Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Cece
When I walk into the grocery store the day after Cash and I went to Ayre to buy every gadget and appliance I could possibly need to fill the kitchen and have it ready to go, I’m giddy with excitement.
When was the last time I felt giddy? Actually, I don’t think that’s ever happened.
Well, maybe when Cash would moan after tasting one of my desserts, I don’t think giddy is quite the right word to describe it, though.
That sound would send flutters through my belly.
It was a foreign feeling, but I soon came to realize it was an attraction I didn’t think I had the capacity to feel.
Not after everything I’d been through. But Cash was the complete opposite of anyone I’d ever experienced.
And the more time I spent with him, the easier it was to separate the two.
My shopping excursion doesn’t take long at all.
I’m going to experiment with a couple new recipes and some old favorites.
As soon as I have the new ones perfected, I plan on giving Betsy at Cool Beans a call.
Baking has always been a passion of mine, even more so since coming to Shine, since I could experiment with all kinds of different things.
Cash was right, it’s time to move on and move forward.
That means eventually earning enough to get out of Jude and Lucy’s place and into one of my own.
After loading up my car with everything, I head to the house.
Cash gave me a set of keys and said I’m more than welcome anytime.
He wants the kitchen to be my space—as long as I save him a few desserts.
The wink he shot me when he said that had a riot of butterflies exploding in my belly.
It was almost as though we were back to normal.
Just Cash and Cece without all the noise of the last few months.
Before the all-consuming rage infiltrated every cell of my being after the kidnapping.
I pull up to the house and pop my trunk open, grab the bags, and carry them up the front steps.
I take a look around the porch and think the place could do with some hanging plants as well as the rocking chairs I suggested.
It’s easy to see myself coming here and sipping on an iced tea, rocking away on the porch, surrounded by colorful hanging pots with flowers of all shades blooming in them.
Okay, reel it in.
This isn’t my house, and Cash might not even want flowers on his porch…
but they would look good when all is said and done if he decided to sell the place.
Plus, I could enjoy them in the meantime.
And I’d be the one to take care of them since baking does have some downtime when everything is in the oven.
“Get it together, girl,” I mumble to myself. Cash offered me the kitchen for baking; he didn’t ask for my decorating tips.
The house is a bit stuffy, so I decide to leave the front door open. There’s a nice breeze coming through, and the screen door will keep any unwanted bugs outside.
Setting the bags on the counter, I walk into the middle of the kitchen and let out a very girlish squeal as I spin around, still in slight disbelief that Cash thought to offer me this amazing space.
When I saw the oven yesterday, it was as though I could smell all the delicious things that I could bake in it.
I’ve daydreamed about having something like this—a place like this to call my own.
Though it isn’t technically mine, no matter what he says, I’m going to imagine it is all the same.
I go about unloading all of the bags and pulling my new mixing bowls out of the cabinet, opting for the most colorful ones we could find at the store.
The kind I never would have been allowed in my previous life.
Not that there was much use for anything other than the giant clay bread bowl I used on a regular basis.
Stop thinking about that time, Cece. It has no place here.
Giving my head a little shake, I shut out those thoughts and organize things between what I need immediately and what I’ll use later.
For the oven’s maiden run, I’ve decided to start with pain au chocolat.
There are several complex steps that go into making the delicious dessert, but I’ve always wanted to try.
As I’m measuring out the flour, my phone dings. When I see Cash’s name, a smile immediately spreads across my face. The same smile I used to get before…well, everything.
Cash: Hey, sweetheart. You at the house?
Me: Just got here. Getting ready to make something new.
Cash: Can’t wait to try it. I’ll be over in a little while. It was a late night, so I’m running behind. Need anything?
I frown at my phone. Late night?
Me: I think I have everything. We did buy out that little store in Ayre yesterday. I don’t know what I could possibly need.
What does he mean by late night?
Cash: Okay. See you soon.
Cash doesn’t owe me any explanations, but when he left me yesterday, he said he had some work to take care of.
I know from overhearing Jude and Lucy’s conversations, the guys put one of the brothers at the strip club for extra security before the kidnapping.
Were they still doing that? Was last night Cash’s turn?
Maybe he took one of the girls home with him and didn’t get any sleep at all.
Cash has always been a morning person, but I know he sleeps in after club parties—and from what I’ve seen at those parties, the girls make it perfectly obvious that they want in his bed.
I’ve never seen him take one to his room, but I usually leave before things get too out of control.
I’ve certainly never asked him about it.
What else could late night mean?
A million things, Cece. Knock it off.
Blowing out a breath, I try to recenter myself and get back to the task at hand. But now that the thoughts have invaded my brain, it’s becoming more and more difficult to concentrate. Or to be as excited as I was when I first walked through the door.
Cash and I have always had something different between us than I ever had with anyone.
There was a connection that came from shared pain, but it turned into something else.
At least for me. Until I pushed him and everyone else away.
It’s not as though anything ever happened between us to make me think there was a chance of us being more than friends.
It was just my girlish imagination running away with itself a few times.
Okay, more than a few, if I’m being honest.
Cash is sweet and flirty, at least toward me. But he’s never outright made it known that he intended anything more than friendship between us. That didn’t stop me from developing a crush, though.
And this feeling in my chest right now makes me realize exactly why it’s called a crush.
The thought of him spending the night with a woman sends bitter jealousy coursing through me.
The idea that Cash would see me as anything more than Lucy’s fucked-up little sister is almost laughable.
Isn’t that how everyone else looks at me?
As someone who is as fragile as a baby bird that fell out of the nest?
I’ve certainly felt that way a few times over the last couple years. Why would he be any different?
I grab my phone from the counter and pull up one of my playlists. Jude likes to call it my rage-baking music, but it matches the mood I’ve suddenly spiraled into. Sometimes a girl just needs to scream along with some metal to get it all out.
Pushing the ingredients for the pain au chocolat to the side, I grab what I need to make some blackberry turnovers. It’s an easy enough recipe, and something I can do mindlessly. I don’t have the patience for anything complicated at the moment, but I need to keep my hands busy.
After an hour, I have two sheet pans in the oven with the turnovers baking.
I’m mashing fruit for my second batch of blackberry compote and screaming out the lyrics to the song playing through the small portable speaker I brought with me.
This feels good. Keeping my hands busy and being as loud as I want without anyone around to grumble about it.
So many times in the past, I would’ve reached for a bottle when these feelings bubbled up, but not this time.
I swore to myself that I would no longer numb the pain with alcohol, so crushing berries to within an inch of their lives and belting out some scream metal will have to do.
The last drink I had was at Lottie’s. It wasn’t even something that I liked.
I was trying to convince myself if I drank beer and didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t be tempted to have another, then another.
Imagining that beer causes my mouth to water.
I don’t like beer, but a craving for it overwhelms me.
I can practically taste the malty flavor on my tongue.
Feel the bubbles tickle my mouth and throat as I swallow.
One beer wouldn’t hurt anything, right? As long as I stay away from wine or anything hard, I shouldn’t have any problems stopping at one beer.
Or two. I could put the turnovers in the oven and run out to the store.
The music turns off suddenly, and I spin around to see Cash with my phone in his hand after he’s paused the music.
“Jesus, you scared me,” I say, then turn back around and set the bowl on the counter so I can really get in there and give the damn berries a good crushing.
Now that Cash is here, my daydreams of that beer are shattered and the cravings have disappeared. The only thing I feel now is irritation over his late night.
“Sorry. I called your name a few times, but you didn’t hear me. Guess now I know what Jude was talking about with your rage baking.” There’s a lightness in his tone, and I know it’s meant as a joke, but my hackles rise.
I set the bowl on the counter and turn back around. “You said I could use this space as my own. This is what I do when I bake.”