by Bromberg, K
She’ll argue or refuse to accept it. Don’t listen to her!
Hayes
I want to strangle him.
Gritting my teeth, I huff out in frustration although the scowl on my lips is betraying me and beginning to turn up at the corners. I look at Ryder. “Did you know?”
“No clue but by the look on your face I can guess who it’s from.”
“The asshole.” The comment is halfhearted and lacking any conviction. How can it when Hayes just purchased the Ferrari of ovens for me?
“Hmm. Definite asshole,” Ryder murmurs with a shake of his head and a half-cocked smile.
“Guess that’s his way of getting me to call him, huh?”
* * *
Each ring of the phone feels like an eternity. I’m irritated, grateful, confused, and overwhelmed over how he could buy me something so extraordinary—something that costs as much as a car—when I’ve pushed him away.
“Ships?”
“It’s too much. Thank you, but I can’t accept it.”
“Then I can’t accept you saying you need time and being away from me.”
His words warm so many parts of me. The parts that ache from missing him. The pieces that fear a love this strong. The unknown still swirling around us.
The want to know he thinks I’m worth fighting for.
My sigh must tell him how hard this is for me because he allows the silence for a moment. Knowing me like he does, he allows me time to process how far apart we feel right now, which makes me miss him even more.
“It’s only been forty-eight hours, and I miss you.” My statement is simple. The break in my voice reflects my struggle, the toll it’s taken and how hard it is to admit.
“I know. Me too. I’ve bought a plane ticket home a hundred times in my head today.”
“I can’t accept the oven, Hayes. It’s way too much.”
“But you asked for time, and I’m trying to give it to you even though it’s killing me not to be there with you,” he says right over me, ignoring my refusal of the oven.
“Hayes, you’re not listening to me.”
“I’m listening. I’m choosing not to hear you.”
My smile is instantaneous. The memories of how frustrated I used to feel when he used to use that defense with me when we were younger.
“I know you’re smiling, Ships. I can hear it through the line.”
“Maybe.”
“And I bet you’re rubbing your ear right now like you do when you have things you want to say but don’t know how to say them.”
His words make me lower my fingers immediately from their place on my ear. I hate and love that he knows me this well. Is it any wonder, despite the current chaos, I still love him?
“Perhaps.”
“Ah, so that means I’m right because you always give one-word answers when you don’t want to admit things.”
“Possibly.” He says the word the same time I do and we both laugh.
“See? I know you, Saylor Rodgers. Everything about you. And what I missed during those ten years without you, I want to spend time learning.”
My eyes well with tears and I can’t figure out how this conversation I wanted to have about how he can’t buy me a shiny new oven turned into him showing exactly how much he knows about me.
“You there?”
“Yeah.”
“You scrunching up that freckled nose of yours? Upset that the man you’re so madly in love with and you need space from has already helped you forget all the bullshit of the last few days with a simple conversation?”
I close my eyes and slump against the wall. His words weave into those holes I’ve worried into my heart over the past few days—the ones I know I’m stupid for having because he’s right. It’s been a few minutes, and he’s proven to me how, when I’m connected to him, I can handle everything else.
“Hayes.” I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. You’re right.
But nothing comes out, because maybe I’m scared. Maybe what I feel is so damn strong, which explains why I’m hesitating even though every single part of me is telling me to go full steam ahead. Maybe that’s why I can’t tell him to get here as soon as he can.
“Agreed,” he murmurs, followed by a chuckle that’s both seductive and heartwarming. “I agree to everything you just thought but didn’t say out loud. But, no. Not yet. You said you needed space. Time. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. So I’m going to give them to you, Saylor. Ten days to be exact. Two hundred forty hours where you can’t talk to me.” He pauses momentarily. “Fourteen thousand, four hundred minutes—yes, don’t laugh, I just had to do that math on my calculator—of time where I’m going to prove to you why you can’t live without me. Why the stories and tabloids don’t mean shit. And how public opinion can be turned when you try hard enough.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes. I do. This is as much my fault as it is Jenna’s. I’ve had a lot of time to think since a certain someone won’t return my calls, and I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I let it happen. Maybe I pushed Jenna’s buttons to prove a point. I was too selfish thinking about how badly I wanted to shut her up and figure out how to seduce you, to know what it would feel like to sleep with you again, that I didn’t give a thought about how she could retaliate. So, I’m sorry, Saylor. I fucked up. I played right into the studio’s game and perfectly into Jenna’s hand. So forgive me if I’m taking the reins when it comes to us, but I’m not taking a chance on this outcome. I’m giving you my A-game . . . I just hope you can handle it.”
I feel like I haven’t taken a breath during his entire speech. My chest burns and my heart hopes. My mind races with possibility while my cheeks hurt from smiling. Hayes Whitley just told me he loves me. I know he didn’t say the three little words, but he said them nonetheless.
“What if I already know—?”
“Nope. Don’t say it. Words are cheap. Action is everything. Ten days, Saylor. Ten days and then I’ll listen to you all you want. Until then, once this conversation is over, mum’s the word since day one starts now.”
My laughter sounds like relief. My heart feels content, which is different from two days ago where I felt lost, confused, exposed, and betrayed. We had both needed this time to evaluate what was real and what was not, and I’m so incredibly thankful we both concluded the same thing. That we wanted there to be an us. And yet I can’t resist . . .
“And what if your A-game is not strong enough to win me over?” I know he can hear the playfulness in my voice and that I’m throwing down a challenge.
“It’s good enough, sweetheart. Just you wait and see.”
“I’m a tough girl to please.”
He laughs again. The kind that warms my soul and makes me feel a little steadier in this world of chaos swirling around us.
“Then we’ll have to grudge-cupcake it out.”
Hayes
EIGHT DAYS LEFT
TWITTER
@SweetChks Can anyone tell me how many people are in the world? #GrudgeCupcake #10Days #ShipsAhoy #WordsRCheap
* * *
“Mr. Dixon.”
“Hayes? What can I do for you, son?” The deep baritone of Jenna’s father vibrates across the connection.
“Sorry to bug you, Paul.”
“Is it Jenna?” There’s concern and trepidation in his voice, and I hate that he immediately thinks of the last time I called him after I found out about Jenna and her suicide attempt.
“She’s fine but she is the reason I’m calling.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know where she’s hiding? I’ve been trying to find her, and she’s not returning my calls.” I pause for a moment. Let the lie roll off my tongue. “It’s about scheduling for The Grifter’s press junket.”
“No need to lie, Hayes. She threw you to the wolves because she was jealous you found someone else. Probably hoped to scare that woman of yours away. Typical, selfish Jenna move. I’m sorry about that. Her actions are inexcu
sable and not something I’m proud of.” His words shock me. Seems he’s just as tired of her stunts as I am. “Last I heard she was at the place in Malibu.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
Saylor
EIGHT DAYS LEFT
Ignore them.
Don’t let them distract you.
I tell myself to focus on the new idea that woke me up out of a dead sleep last night and left me staring at the ceiling trying to conceptualize it.
A flash on the screen of my cell. Another glance up from the cupcake I’m designing to see yet another notification in and endless stream of them.
Quit distracting me.
I set down the piping tube and grab my cell. My will power is nonexistent when it comes to wanting to read the responses to Hayes’s tweet from earlier this morning. I’m not quite sure why he’s asking about the world’s population or what it has to do with me but it helps to pass the day.
@MindiSocksLou
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl Seven billion #ThanksGoogle What’s a #GrudgeCupcake? I love you Hayes!
Focus, Saylor.
On the new idea. On what flavor combinations would complement the concept best. On how this little flash of creativity has gotten me down from the apartment where I’ve been hiding from prying eyes and back into the work area of the bakery.
And while I’ve relegated myself to the work area only, at least I’m there.
A notification flashes again.
The distraction works.
@BookLoverJeniB
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl A bazillion. Why are you asking? #GrudgeCupcake?
I dirty my hands in the frosting, working on design after design trying to perfect my vision. I’m picky and particular and throw ten designs out for every one I keep, because I have to get this right.
Plus throwing myself into full-creative mode means I’m distracted. And distracted is so much easier than thinking about how much I miss Hayes and how frustrated I am with him and his damn ten-day rule.
So, creativity helps to pass the time slowly ticking away until I get to see him again.
My screen flashes.
This time I try to avoid getting frosting on it when I pick it up.
@TBartley86
@HayesWhitOffcl Leave @SweetChks and marry me. I kiss better. #GrudgeCupcake – Answer: Population 7 billion
The bell of the door alerting new customers is steady while I work. Curiosity is clearly still strong. Despite the sign that Ryder put on the door that says No Cameras, the photographers come in, buy a cupcake, and take a seat with the hopes that I’ll step into the front where they can sneak a picture of me on their cell phones. The female fans stop in to buy a cupcake with stars in their eyes looking around in case Hayes shows up.
They’re wasting their time. If they were true stalkers, they’d know about his ridiculous ten-day rule.
All the while the tweets continue to flash.
@Hollywood732
@HayesWhitOffcl @SweetChks 6.9 billion. Is this a trick question?
“You’ve been awfully quiet back here.”
Ryder. I smile softly, knowing he’s bailing on his regular workload during the days to help out (meaning keeping a big brother eye on me) and then going home and catching up on his own responsibilities.
“Just messing with an idea,” I murmur as I step back and scrutinize my design.
“Hmm. So you being back in the kitchen . . . does that mean the new oven’s too hard to resist or you’ve talked to Hayes and have figured stuff out?” He narrows his eyes as he waits for an answer.
“He’s not giving me an option.” I shrug. I don’t fight the smile because I do feel better with the elephant’s foot of pressure removed from my chest.
“He’s not?” He raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Nope. And you didn’t even have to clock him this time around to knock some sense into him.”
“I was only trying to protect you.” His expression is guarded, unsure if I’m going to be mad at him for interfering all those years ago.
“I know.” I think of all the other things I could say to him: how I was a big girl and could make my own decisions. How he might have been the reason we never got back together. But I don’t say any of them. Maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated each other and the connection we rekindled if we hadn’t had other experiences to compare them to.
“What’s up with his tweet this morning?” It’s my turn to show shock, surprised he noticed. “Hey, I check your social media following. Visibility is a good thing—means possible sales—and you gained several thousand new followers this morning.”
Huh. Always looking out for me. And always business-savvy.
“I don’t know. He’s trying to win me over.”
“I think he already has.”
I start to say maybe, but stop when I see his head angle to the side as he notices the fondant tops in front of me.
Nerves jitter within as I step back and try to look at the cupcakes through his eyes. The first one looks like it has a needle sewing together the fondant with the words “Oats to sow” in cursive above it. The one beside it looks like shattered glass with the words “One to throw” in block letters across the top. The next pair is the same color scheme, just a darker tint. The first cupcake has no design and says “One to smash” with its partner saying “He can kiss my ass” and a pair of lips outlining the lettering.
“These are awesome. Who are these for?”
“Me.”
“You?” He looks confused. “I thought things were getting better.”
I laugh and nod. Then I proceed to tell him about Hayes and his grudge cupcakes. How cathartic it felt smashing them and the fun we had with it. And then how when Hayes told me the other day if he didn’t win me over with his charm, his last resort was another grudge-cupcake match.
“So . . .” I shrug, “. . . he got me thinking about grudge cupcakes. And if people would actually buy them for their friends when they break up. So I make one to eat and one to smash; in a container it’s a 50/50 split with cute slogans. It’s the perfect therapy: chocolate and aggression.”
When he doesn’t smile at my quip but rather just holds a finger against his pursed lips as he thinks it over, I suddenly feel ridiculous thinking this could work or have customer appeal.
“It was just an idea. It would probably never—”
“Would they be normal-sized? Smaller since you’re smashing them? Give me specifics.”
“You and your specifics,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes but feel a little more at ease knowing he hasn’t immediately rejected the idea. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I suppose we could make the ones to smash smaller but then we get into needing custom inserts for the boxes and the trade-off in cost. I haven’t thought that far, Ryder. I’m working on the creative side for now. You know what? Never mind.”
“I think it’s brilliant, Saylor.” He does?
“You do?”
“Completely.”
I stare at him. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Feeling accomplished. “Wow.”
“Now we need to figure how to go about marketing it so we can get the word out.”
Our eyes hold and I’ve never been more thankful to have him as a brother than I am right now. He’s always been protective of me but after our parents died, he stepped up to the plate more than I’d ever imagined he could. It was us against the world. He’s stuck by my side and been my number-one supporter throughout all the ups and downs, sorrows and joys.
Sure I’d had Mitch to pull me from my grief, but it was Ryder who was my rock.
Still is.
A small part of me knows my parents are smiling down on us right now and that gives me hope that things might finally be turning around.
* * *
My screen lights up.
The distractions continue.
I’m so engrossed in perfecting little details on the cupcakes that it takes me a bit longer to check my phone. And when I do, I have to scrape
a splatter of frosting from the glass to read the tweet.
And I finally have an answer.
@HayesWhitOffcl
The public has spoken. 7 billion people in the world. And I CHOOSE YOU @SweetChks ONLY YOU
#GrudgeCupcakes #ActionsRLouder
Wow. Now there’s a declaration in one hundred and forty characters or less if I’ve ever seen one. The man certainly knows how to get my attention.
Yes, Hayes, actions are louder.
Hayes
SIX DAYS LEFT
FACEBOOK
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #DayFour
* * *
“Hayes.”
“You’re a hard lady to track down.” I don’t hide the spite in my voice or the fuck you lilt in it. Jenna repositions herself on her lounge chair where she sits in the sun so her cleavage is more prominently on display. “I can see the recovery’s been rough on you.”
I catch her ghost of a smirk before her lips turn into a pout as she slips on her mask to embody the part of depressed victim.
“You have no idea, Hayes. It’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming to check on me. Why don’t you sit down?”
When she puts her hand in mine and tugs on it, I glare at her. A do you really think I’m buying your bullshit right now look on my face.
In the moment I question my judgment of character. How I ever looked at her and saw anything other than what she really is. An attention-hungry junkie willing to use anyone and every situation to her advantage.
“This isn’t a social call, Jenna. This is me coming to you because you’re too chickenshit to answer your phone and deal with the mess you created.”
