Chapter 7 #3
The paper bag in Warren’s hand crinkles.
No one moves.
The espresso machine hisses behind us.
Marley’s gaze drops to my pocket, where the edge of the note has betrayed me by sticking out.
Her face slowly changes.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
I close my eyes. “Marley—”
“No.”
“It’s not—”
“No.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know what?” Her voice is sharp.
I open my eyes.
She looks at Warren before looking at me.
Oliver chooses this exact moment to appear in the doorway between Saints & Sinners and Bitter Bloom carrying a tray of clean bar towels.
He stops dead.
Looks at Warren. Then Marley. Then me. Then Warren again.
His face is blank. “No,” he says.
Marley points at him. “You knew?”
Oliver looks at me, his eyes lingering before moving to Warren. I wince.
He looks back to Marley.
“I knew she left with someone.”
“With my brother?” she demands.
His mouth flattens. “No. I only knew him as the man making bad choices. I was not aware everyone had collectively decided introductions were completely optional.”
“I didn’t know his name,” I say with a frown.
Warren looks at me.
“I thought you said your name was Elizabeth at one point.”
“That’s her middle name,” Marley deadpans. She turns to me. “You gave him your middle name?” She turns to her brother without giving me time to respond. “You didn’t ask for her last name?”
“No.”
“You slept with a woman whose name you didn’t know?”
His jaw tightens.
“For one, I’m not the problem,” Oliver says as he sets the towels down on the counter.
“Do not enjoy this.” Marley holds one finger out without looking at him.
“I’m trying not to.”
I take a step and immediately regret it.
“Marley, I swear to God, I didn’t know. He was just the man from the bar.
I didn’t want to know his name. I didn’t press it.
It was only supposed to be something fun for one night.
A very anonymous, very adult, very irresponsible night that absolutely did not involve your family tree. ”
Warren’s mouth tightens.
Oliver stares at the ceiling.
And Marley looks like she’s been struck by every emotion available to humankind and is considering creating a few new ones.
Her eyes narrow.
“Wait.”
“No,” I say, my heart rate skyrocketing.
She points to the note in my pocket. “That’s him?”
I look down. Oliver and Warren do too.
Marley plucks it out of my pocket before I can stop her. “Marley!”
She reads it. Her eyes close.
“Oh my god.”
Warren looks like he wants the floor to swallow him now.
“You left the lock note?” she hisses.
His voice is even. “The lock is bad.”
“What lock?” Oliver asks.
“That isn’t the issue,” Marley says, her focus on her brother.
“It should be addressed.”
“If it’s a broken lock, then unfortunately he’s right.” Oliver nods.
“Nobody asked you,” Marley snaps.
I press my fingers into my temples. “This is not happening.”
Marley looks at me.
Then, with the slow horror of someone remembering a sentence that should have been buried alive, her face goes blank.
My blood goes cold.
Her eyes move to Warren. Then to me.
“You said…”
I shake my head. “Nope. I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard you.”
“Marley.”
“You said his—”
“No.”
Her mouth falls open.
I lunge.
I’m too late.
“His dick is pierced?” she all but shrieks.
Warren’s entire body goes rigid as Oliver makes a sound like he got shot.
I slap both hands over my face and peek through my fingers.
Warren closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, they’re fixed on the ceiling like he’s making a private appeal to a god who has clearly abandoned us.
Marley turns to him, horrified. “You have a pierced dick?”
“Marley.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s also not a conversation we’re having in public.”
“The bakery is locked. I locked it behind you.”
“We’re not having it.”
Oliver drags his hands down his face. “I need to move.”
“To another bar?” I ask weakly.
“To another plane of existence.”
Marley’s voice raises. “Why are women telling me about your penis before seven in the morning?”
His jaw flexes. “I didn’t volunteer that information.”
“No,” she snaps. “Your body did.”
Oliver turns so fast I know he’s hiding a laugh.
A weak sound leaves me, somewhere between an apology and my soul leaving my body.
Warren’s gaze flicks to me.
Despite everything, despite Marley and Oliver and the word penis echoing in the bakery where I sell muffins to grandmothers, the sight of him looking at me does something awful to my stomach.
Because he remembers too. I can see it.
He remembers everything. His hand at my waist and his loose hair around his face. His voice saying, “Look at me,” and the sound of my moans.
My face warms, and Marley catches it.
“Oh, absolutely not.” She physically steps between us. “No more looking.”
“Marley.”
“No. You lost your looking privileges.”
Warren’s gaze drops to the floor.
Oliver points at him. “Don’t pretend to be respectful now. You left appliance feedback after a one-night stand.”
Warren’s brows furrow. “It was lock feedback.”
“Same genre.”
“It isn’t.”
“Spiritually, it is.”
Marley turns to me. “Did you know he was a baker?”
I pause. “I know he bakes.”
Her eyes go wide. “He said he baked?”
I look at Warren. “You did.”
He looks back at me. “I did.”
Marley makes a tiny strangled sound. “You two talked about baking?”
I point to him. “He did.”
Oliver mutters, “Erotically.”
I gasp.
He lifts one hand. “I was there for dough submission.”
Warren looks at him. “I said dough requires patience.”
“Exactly,” Oliver says. “Filthy.”
Marley presses her hands to her face. “I need coffee.”
I automatically move toward the espresso machine. “Okay. Coffee. Coffee fixes everything.” I pause. “Probably not this. But some.”
Warren stays near the doorway, still holding his paper bag.
Marley notices it. “What’s in the bag?”
He looks down as if he forgot about it. “Breakfast.”
“You brought breakfast?” Her expression twists.
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
I can tell the second she sort of forgives him.
He holds the bag out to her and she stares at it with an expression that feels like a mix of accepting a peace offering and getting thrown a personal insult.
“What kind?”
His shoulders slump just a little. “Ham and cheese croissant from the place near my hotel. And a blueberry scone.”
Her mouth trembles. Not with tears, but at what I can only assume to be rage at being emotionally manipulated by a pastry.
“I hate when you do nice things when I’m angry,” she mutters as she takes it.
I finish making her coconut latte and set it in front of her.
I brave a look at Warren. “Coffee?” I ask hesitantly.
His gaze shifts to me.
Marley points sharply. “No.”
I step back. “No coffee?”
“No eye-contact coffee.”
Warren almost smiles, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t you dare smirk.”
Marley watches me. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick.”
I lean against the counter, watching her dry heave. “For what it’s worth, I’m also incredibly distressed.”
“No you’re not,” she coughs. “You look guilty and—” She dry heaves again. “Satisfied.” She can barely get the word out.
I roll my eyes. “That’s a horrible accusation.”
The oven timer beeps, and we all jump. I grab my oven mitts and pull a tray from the oven, the smell of banana filling the room.
For a moment, everyone quiets. Baked goods seem to have that power, even during a sexual crisis involving your best friend’s older brother.
I place the tray on the cooling rack, and when I turn around, I catch Warren staring at them.
I know that look. The look of a baker who judges. I know because I do it too.
His eyes narrow, and I freeze.
“Do not,” I warn.
He looks at me calmly. “What?”
“Critique my muffins while your sister’s right there.”
“I wasn’t going to critique them,” he assures me.
I eye him. “Marley said no looking.”
“At you,” Marley snaps. “He can look at fucking muffins.”
The side of Oliver’s fist hits the wall as he looks at the ceiling. “This is the worst morning I’ve experienced sober.”
Warren steps closer to the cooling rack, stopping a careful distance from me. “They’re slightly pale on the left side. Your heat distribution is uneven.”
I gasp. “My heat distribution is none of your business,” I mutter.
“It affects the bake.”
I want to die.
But beneath all the terrible, and the embarrassment, and the complication, and Marley’s shock, there’s a spark.
Because Warren is currently standing in my little bakery, pointing out my oven’s uneven heat distribution after a night in my bed, and somehow this feels more intimate.
Marley picks up her latte and takes a long drink, sucking on the straw. We all look at her. She places it down gently, the wheels turning in her head.
“I’m about to say several things,” she informs us, leaning back in her chair.
Oliver leans against the counter. “Can I sit?”
She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
She points at Warren. “You. Do not sleep with my best friend again. Ever.”
My stomach drops, and I look down.
“And you,” she says, her finger pointing at me. “Do not sleep with my brother ever again.”
“Understood,” I say quickly.
“Oliver.”
He stands up straight. “Why am I involved?”
“Because you let this happen.”
“I didn’t let anything happen. I provided water and clear objections.”
“You own the location they met.”
“That’s not legal liability.”
“It’s an emotional liability and that’s worse.”
He sighs.
Marley looks between Warren and me, her shoulders slumping. “I love both of you.”
Warren almost looks affected.
“But,” she continues. “My life is not becoming a weird little sex triangle of secrets, baked goods, and Oliver’s poor judgment.” She looks at me. “I know you’re hurting. I know you didn’t know. I’m not mad at you for wanting to feel good.”
My eyes burn.
“Mar—”
She holds up her hand. “I am, however, furious that I now know about my brother’s piercing.”
Warren closes his eyes again. “I did not provide that detail.”
“No,” Marley snaps. “Your nameless one-night stand did.”
I wince. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry,” she says, getting up and hugging me.