by Nikki Chase
“Oh, okay. Just this once, though.” I give Bertha a smile.
“Okay. Just this once.” Bertha winks at me, making me wonder if she’ll really take my money on my next visit. She grabs a box and a pair of stainless-steel tongs, ready to grip some cupcakes. Pointing at the colorful rows of cupcakes inside the refrigerated glass display cabinet, she says, “Take your pick.”
Bertha’s so cheerful nobody would’ve guessed that she’d lost her daughter in a brutal murder a few years ago. Luckily, she then found her long-lost son, who’s now determined to make up for the years they were apart.
As I take a closer look at the selection, Bertha continues to ask me about my life. It’s nice that she’s interested in how I’m doing, but to be honest, the reason I’m back here is to escape what life has become over there, so I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.
“You’re still working at the Holt Bank?” Bertha asks.
“No,” I answer.
“Oh, where do you work now?”
“Nowhere. I’m taking a sabbatical.” I give Bertha a polite smile.
“Oh, you quit? Your parents didn’t say anything about that.” Bertha knots her eyebrows in concern. “If you need a new job, I can ask my son, Caine. He’s always working on some new project. He may need a smart girl like you on his team.”
“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly. “I need a break from . . . everything.”
“Of course. Your parents go on and on about how ambitious and hard-working you are, but you’re not a robot. Everyone needs a little break from time to time.” Bertha gives me a sympathetic smile. “Whenever you’re ready, though, I can ask around in case there’s a vacancy that’s just right for you.”
“Thank you, Bertha. I appreciate it.”
Although Bertha is just a small-town baker, her offer is nothing to sneeze at.
Her son, Caine Foster, is a big shot who runs multiple big companies in various industries. Bertha has also gotten married recently to Caine’s dad, an old flame, and the man used to practically run the city, before he finally retired.
“Unless . . .” Bertha’s lips curl up as she stares at me.
“Unless what?” I ask, raising my gaze from the pretty little cupcakes.
“Unless you want to move back here permanently and start a family. It could be good for you.”
I laugh wryly. “Well, Bertha, it could be good for me. But I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
I stop myself from telling her the story of how the man I thought I was going to marry finally left me when he found out the truth about me.
There’s something about Bertha that makes people confide in her, and I’m no exception, but I don’t want to talk right now. Not about that. I’ve already beaten that dead horse to a pulp with my girlfriends.
Like I said, I’m here to forget about my troubles.
“Well, we could fix that . . .” Bertha lets her voice trail off as she gives me a cryptic smile.
I follow her gaze to the sidewalk just outside the store window. In pastel pink and blue, the name of the store, “Bertha’s Cupcakes,” is written backward as seen from inside.
And, beyond the glass, is . . . him.
Or . . . I think that’s him.
Those determined eyes. That messy pile of dark hair on his head. He definitely looks familiar.
He’s different, but the same. Somehow, when he shows up in my dreams, he doesn’t look like that.
The dream version of him doesn’t have that shadowy scruff lining his sharp jaw or the deep lines carved across his forehead.
I stand frozen, watching him move in slow motion as if time itself has stopped.
Yes, he appears different. He looks older, obviously. But, what strikes me most of all is . . . he looks good. Damn good. Like, better than Bertha’s beautiful cupcakes. Good enough to eat.
Then, the bell rings, jarring me back to reality.
Before I can think, I crouch down so I’m hidden behind Bertha’s counter.
Through the glass cabinet, she gives me a confused frown. Then, like the kind, understanding angel that she is, Bertha turns her attention to him and tries to distract him.
“Elijah,” she says, “how’s your day been?”
“Okay. Can’t complain,” he answers in a voice deeper than I remember. He still sounds gruff, and his mannerisms are just as harsh although his words are friendly. “Your cupcakes look just as beautiful as you do today, Bertha. As usual.”
“You mean round and full of sugar?” Bertha laughs as she swings open a wooden partition behind her wide back, letting me get behind the counter before Eli sees me. She adds, “Don’t tease an old woman, Elijah. I know I’m old and grey now. Save your breath for someone your own age.”
Eli laughs. Oh, the sound of that laughter. It enters my ears and reverberates all the way to my heart.
I’ve heard it in my sleep so many times before, but my imagination can’t compare to the real thing. We used to make each other laugh all the time—that is, until he broke my heart, just like all the other men in my life have.
A clang fills the air as my foot accidentally kicks the side of a metal trash can.
“Sorry,” I blurt out.
I cover my mouth with both hands right away, but it’s too late. He heard me.
“It’s okay, dear.” Bertha doesn’t miss a beat. Turning to Eli, she says, “She’s new.”
“Oh, you finally hired someone?” Eli asks casually. He peers over the counter, so I look down to hide my face. He says to Bertha, “I told you, you were biting off more than you could chew when you decided to handle this shop on your own, considering how popular your cupcakes are.”
“Don’t you get smug with me, Elijah.” Bertha waves a finger in Eli’s face. “She’s just a temp. My husband spends so much time in the city, taking care of his business, that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without this shop.”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s just as bad as you. He’s supposed to be retired, but he still works all the time.”
“That’s what makes us so perfect for each other,” Bertha says sweetly, sounding genuinely delighted. “Now, pick your cupcakes.”
“Just get me the usual.”
The conversation dies down as Bertha prepares Eli’s order. It shouldn’t take much longer now until he walks out of the door and I can finally leave.
“No wonder she’s just a temp,” Eli says, presumably about me, making my heart pound in my chest. “You can’t keep an employee happy if you make them stay on their knees all day long.”
Bertha says something back to Eli, but I don’t even pay attention.
Even though what Eli said was perfectly innocuous, heat spreads across my face, all the way to my ears. He didn’t have any problems making me stay on my knees all those years ago.
I remember the way he stood in front of me, his crotch inches from my face. He used to pat my head and make me look up to meet his hungry gaze before he opened his fly and pulled out his . . .
Blood rushes in my ears, and out of embarrassment, I pull a piece of cloth to cover my face. I’m worried it’s getting so red even Bertha will grow suspicious.
As far as I know, nobody in town was aware of what we were doing when we were alone together in our secret hiding place, and I’d like to keep it that way.
I hear a loud crash, and I instinctively raise my hands to shield myself. But again, it’s too late. I feel things falling on me and tumbling down all around me.
When I open my eyes, there are round pieces of plastic as well as a length of metal on the tiled floor.
Also, golden-brown and dark-brown pieces of cake lie on the ceramic tiles, flattened. Colorful icing sugar and tiny pieces of fruit are scattered on top.
“Oh, honey, are you okay?” Bertha asks, her voice full of worry.
Oh God, I can’t not say something now. I can feel both Bertha and Eli staring at me, waiting for a reaction.
“Uh . . . I’m okay,” I squeak.
“You should go clean yourself in the bathroom,” she says.
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll clean up this mess first.” In a panic, I grab a piece of checkered rag from a low shelf. It drags out a pile of baking pans and they make a loud, metallic noise as they, too, drop to the floor.
“Don’t be silly,” Bertha says, holding my arm and pulling me up. “The restroom is over there.”
I hang my head down as I stand up, covered in sugar and cake crumbs. I avoid eye contact, but from the corner of my eye, I can see Eli squinting at me.
Crap.
“Sophia?” he asks.
Slowly, with my heart racing, I lift my gaze. “Oh, hi, Eli.” I give him a small wave and an even smaller smile. “I didn’t see you there.”
Oh God. That was the stupidest thing I could’ve said. I heard his whole conversation with Bertha. Obviously, I knew he was there.
Damn it. There goes my plan to waltz back into town as a sophisticated woman to show Eli what he’s missing.
Before Eli can say anything else, I ask Bertha, “Where was the restroom again?”
“It’s over there, honey.” Bertha points at a door at the back of the shop and rubs my arm soothingly. To Eli, she explains, “Sophia’s visiting her family, and she offered to help me out while she’s in town.”
Eli doesn’t say anything in response.
But, I can feel his gaze following me as I make my way to the restroom, shrouded in shame. His stare burns hot into my back, reminding me of the way things used to be between us, the way things can never be again.
As I slip into the restroom and close the door behind me, I inspect my reflection in the mirror.
I look ridiculous. Undignified. Brown and yellow crumbs stick to my hair, which clumps together because of the blue, purple, and pink cream on me.
Yeah. There’s no way for me to recover from this. Eli must think I’m weird.
As I clean myself by the sink, I hear the murmur of conversation from outside, but I can’t make out a word.
It’s probably for the best. No doubt they’re talking about what a ridiculous spectacle I made of myself.
Ugh. What a perfectly crappy way to start the new year. So much for hoping my luck would turn.
Sophia
I thought coming home to see Mom and Dad would cheer me up, but of course, something has to happen to ruin my plan.
Something always does. I swear God or the Universe or whoever is in charge of things just plain hates me.
Ugh. I hate this piece-of-junk car.
I got this stupid, old sedan from the money I had saved up working as a professional burger flipper at the local diner as soon as they gave me my driver’s license.
When I moved to the city, I left it here in Ashbourne. I had read that San Francisco had a pretty good public transport system, and I didn’t want to show up in the city with this beat-up car.
I figured it wouldn’t help me make the best impression. Besides, not having my own car would give me an excuse to get a lift from some cute guy at the office.
Little did I know, carpooling with Harry was going to be one of the worst decisions of my life.
On the other hand, it’s not like I’ve ever made a good decision when it concerns men. I do my best, but then life just kicks me in the butt and laughs at me.
Like I said, someone up there hates me. Maybe there’s a pantheon of bored Greek gods gambling with my fate right now, watching to see what I’ll do.
I mean, seriously, what kind of a sick coincidence is this? Why does my car have to break down right in front of this cabin?
Well, okay, it’s not right in front of the cabin. I’m a few yards away from it and there are some trees partly blocking my view of it, but I’m close.
Ashbourne is also pretty close. I’m only, like, ten miles away. That’s an entire town not too far from here where someone’s bound to be able to help.
Hell, I drove this useless car all the way to the next town to buy Mom’s medication at the big drugstore. It cruised smoothly down highways and through villages.
Why does it suddenly decide to stop working now? And here, of all places?
Maybe it’s my own fault for not taking the car to the garage before taking it for such a long drive. I meant to do that this afternoon, but that’s apparently too late already.
Perhaps everything that has gone wrong in my life is my fault.
In a way, that’s a comforting thought because maybe there’s something I could do to fix things even if there’s one big thing I won’t ever be able to fix.
Luckily, my phone still gets a signal here. I Google the number for the only mechanic in town, Eddie. I call him up as I wrap my jacket tighter around me. I hope it won’t take him too long.
I hear a dial tone, then a robotic voice picks up and says, “You’ve reached—” a pause, then Eddie says, “Eddie’s Garage.” The first voice finishes with, “Please leave your message after the beep.”
I curse in my head. This will probably take longer than I’d hoped, and snow is starting to fall. Tiny flakes stick to my windshield before the heater melts them into little water droplets.
I wonder how much gas I have left in the tank. The fuel gauge hasn’t been working for years—another thing I probably should’ve fixed before starting to drive it this morning.
I hear a beep from the other end of the line and say, “Hi Eddie, this is Sophia York. My car won’t start, and I’m stuck on the highway to Dewhurst. I’m about ten miles from Ashbourne, parked close to the Stromes’ cabin.”
I ask him to call me back as soon as possible, leave him my number, and thank him. I let out a big sigh as I end the call.
What do I do now? If Eddie doesn’t come soon, I’ll be in real trouble. Mom and Dad are minding their coffee shop, which is understaffed because their barista is taking a vacation, so they won’t be able to pick me up until after closing time.
I stare at the cabin. There are so many memories tied up with that place my chest tightens at the sight. I can’t even count the number of nights I fell asleep thinking about what had happened in there, what Eli and I had done in that warm, cozy cabin.
Damn it, warm and cozy sound really good right now.
I narrow my eyes at the cabin.
It doesn’t seem like anyone’s inside. There are no tracks leading to the door, and there’s no smoke coming out of the chimney.
After what happened yesterday at Bertha’s cupcake shop, I don’t want to see Eli ever again. But maybe . . . Maybe I won’t have to see him. He doesn’t even have to know I’ve been inside.
I yank open the glove compartment. If Mom and Dad haven’t thrown out anything, it should still be in there . . .
I fumble around, tossing scraps of paper out onto the passenger seat until, finally, I hear metal jangling.
The key—it’s still in here!
My fingers urgently move things aside until I touch something hard and cold.
The key. I really still have it.
I stare at it then flick my gaze toward the cabin.
Am I really about to do this? I could . . . But, do I really want to?
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t even know if this key will still open the door. It’s been seven years. Eli has probably re-keyed it.
That’s right. There’s no need to worry about whether I should go in there because I don’t even know if I can get in.
Well, there’s only one way to find out.
I grip the car key in the ignition, my hand frozen in place.
This is breaking and entering, right? Even though Eli is the last person I want to speak to right now, maybe I should give him a call . . . except I don’t know his number.
The only reason I’m aware Eli has changed his number is because after moving to the city, I tried to call him, over and over again, day after day. I kept hearing the dial tone, but nobody ever picked up. After a few weeks of that, I tried calling and didn’t hear anything—not even a dial tone.
I guess he didn’t want to hear from me. This knowledge tortured me, especially at night when I was lying alone in my new, unfamiliar bed in a new, unfamiliar city. I lay awake going through all the conversations we’d had, wondering what I’d done wrong.
Outside, even more snow is falling, but it’s barely cold enough for the snow to remain solid until it touches the ground. Damp, white clumps cover the road.
I have to walk a few yards to reach the cabin. If I wait any longer and the snow/rainfall grows any heavier, I’ll be soaking wet by the time I get inside—that is, if I can get inside at all with this old key.
I attempt another call to Eddie’s Garage, but no luck. I just hear the voicemail prompt again, so I hang up.
Turning off the ignition, I open the door. The cold bites into the exposed skin of my face. As the dampness seeps into my clothes and my shoes, the rest of my body starts to feel the sting.
If I can’t open the door, I can at least take shelter on the front porch of the cabin, which is covered by a roof overhang. But, as soon as my trembling fingers insert the key into the lock, it turns easily, and the door unlocks with an effortless click.
Without any hesitation, I step inside.
It’s too cold out there to overthink things. Besides, what’s the alternative? Just wait in the car until I run out of gas and I run out of heat?
Immediately, my eyes find the gas fireplace. Thankfully, I’m lucky for once and the pilot light is on. I take off my wet shoes and socks then turn the control knob to the max and park myself by the dancing flame.
This feels good. I’ve obviously made the right decision coming inside. My bare feet feel particularly good by the flame.
I take off my wet, heavy jacket, but my jeans and my shirt are damp, too. They’ll probably dry after a few minutes sitting by the fireplace, but . . . I mean, I’m the only one here, right?
As I scan the place and look around, I tell myself it’s not like I’ve never been naked in here before, anyway . . .
So, I shed my clothes, all the way down to my underwear, and let the warmth from the flame dry my skin and penetrate into my flesh.
I close my eyes and lie down on the wooden floor. This feels really good.
