Bright Smile & London Eye (Walker Brothers #2)

17. Chapter Seventeen - Jackson

Jackson

With a pounding head and my stomach doing somersaults inside me, I make my way to Bake. I’ve been thinking the whole night and I need to know the truth.

And going from drunk to hungover with only two hours of sleep feels really fucking weird. But there was just no way my brain would calm down earlier.

I really don't know what to think about what I saw yesterday.

Did my brain amplify my feelings in the moment, or is my memory exaggerated due to the alcohol? I'm really not sure; that’s why I rarely drink.

My face pulls into a grimace when I reach Bake and Books and realize they're busy. And by busy, I mean busy busy . There's a line of people coming out of the store, snaking down the street by at least three houses, a crowd of impatient people who keep checking the front and trying to peak inside to see what’s taking so long.

What's going on here?

I pull my hat a bit lower to hide more of my face, making my way past them and sneaking inside.

I wondered if they’re here for books. Maybe there’s a huge release going on that I know nothing about. But no, it seems they're all waiting for the bakery.

Bailey is leaning against the counter on his side of the store, looking bored.

"Excuse me," I mutter as I shuffle my way past the people waiting, noticing some of them shooting me dirty glares. I don't care, I’m not taking their spots after all.

Lexie is behind the counter, rushing from left to right, packing up pastries, distributing them, and working the register, while Alan seems to be working for three people in the back, judging by the way I see him running around.

I lift my hand in greeting at the two of them as I walk past, and as soon as Lexie sees me, she shoots me a tight smile that doesn’t look like her usual, cheerful smile she greets me with at all.

“What’s going on?” I wonder softly and walk over to Bailey, leaning against his counter in a way that has my back facing the crowd streaming in so I can talk to him.

“What do you mean? The crowd or her mood?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, and I frown.

“What’s this weird hostility I’m suddenly getting from you?” I ask him, cocking my eyebrow at him. “I mean, both?” It sounds more like a question than an answer to his. “But let’s start with the crowd.”

“You know, from time to time, my dad remembers that, ages ago, he set up social media profiles for the bakery,” Bailey explains, his expression softening. “Every few months, he’ll remember to post some simple video on it, and, well, by chance, one of Lexi’s pastries went viral, and this is the result.” He motions to the crowd, not looking too happy about it.

“They did?” I ask, ignoring his disdain and pulling out my phone. “Which ones?”

“The pumpkin patch cupcakes,” he says while I’m already searching for the bakery on Instagram. And there it is. It’s just a video of Lexie piping the buttercream onto the cupcakes, only showing her hands and the piping bag.

“So probably not a chance I can get her to go to dinner with me tonight?” I ask, lifting my eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure.” He shakes his head, and I feel myself deplete. But then my head whips up to look at him. I might not get to talk to Lexie, but Bailey might also have the answer I’m looking for.

“Bailey, I’ve got to ask you something.”

“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” He leans a little closer over the counter, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Sounds mysterious. What do you want to know? Conspiracies about the royals that aren’t globally known?”

“What? No.” I shake my head at him. “No conspiracies, please. Is she back with her ex?” The question tumbles out of me, like it’s been waiting to break free.

“What do you think?” He raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head to the side as he levels me with an expressionless stare.

“I don’t know what to think, that’s why I’m asking you,” I point out with a nervous chuckle. “I saw the two of them yesterday, and it looked like they were having a serious talk.”

“That’s because they did,” Bailey points out, then shakes his head. “Hate to disappoint you, but I won’t answer for her. You’ve got to ask her yourself.”

“When do you think she’ll be done for the day?”

The two of us turn to look at the incoming crowd again. From the corner of my eye, I see Bailey shake his head.

“I’m really not sure. I mean look at them, it’s unpredictable. But speaking of love interests—aren’t you cozying up with your co-star?”

“What?” I ask way too loudly, quickly turning away from the crowd again when I notice it draws attention. “What? Where did that come from?”

“Try gossip magazines in all of London, Instagram, Facebook,” Bailey lists, lifting a finger with each new thing he names. His face sets, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he pulls out his phone to show me an article. “Because I swear to God, if you are, you need to stop—”

“I’m not!” I interrupt with my whole chest, unsuccessfully trying to keep my voice down. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” he repeats mockingly, with air quotes, rolling his eyes. “She’s a branded child now, Jackson.” He leans even more over the counter, until all he needs to do is whisper. “And I swear to God, if you fucking cheat on her, I will rip out every single hair on that gorgeous head of yours. Just for fun. And I’m sure I can think of plenty of other ways to hurt you. I will kill you, slowly and very, very painfully, and my dad will help me make sure nobody will find your body once I’m done with you.”

“I’m not cheating,” I repeat, unfazed by his threats. He wouldn’t be the first person to wish a painful death upon me; I’ve gotten plenty of letters and messages saying the same already. “She finished all her scenes yesterday, and we went out for a farewell dinner with almost the whole crew.”

He stares at me for a few quiet moments before he gives me a slight nod.

“Okay,” he says, slowly retracting to his side of the counter and standing up straight again. “That’s good to hear. Now, why don’t you try to come over again just before closing? From the looks of it, they might run out of ingredients at some point and close shop in a few hours.” He leans to his left to peak into the kitchen a bit better, where I hear Alan cursing under his breath. “I’d say maybe in three hours. Tops. Maybe then she’ll have time for you.”

“I’ll do that, Bailey. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters and shoos me away. “Now leave. I have to look busy.”