7. Madeleine
Madeleine
Jim Croce really knows how to hit the heartstrings.
Seriously, “Time in a Bottle” is a masterpiece. I guess I wasn’t really listening to the words when I was busy baking with Mason, but now that I have all the time in the world to sit and wallow over my lost job—and losing my chance with Mason—I’ve listened to this song about five hundred times.
Yeah, I’m kind of a mess.
My parents haven’t asked too many questions. They just know that I quit my job and need a week to get myself together. At least I have my own bedroom, but I still can’t bake anything in their tiny kitchen.
I miss Cookies (even though the name is terrible). I miss the incredible kitchen. I miss baking with Mason.
And I miss Mason.
But I still can’t forget the way he treated me. All of those excessive tests, knowing full well that I’m a great baker. His unfair possessiveness over this bakery that I had no desire to take over. I’m not a business person. I just want to bake! But he was so wrapped up in his past experiences that he couldn’t see me for who I really was.
So here I am, five days after quitting, lying on my parents’ couch and wrapped in a marvelous fluffy blanket that’s doing nothing to soothe the ache in my heart. My parents are out for a walk, and I’ve cranked Jim’s voice up to max volume to turn off the thoughts that keep screaming at me to find another job.
A knock sounds on the door.
My eyes go wide, like a deer in headlights. Maybe if I stay still, they won’t know I’m here.
“Madeleine, I know you’re there.”
Mason?
“I can hear Jim Croce.”
Oh, shoot. I quickly turn down the music but still don’t come to the door.
“And now I know you turned it off. Please, come open the door.”
Dang it.
I stand, keeping the fuzzy blanket wrapped around me, and shuffle over to the door. I look awful, with no makeup and my hair up in a messy bun, and I’m still wearing my pajamas, but I don’t care. I’m not opening the door.
“What do you want?” I finally say through the door.
“I want to apologize.”
My heart rate picks up a little. No, Madeleine. Don’t be too eager. He took things too far.
“I don’t know if I want to hear it.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds.
“I deserve that,” he mutters. “Please? I have…a peace offering.”
That piques my curiosity. But I still don’t want to open up. “No.”
“Madeleine, please. I don’t want to do this through the door.”
“Too bad.”
I hear him sigh. “Fine. I’m sorry. I took everything too far. I let my past experiences affect the way I saw you and…I was wrong. I promise I’ll do everything differently next time.”
It’s pretty good, as far as apologies go. I feel the walls around my heart softening, but I can’t accept his apology that easily. “There won’t be a ‘next time, this time,’” I say.
I hear muffled laughter on the other side. “Are you quoting Jim Croce to me?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs out loud, the sound filling my heart. “Please open the door.”
With a sigh, I finally unlock the deadbolt and open the door. And there in front of me is Mason, smelling like chocolate and holding a small box from the bakery, along with my notebook that I’ve been missing for the last few days. But not enough to call and ask to have it back.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Peace offerings.” He looks past me into the apartment. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.” I turn and head back to the couch, which has a permanent imprint of my butt from the last few days.
“You weren’t kidding about the kitchen being tiny,” he says, closing the door.
“Yep.”
He comes to the couch and sits right next to me, his leg touching mine. My traitorous body tingles at his touch. “Madeleine, I mean it. I’m so sorry.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
“My mom helped. So did this.” He opens the notebook to my list of ways to improve the bakery. “When I saw this, and how genuinely you were trying to help, I realized that I’ve been a complete idiot.” He sets down the notebook and looks at me. “You and I are a great team. And we should be a team. I’m sorry I kept you down for so long.”
“So what are you offering?”
“I’m offering for you to come back to Cookies. But you don’t have to work in the front—unless you want to. I want to work together, baking cookies, trying each others’ creations…” His eyes dip down to my lips and back to my eyes. “And you were right. There was something between us. I hope there still is.”
My breath catches in my throat. “At least I was right about that.”
“You were right about a lot of things.” He opens the box and takes out a single cookie. “Speaking of which, I have one last test for you.”
“I thought you said you went too far,” I protest.
“I did. But this isn’t a test to see if you’re good enough. It’s to test if you can forgive me and move forward. Because together, you and I can accomplish amazing things.” He holds the cookie to me, giving me the chance to decide.
Is this what I want? Do I want to forgive him and give him another chance? I know I won’t forget the way he acted. But I can understand why he was so paranoid. And if he’s willing to make changes, I can forgive him and try again.
I take the cookie from his hand but don’t bite it yet. Still, his smile lights up his whole face. “I finally cracked the code on my gluten-free cookie,” he explains. “And I wouldn’t have figured it out without your list. But I want you to figure out what the secret ingredient is.”
I finally take a bite. Chewing for a moment, I smile when I realize the ingredient. “Chickpeas,” I say.
He nods. “You thought about peas, but chickpeas—garbanzo beans—were exactly what I was looking for.”
“I still prefer cookies with gluten,” I say.
“Oh, me, too. But now I have something to offer my gluten-free customers.” He takes the cookie from me and sets it back in the box. Turning back to me, he takes my hand in his, and his chocolate brown eyes gaze deeply into mine. “I want this to be a true partnership—and I don’t just mean in business.”
He lifts a hand to my cheek, and I have to remind myself to breathe. “What exactly do you mean?” I ask.
He raises his brows once and doesn’t hesitate another moment. He leans in, capturing my lips with his. I draw close to him, putting my hands on his chest, and he cradles the back of my head with his hand. The kisses are sweet but intense, gentle but meaningful.
And they taste like chocolate.
He pulls away after a moment and kisses my forehead, my heart stirring with the sweet gesture. Leaning his forehead on mine, he asks, “So? Will you come back to Cookies?”
“On one condition,” I say.
He pulls his head back and looks at me quizzically. “What’s that?”
“We need to change the name.”
He laughs out loud. “And what do you propose we name it instead?”
With a mischievous grin, I lean in and kiss him softly on the lips. “Cookies…and Kisses.”