked behind me, and head toward the mercantile mart, crossing my fingers I’ll be the first one in line.
Sadly, I have to be satisfied being the fourth in line. Cliffton Heights isn’t a small town, but it’s not a big city either. So I recognize Luiz from Los Tacos, Audrey from Scumptuals, Tony from Pizza Pies, and Meg from Spoon and Fork, which is a soup and salad place. They all tentatively smile and wave as I pass them to walk to the end of the line.
At least I’m first for the breakfast crowd. None of them are competition for me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I glance at my watch. It’s only six o’clock, which means we have three hours before the doors open. Since I didn’t bring a chair like my other Cliffton Heights hopefuls, I sit on the concrete and pull out my phone.
“How’s your dad, sweetie?” Audrey peers over the edge of the romance novel she’s reading. I glance at the name—Lessons from a One-Night Stand. Sounds interesting.
I smile. “He’s good.”
“And your mom? She came in the other day with Eli and she looked tired.”
I want to ask Audrey how I look. Does she notice the bags under my eyes? I never planned on running the day-to-day operations of The Bagel Place. But my mom has to be hands-on with Eli to assist with his special needs due to his Down Syndrome. Elsie isn’t much help and I want her to finish college. “She’s good. We’re all good.”
She nods, but her eyes are soft and kind. “It’s hard running a business.”
Her gaze bores into my soul as if she sees every piece of the resentment I’ve buried deep inside.
“Yeah, but rewarding too.”
She nods. “Sometimes. Scrumptuals was my dream.”
Is Audrey trying to use telepathy to tell me she knows I feel stuck in a life I didn’t choose? My dad’s health isn’t what it once was, and my mom runs ragged after my brother. I’m a good daughter to them for running the store, but stuck in a destiny I never wanted.
“Let’s hope this will help increase the tourist population in Cliffton Heights.” I change the subject more to strip that pitying look from her face than anything.
“Oh!” She puts her unicorn bookmark between the pages and shuts the book. “It’s going to do great things for us. That’s why it’s pivotal for all of us to be on the show.”
I nod and bite my lip.
“Which reminds me, this guy came in the other day.” She moves her chair to face me, leaning forward.
Unease wraps around me. She’s going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
“It’s crazy, right, but you know the ongoing battle this town has with your cream cheese and the Andrews’ bagels? He asked me about my cream cheese frosting on my chocolate cupcakes and I said that I buy it in bulk from The Bagel Place. He said he bought a tub of your cream cheese and then went to Andrews Bagel and bought a dozen for a family brunch. And everyone raved about the combination.”
I nod. What exactly does she want me to say to that?
She pats my leg, then her gaze falls behind me, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Well, well,” she says softly.
I glance over my shoulder and spot Seth Andrews and his mother getting in line. Seth’s holding a coffee, his hoodie over his head, while his mom talks with Lucy from Porterhouse.
My gut twists. It’s not like I didn’t think anyone else from the breakfast crowd would show up, but why did it have to be them?
Audrey pats my leg. “No worries. There’s no contest when it comes to your cream cheese.”
And that’s exactly it—the cream cheese. But cream cheese can’t stand on its own. A bagel can.
I glance back once more and Seth notices me this time. He nods then smirks. I can almost hear him thinking, “Game on, Erickson.”
Chapter Three
Seth
* * *
I stare at Evan Erickson’s profile for three hours. Okay, I don’t stare because I’m not some creeper, but my gaze keeps returning to her direction as she scours her phone or talks to every person in line as if she’s their best friend. Her smile is immediate, her warmth radiating to everyone but me.
I sip my now-cold-ass coffee and push the hood of my sweatshirt off my head.
“That’s Evan,” Mom says—not in a whisper, mind you. We’re only five people behind Evan, so she looks at the sound of her name.
I inwardly roll my eyes. “Way to be chill, Mom.”
“I didn’t know if you’d recognize her.”
Sometimes I wonder how my mom thought I attended Cliffton Heights High School without interacting with Evan. The town might not be Pleasantville small, but it’s not a major city. Hell, I had to be lab partners with her sophomore year until she flirted her way into a seat change.
But I’m not going to tell off my mom. That’s not cool and she’s already nervous as hell about this audition thing. My dad’s stubborn ass should be standing next to her. I washed my hands of the bagel company as soon as I left for college at eighteen, but it keeps sucking me back in.
So instead I say, “I do.”
“She’s really grown into a beautiful woman. Her hips are good. Won’t have a problem carrying a baby.”
I peer down at my mom and blink a few times. “Did you really just check out whether she had child-bearing hips or not?”
Mom slaps me on my stomach and a few local business owners glance back, apparently not surprised to see me buckle over slightly. I toss my coffee in the trash can just to act as if my mom can’t give me a beat-down.
“It’s important at her age. I saw her last weekend by the lakefront with Brock Floyd.”
I roll back on my heels. Why is it that as soon as you hit stardom level or a certain degree of wealth, people refer to you with both your first and last name?
“Jenny’s probably over the moon about the possibility of her marrying into that family.”
There’s a longing in Mom’s tone that irritates me. My parents are only getting older. Trevor isn’t reliable anymore. Before his stint in rehab, he broke into the business and stole everything in the safe—including my grandma’s heirloom diamond necklace. Putting all their valuables in the business safe wasn’t my parents’ smartest decision, but when your son robs you blind at your own house, it’s hard to find new hiding places.
Now I’m the lucky safe holder, including the diamond necklace they had to purchase back from the pawn store at double the cost because they weren’t willing to press charges against my brother to prove it was theirs and get it back without having to pay for it. It helps that I’m roommates and friends with a police officer. But my life has gone from smooth and worry-free to “fuck me, they’re calling again.” My parents are relying on me to solve their problems with the business now that Trevor isn’t an option. Their pressure beats down on my neck like the hot sun in the desert and it makes me break out
in a sweat.
My gaze returns to Evan and I’m reminded of how she took on that role years ago. Maybe I should be thankful I’ve had some carefree years.
“The Floyds are fake as shit,” I say.
My mom lands another smack to my stomach. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Hell, Brock was the one who started Trevor down the path he’s on.”
Brock and my older brother were teammates and best friends. Until my brother got the quarterback position senior year. I guess when rich pricks don’t get what they want, they resort to sabotage. Not that I’m excusing my brother. He had a choice not to snort white powder up his fucking nose.
“I highly doubt that. They were friends. Addiction runs in my family. That’s why I told you boys not to ever tempt yourself. Some can handle and others can’t. Trev can’t. There’s no way Brock ever did such a thing to your brother.”
I sigh and drop the conversation. Everyone in this damn line, including Evan, sees another man when they look at Brock Floyd. For a moment, I wonder why he’s not here with Evan, supporting her. Especially since she’s biting her nails like when she was seven and Kimmy down the street bet Evan she couldn’t ride her bike down suicide hill. Then I remember why he’s not here. He doesn’t gain anything from waking up this early. None of these people are his clients. I scour the crowd—at least I don’t think they are. Hard to tell who’s a user sometimes.
“So I wrote a pitch,” my mom says, gaining my attention again.
“A pitch?”
My mom shoves a piece of paper at me. Her grocery list is on one side and her chicken scratch is on the other. I turn the paper over, and sure enough, she’s got every bagel company name on the other side and there’s one with a slogan almost identical. I read what she wrote. “Everything is tastier on an Andrews?” The slogan sounds oddly familiar. “Mom. That’s plagiarism.”
“No.” She points at the paper, and I notice her wedding ring is missing. The one she’s worn every day since forever. The one that’s left an indent in her skin.
Fuck Trevor. Please tell me my mom didn’t sell her wedding ring to pay for his rehab?
“I say tastier. They said better. They probably paid millions and their ad agency couldn’t use a thesaurus to find a better adjective?”
I chuckle. My mom. She truly is the best and works too damn hard for all of us. That she took the time to look this up says how important it is to her. I feel like this was my dad’s dream, but she’s the one making it come true.
“Well, we should try to think of something more unique. But it says this round, they just meet with the business owners. We talk about our products and what we have to offer. Then they make a short list and we bring in items to taste.” After my mom barged in on my boudoir session, I looked up all the rules. “So just relax and be yourself. Everyone loves you.” I put my arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple.
This time, her hand pats my stomach. We stand there for a moment before Evan stands.
“She really is beautiful, huh?” my mom whispers.
I glance down to see her staring at Evan. I should lie and tell her fuck no, but instead I nod without correcting her. What? Evan is fucking gorgeous.
But gorgeous Evan is a pain in my dick. That’s how annoying it is to be up against her. As soon as the building opened, we were split into groups—breakfast, lunch, dinner, or treat. So now I’m stuck in a room with her and five café-type owners.
My mom approaches her first. “Evan, how are you?”
I had no idea they were even on speaking terms.
“Hi, Mrs. Andrews. I’m good. Thank you.”
Always Miss Polite. It’s like Evan went through some transformation. The girl used to have a sharp tongue and snappy wit. She used to be the one convincing me to do shit we shouldn’t. And now she’s smiling and happy as if she’s Cinderella, free of her wicked stepmother and singing down the streets of Cliffton Heights, in charge of spreading cheer.
“You remember Seth?” My mom pulls the sleeve of my hoodie.
I stumble closer as though I’m five and Mom’s taking me to the dentist.
“Hi, Seth.” I guess Evan doesn’t want to spread her cheer my way because her tone is one of distaste.
“How’s the boyfriend?” I raise both eyebrows, annoyed that she didn’t take my advice and break up with the douchebag. I never thought she could choose wealth over character.
“He’s good. Thanks for asking.” She says all the right things, but there’s no warm and fuzzy tone in her voice.
“Oh yes, you’re dating Brock Floyd, right?” My mom pretends as if she didn’t already know.
If I hear the words Brock Floyd one more time, I’m going to puke all over this floor.
Evan’s face lights up and my chest hurts as if I just ate a spicy-ass burrito from the gas station. Damn, could she really like a guy like him?
“I am. It’s new though.”
“Well, he’s quite a catch. I’m sure your mom is thrilled.”
Evan’s smile fades, and for a moment, I care enough to decipher what that look means—before I realize I don’t actually give a shit. I warned her, she didn’t listen. Not my problem anymore.
“What about you, Seth?” Evan asks.
Her question takes me by surprise. I blink a few times, still shocked that she initiated a conversation with me.
“What about me?” I narrow my eyes.
“Girlfriend?”
My mom slides her hand through my arm, an answer on the tip of her tongue. She’ll spout the whole “once he’s ready, he’ll pick from all his admirers” if I let her.
What? I told you I’m a momma’s boy. She knows she’s got the best-looking son in all of Cliffton Heights.
“No girl… friends.”
Evan huffs at my implication that I have girls but not girlfriends.
“One day he’ll choose,” my mom says.
Evan smiles politely when I guarantee she wants to flip me off and turn around. Not sure why she would give a shit if I’m sleeping with a ton of women. Although as sad as the truth sounds, I’m not.
“And she’ll be so lucky.”
I cough at her sarcastic reply. Maybe I was wrong about her witty side dying.
“You could always get in line,” I say.
My mom stares at me for a moment and her eyes widen. But I steady my gaze on Evan, waiting for her to enter our ring of banter. Come on, girl, you can do it. But Evan’s eyes flicker to my mom before her almost-scowl flips to a smile.
“I have Brock, but thanks for the offer.” She touches my mom’s arm. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Andrews, but I’m going to practice my pitch.”
“Good luck, sweetie,” my mom says.
“Seth,” Evan deadpans and turns toward the other side of the room.
My mom touches Evan’s arm tentatively, and Evan turns around to face her again. “How is your mom doing?”
Evan’s eyes bounce to me because she heard it too. I thought it was only my heart that just cracked for my mom. Her voice was longing and yearning and… desperate.
Evan grabs my mom’s hand. “She’s doing well.”
Well is about as good of a word as fine.
We all know Jenny Erickson’s life hasn’t been the same since Evan’s dad had a heart attack a year ago. For a moment, I thought it might patch the feud between our dads. That my dad would reach out after finding out that his ex-best friend had almost died. But sadly, it didn’t.
Now, looking at my mom, I see something new when she talks about her ex-best friend. She’s still worried about Jenny and wants to know she’s doing okay.
“That’s good. And your dad?”
Evan’s shoulders sink even farther. “He’s getting stronger. He comes in to the shop for a few hours every day.”
“That’s good.” My mom nods, a little overenthusiastically.
“I’m sorry to hear about Trevor,” Evan says.
I divert my gaze.
“Thank
you. He’s in rehab. I’m sure he’ll be out and healthy in no time. Just like your daddy will be soon.”
Evan nods with a tight smile. “Well, good luck, Mrs. Andrews.” She pats my mom’s hand and tucks her head down, walking away.
“She’s still so beautiful and sweet. Jenny and Vic did a good job there.”
I put my arm around my mom’s shoulders, needing to get rid of the melancholy mood lingering around us. “Hey now, no one did a better job than you and Dad with me.”
I beam at her and she swats my stomach, laughing. Even with her smile, her eyes are filled with sorrow.
“Andrews Bagel,” a man calls.
I raise my hand. “Time to put on your competitor’s hat, Mom.”
She nods and we walk toward the man, disappearing through a black curtained-off area, but I can tell that neither of us are as gung ho as we were before we spoke with Evan.
Chapter Four
Evan
* * *
“The Bagel Place!” a woman calls from the opposite side of the room I just saw the Andrews go to.
My stomach clenches as I raise my hand and shove my phone inside my bag.
“Hi,” the friendly blonde says and walks steadily past a black curtain. “How are you?”
“I’m good.”
That’s the extent of our conversation—which I’m thankful for, because I feel as though I might throw up. After Mrs. Andrews gave me those puppy dog eyes and asked about my family, I felt the weight of her grief for losing her best friend. Because although Mrs. Andrews hates us, she still loves us too, and she knows our family has been through the wringer lately. But so has hers. I have no idea what it’s been like, but the rumors about Trevor and what he’s done to support his habit have been upsetting to hear.
“Here you go.” The blonde woman opens a curtain, and there sits the host for the Food Channel’s most popular show, Tastes of Small Towns, Nick Klein.
He stands. “Miss Erickson from The Bagel Place, right?” His hand is outstretched across the small table and I slide my small hand into his large one.
