14. Bookcases And Bad News
Chapter fourteen
Bookcases And Bad News
Sal
I drop Albany off at the house, worried because the entire ride home was silent. She doesn't say anything, just pushes her big glasses up, then lifts to her tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek. The space between is uncharacteristically heavy, weighed down by the silence. She needs time to process, and so do I. Once she's inside, I head back to Sweet Alchemy, needing the familiar comfort of my workspace.
I breathe deeply upon entering the kitchen, the scent of chocolate and sugar soothing my frazzled nerves. A half-smile pushes its way onto my face as I assemble my equipment. Albany was right; I won't ever be able to look at the marble top again without seeing her naked body splayed across it like a goddess.
Hell, picturing the curve of her hips and her thick thighs spread wide open for me makes my mouth water and balls tighten right up. But staring too long at the surface replays the memory of what came after. I won't be able to create if I get caught up in obsessing over what happened after Haze burst in.
Chocolate. I need chocolate, and I need to sculpt. I grab my tablet and pull up the details for the Sweet Sixteen commission—a library shelf filled with the birthday girl's favorite books, all sculpted in chocolate. A relatively easy piece until I get to painting the covers. This is exactly the kind of work that will soothe my nerves: the rhythmic motions of shaping and molding the cocoa. Sculpting is a meditative process.
Starting with the bookends, I carefully craft the intricate designs, occasionally checking the reference photos on my tablet to ensure I capture every detail. By the time I move on to the book spines, I'm getting lost in the work, and the tension in my back and shoulders begins to ease.
I pause to take a sip of water and take stock of my work. The library shelf is coming together beautifully, each book a unique creation. No amount of attention to detail is too much. Every creation I deliver to my clients is a masterpiece.
The day passes swiftly. Time always runs like quicksilver when I'm creating commissions. With a final flourish, I place the last book in its spot on the shelf. Stepping back to study my work, I nod, satisfied that this piece is going to delight both the parents and the birthday girl. I carefully transfer the entire piece to the refrigerator to set. Once it's secure, I allow myself a celebratory smile.
While I clean up my workspace, meticulously putting away my tools, my phone rings. Quickly wiping my hands on a dishrag, I swipe across the screen, expecting to hear Albany's voice.
But it isn't Albany. It's Martine.
"Sal, thank God you answered!" Martine's voice is high-pitched, panic lacing every word. "The alarm company just called me. There's smoke coming from the Crosby Street house!"
My heart drops into my stomach. "What? Is Haze okay?"
"I don't know!" she cries. "I've been trying to reach him, but he's not answering his phone. The fire department is on their way, but I'm scared, Sal. What if something happened to him?"
I'm already grabbing my keys and heading for the door. "I'm on my way, Martine. Stay calm, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."
As I jump into my Jeep, my mind races with possibilities, each one more terrible than the last. Haze has to be okay. He just has to be. I know things ended badly between us, but I can't bear the thought of anything happening to him.
I push the speed limit, weaving through traffic with a single-minded focus. When I finally pull up to the Crosby Street house, there are fire trucks and police cars everywhere, their lights painting the night in shades of red and blue.
I spot Martine pacing on the sidewalk, her face pale and drawn. "Martine!" I call out, jogging over to her. "Any news?"
She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "They won't let me inside. They said the structure is too far gone. That there’s too much damage. Sal,” she whispers, her voice trembling, “they haven't found Haze yet."
My stomach twists into knots. "Fuck," I whisper under my breath. "Okay, let's just…let's stay calm. I'm sure he's fine."
But even as I say the words, I know he isn't. My gut tells me he's in the house. All I can think about is the betrayal that swam in his eyes. If something happens to him If I never get the chance to make things right...
No. I can't think like that. Haze is strong. He's a fighter. He'll make it through this.
There is no other option. "Hold tight, Martine. I'll get him out."