by Mia Kayla
He tilted his head, his eyes thoughtful. There was an almost an imperceptible look of pleading on his face. "You think you could bake a cake for me sometime?"
I slapped both hands against the counter, immediately excited for the challenge. "Of-freaking-course, newfound bartender friend and tenant. When is your birthday?"
He chewed on his bottom lip, his expression tender. "It just passed a couple of months ago, so you'll just have to wait till next year to bake me one."
A thought passed through my head, one that dampened my mood, an undeniable and dreadful fact that our time together was limited. My smile dimmed. "If you're still here in a year."
His eyebrows knitted together, and silence spanned the space between us. I wondered what he was thinking.
"Cade!"
We both jerked up, turning toward Kristy. She motioned to the group of people in front of her. "I could use a hand over here."
He nodded, never breaking eye contact. "Be right over," he called out.
Then he whispered under his breath, "You'd think she forgot who was boss."
I laughed and slipped my purse over my shoulder. "Bye, Cade."
"See you later, Angel."
I waved a goodbye and walked out of the restaurant, knowing full well his eyes were on me.
Chapter 11
This was the first time, in a long time, that I was alone. Alone on my birthday.
I stretched my arms over my head and glanced at the clock next to my bed. My phone was pinging loudly, indicating texts and voice mails. I could almost guarantee that I had a voice mail from my mother and father, Tene and Nana. And Roland.
I had avoided him completely, drowning myself in work, and he hadn’t known where I had moved to, so he couldn’t stop by.
Mustering enough courage, I reached for my phone and placed it on my ear.
The first voice mail was from my sister "ANGIEEEE. Happy birthday to the most beautiful and sweetest sister in the world. I love you to pieces. See you for our family birthday dinner!" She concluded with the worst rendition of “Happy Birthday” in her loudest voice. As obnoxious as it was, it made me smile.
The next was from my mother. "Angie, Happy birthday. I hope you have a great day. We're so proud of you. Have a fun time with Roland tonight, and we'll see you for our family dinner." I could hear my father shouting in the background. “I love you and Happy birthday,” over my mother's voice.
I bit my inner cheek as a slew of emotions pounded through me. They thought that I'd be with Roland today, as I’d been every year since we’d been together. This meant that I would spend today alone.
I should tell them the truth, that we'd broken up, and I would, but today wasn’t the day to do it. Not on my birthday. I didn't want to remember my twenty-fifth as a pity party.
The next voice mail was from Roland. At one time, the sound of his voice had sent butterflies in a frenzy in my belly. Not this time. This time, my insides filled with dread at what he had to say.
"Happy birthday, Angie. Don't spend your birthday alone." He sighed heavily on the phone. "Stop this nonsense already. Pick up your phone and call me. I still have reservations for Italia scheduled tonight. Don't you think that this has gone on long enough?"
My chin trembled, and I clutched my phone against my chest, swallowing down the desolation.
He still believed that I wasn't serious about our breakup, and the bitter pain of that realization hit me in my gut. He’d never take me seriously. Not now, and not in any scenario of a future together.
I didn't care how lonely I was or how pitiful it was that I was spending my birthday alone, there was no way I was calling him. Instead, I pushed myself off my bed and got ready for the work day.
That evening, when the bustle of the day had ended, I stuffed my keys and my phone in my oversized birthday present that Roland had gotten me last year and dined at my favorite restaurant, by myself. The time alone gave me a moment to contemplate my life, my history, and how I'd gotten to this point.
After that, I drove for hours, all over the city, not stopping until I had barely enough gas to make it home. After I had filled up my tank, I drove downtown. Around half past midnight, I found myself parked in front of Allswell. I stepped out of my car and readjusted my purse on my shoulder. My feet and heart had led me where my mind had been saying I shouldn't go.
I stood in the shadows in front of the closed restaurant, staring at the waiters and waitresses scurrying about, trying to clean up and close down. My sights zoned in on Cade by the register at the bar, calculating his earnings for the night.
I wished with a desperateness inside me that Roland could be Cade. I wanted Roland to look at me with the desire and seduction Cade did. I wanted Roland to take care of me like Cade did, comfort me when I was sick, cheer me up when I was sad. Make me laugh and feel cherished, not by what he could buy me, but by how he treated me.
But I realized you can't wish or want for someone to be someone they were not. And I couldn't settle for less. I couldn’t accept who Roland was, and I most certainly couldn’t accept how he treated me.
I didn't know how long I had stood out there, but one by one Cade's employees left for the night, and I pushed myself closer to the front of the door. I wanted another glimpse of him. I had told myself that I wouldn't come back here. I had made a solemn vow that I wouldn't invite danger, yet here I was.
My heart rate increased when he proceeded to walk to the front to lock up. I should’ve turned away, but I simply stood there.
When our eyes locked, he stepped out into the dark night and pulled me toward him. Though the brisk air had caused the cold to spread throughout my body, his one touch warmed me from the inside out.
"What’re you doing out here?" he asked sweetly.
"I'm not sure." My voice was blank, devoid of any emotion, just like my mind.
He intertwined our hands, and it felt so natural I couldn’t pull away, then he pulled me inside and led me to the bar.
I placed my purse on top of the bar, noting how the gold in the clasp caught the light. Other women would sell their souls for a purse like this. Practical women would sell this purse to feed their family.
The reality of my life and the circumstances that I'd been surrounded with rushed to the surface. Though I was the quieter Armstrong sister, I still held the Armstrong name. With that last name came power and wealth and prestige. I had thought Roland and I were the perfect match. He'd come from money and his last name held value. I had thought that, at one time, there was equality in that. Now I see how shallow I was being. How blind I was. I could settle for all that Roland offered. But it would kill my soul to do it, and I just couldn’t.
Cade placed a mixed drink in a tall glass in front of me.
I shouldn't. But I was too bummed out to care.
"It's a virgin Margarita.” He smirked. “I promised you I'd never make you a drink again, and I never break a promise."
My birthday drink, I thought to myself. Since I'd been born, there hadn’t been a year that I hadn’t blown out candles and made wishes. Another birthday signified a new beginning and that excitement from that newness of turning another year older. I gritted my teeth, realizing that Roland had taken that from me. I rubbed my chest, feeling the raw ache of my empty heart.
"What's the matter, Angel?"
I dropped my lashes to hide the hurt and stared intently on the slushy red liquid in my glass. "I thought today would be different. Last year he ditched me for work, but this year ... I thought ..." A familiar warmth spread behind my eyes, but I forced back the sadness, the tears that were about to burst through.
I refused to cry two years in a row on my special day.
Cade stiffened, his jaw taut. "It's your birthday?"
When I didn’t speak, his features turned murderous. "What the fuck is his problem?"
I bit my bottom lip as it quivered. A feeling of utter despair washed over me.
I closed my eyes and focused on anything but the jerk I
'd given way too many years to. "It's fine. He invited me out, but I don't want to move backward. I just didn't expect to be alone. Alone on my big day."
"Stop," Cade commanded, causing my eyes to fly open and meet his. "Don't cry."
I hadn't realized that I'd been crying. Again.
Damn it.
Cade jumped over the bar in one leap and reached for my waist, startling me. When his hands gripped my trembling chin, forcing me to look at him, my insides ignited with a flame I vaguely remembered a man could stir up.
This is dangerous.
He inched forward, forcing me to part my legs to make room for him, and caged me in against the bar. His fingertips grazed my bare thigh as my dark brown eyes met his gray ones. "What do you want to do for your birthday?" The way his sentence flowed out of his mouth in a staccato cadence made my pulse skitter.
My sullen mood suddenly shifted to an unbelievable deep want in the innermost part of my belly. A hunger that grew to dangerous proportions, just being around him.
"What do you want to do for my birthday?" I whispered.
I surprised him with my question because he stood silent in front of me before a seductive smile popped up on his face. He leaned into me, and I licked my lips, feeling light-headed.
With his nose, he outlined the curve of my jaw, leading up my neck to my ear. My breathing became shallow, my nipples pebbled at his touch. "I want to make this the most memorable birthday ever. I want to take you so hard that all you feel is the throb of me between your legs, all you hear is your voice screaming my name, and you forget everything about that sorry asshole." He pulled back, unaffected by his words while my pulse raced into overdrive. "So, don't ask me what I want to do. I'm going to ask you again, Angel. What do you want to do for your birthday?"
Everything south tingled with want, and the deepest, most honest part of me wanted what he wanted. I distanced myself, just a fraction, but enough for me to piece together some sort of conscious thought. "I want to blow out candles on my birthday cake. Twenty-five."
My response surprised him again, amused him even as the corner of his mouth tipped upward. He pulled back, straightened, then assessed my face. "Candles?"
I nodded because that's all I wanted for my birthday, to make that one wish.
He stepped back, giving me room to breathe and extended a hand. "You can't blow out candles without a cake. Let's bake a cake, Angel."
Chapter 12
I poured myself my second glass of wine and took a sip before I placed the chocolate cake in the double oven of the restaurant’s state-of-the-art kitchen.
"You know what's damn sexy, woman?"
"What?" I asked, almost dizzy at being able to spend this much time with him alone.
He eyed me with an adorable half crooked smile. "A woman who knows her way around a kitchen."
I patted my own back, proud of my creation and excited to have him take a taste. "I can't cook anything but cake and breakfast, so don't be too impressed."
He chuckled and dropped the rag he was holding in the oversized double stainless steel sink. What surprised me was the hands-free automatic faucets that turned on by sensor.
I took in his state-of-the-art kitchen. It must’ve cost thousands to build out this place. I could practically see my reflection against his appliances. Against the wall spanned a multi-unit range with a combination of gas burners, a griddle, a wok burner, and a fryer. Overhead there was a full-length hood to provide maximum ventilation and a wall rail for gadgets and utensils.
There were multiple ovens, and while Cade had tried to explain the functionality of each one, I couldn't remember. There was one to keep the food warm, one to bake items, and a smoker.
One thing I knew, I was in absolute heaven using all of his restaurant style gadgets.
"I would’ve loved to be a cook in my former life," I sighed.
He frowned as if it was the easiest wish I could’ve asked for. "Why don't you?"
With the spatula, I cleaned up the side of the silver bowl and licked the icing off it. "I don't know. I like real estate, too."
He grabbed the spatula and licked the other side of it. It was the sexiest thing. Almost like we were kissing but not touching.
"You like real estate or do you like pleasing your parents?" His tone was light, though I couldn't help but be a tiny bit offended, which forced my attention back his way.
"Both," I said honestly. "I like real estate and running Armstrong Realty, and, yes ... I like making them happy. They're my family." I'd grown up watching my father help my grandfather build up the Armstrong empire. I had always wanted to grow up to be him, to be my father, to build and create. And in a way, maybe that's why I liked making cakes, too. I enjoyed the art of creating.
"I understand about family." He approached my mixing bowl and watched me as I meticulously cleaned the bowl with the spatula.
I wanted to pry. I wanted to push him so badly and find out about her. "Do I remind you of her? Your sister, Candice?" I had sensed this when he’d mentioned the sound of my voice.
"I don't think of you in a sisterly way if that’s what you're asking." He let out a low laugh and averted his eyes so I couldn't read them. "But the good things, the things I want to remember. The parts where she wasn't drunk and high all the time." His broad shoulders heaved as he breathed. "The way her laughter filled a room, her goofiness, the way she was before ... The parts I miss; you remind me of those parts."
He dropped his head, and torment clouded his vision. "I hated seeing her toward the end. She was so doped up on coke that she was a totally different person—a person I hardly recognized." One shaky hand ran from the top of his head, down his face. "I don't want to think of those parts. I want to remember her before that stuff. The person I knew and loved."
He straightened when the timer dinged in the background, indicating that our cake was cooked, and, sadly, our conversation about his sister was over. As he strolled to the stove, I focused on her name on his forearm, written in black curlicue letters.
After he pulled the cake from the oven, a waft of chocolate filled the air, making my stomach grumble.
He placed the cake on the counter, and I proceeded to fill the pastry tube with icing. After allowing the cake to cool down, I began my favorite part of the process—decorating the cake.
"You know you bite your lip whenever you're thinking too hard."
"What?" I stopped midair, the pastry tube in my hands. I was showcasing my cake decorating skills, making pink rose flower petals along the edge of the frosted chocolate cake. "Oh, I never noticed. Must be a family thing. Tene does it, too."
My hands moved toward the cake with purpose and a creative flair. One more rose and I'd be finished. "Tah-dah!" I backed away, smiling as I wiped my forehead with my forearm, careful that my frosting-covered fingers didn’t touch my face.
"Impressive." He inched forward and eyed the cake with a seriousness that made me laugh.
"What? Is it not up to par, Mr. Ryder?"
"Hm." He rubbed his forefinger and thumb across his chin, as though he was thinking mighty hard.
"I want to see you do better," I countered, placing one light hand on my hip. "What do you know about decorating cakes?"
"I went to culinary school for two years,” he said, shocking me. “I'm a certified chef."
"Oh." My smug smile left my face.
"Did you think I just owned a bar?" He cocked an eyebrow. "When I knew that this was what I wanted to do, I had to master the whole process."
Suddenly the thought that I was really being judged didn't sit well in my stomach. "Well, what's wrong with it?" I tilted my head, noting the perfectly made pink roses with the decorated border outlining the edge of the cake.
"It's missing something."
"What?" I tapped my fingertips against the counter, feeling impatient. When I picked up the pastry tube again, he shook his head and took out seven candles.
My shoulders relaxed, and a smile sat heavily on my fa
ce as I waited patiently for him to set up the cake. In one row, he set two candles. Right underneath that row, he set the rest of the five candles. Twenty-five. A quarter of a century year old.
As he lit each candle, my smile widened. I'd waited for this moment all year, for this new beginning, this new wish. Last year, I had wished for my father's health. This year, I decided I'd wish for something for myself.
When he set the lighter down, he stood right beside me and shook my shoulders. "Happy birthday, Angel." The corner of his mouth tipped up into his signature crooked smile.
"You're going to sing, right?"
He shook his head and let out a giant laugh, one that would’ve shook his belly if he had one, but the only part of his anatomy that shook was his chest. "I don't sing."
I playfully pointed a finger in his direction. "It's my birthday, and for my wish, I command you to sing."
The candles were going to burn out if he didn't do it soon.
I gave him my sweetest smile, the one I used on my father when I was playing cute and wanted something. "Please."
His smile disappeared, and just when I thought he was going to shut me down, he started to sing. "Happy … Happy birthday … to you.” His voice was curt and broken. Boy, did he sound horrible, but the gesture was so terribly sweet.
I motioned my hands for him to continue, though he looked like he was in pain. "Happy ... birthday to you." His face turned beet red. My gosh, the big muscled, tattooed bar owner was blushing. I didn’t think I'd ever smiled so big. My cheeks hurt.
"You're not done," I teased. "Seriously, the wax on the candles is melting." I motioned with my hands again.
"Happy birthday, dear Angel. Happy birthday to you." The last words rushed out of him so fast, I almost didn’t catch some of the words. "Turn around and make a wish."
He walked behind me and held my shoulders as I closed my eyes, just like I do every year. Tene and my whole family made fun of me about how I acted like a child for my birthday. I had a million wishes; too many to count. But today, I only had one. I inhaled deeply, thinking of this one wish, and blew out all seven candles, releasing my thoughts and energy into that one breath.
