22. Chapter 22
twenty-two
It’s amazing how quickly you can get over awkwardness in a friendship when you a) have the memory of a goldfish, and b) were born with awkwardness as your default setting.
Oh, and when your friend acts like the awkward thing never even happened. That might be the strongest contributor.
But I digress.
I’d catastrophized about what would happen with our friendship until the two goodnight knocks had come through the wall after Friday night’s car-leaning incident.
And when he responded with the same the next morning, we’d met up to walk out together.
He’d made coffee for us, and I’d brought more cookies since I’d forgotten to give the baggie to him while making my hasty getaway.
He’d been as cheerful and easygoing as usual.
If he hadn’t stood further away from me than normal, I’d almost believe nothing had happened between us.
If only.
I shifted into a cross-legged position and leaned against the wall of the apartment complex’s laundry room as the sounds of my show sang through my earbud.
Whoever’s brilliant idea it was to not include any seating in the laundry room deserved a lifetime of numb butt cheeks.
Clearly, they hadn’t considered Forgetful Franny’s like yours truly who, should they venture away from the laundry room, their clothes would cease to exist until they tried to get dressed the next morning.
Then they’d conveniently remember, and the clothes would magically spring back into existence.
After the load of damp laundry had a whole night to marinate.
I was convinced my bra still smelled musty, even after rewashing it.
The door to the laundry room opened and shut. From my vantage point sitting in the back corner beside the last row of dryers, I had no idea who’d entered, but I hoped they wouldn’t look my way. Let me lose all sensation in my posterior in peace, thank you very much.
“That you, Chef?”
I jerked my head up at the familiar voice, smiling reflexively the moment I caught sight of Max over the machines. At his height, he had no problem seeing me from the rows of washers where he loaded his own clothes.
“You joining the laundry rush?” I asked, and cringed at how obvious the answer was. “Never mind. Dumb question.”
He smiled, not bothered in the slightest. Like usual. “Maybe I’m here to steal someone else’s laundry. Never know unless you ask.”
“Yeah, I think the day you turn to a life of crime is the day I give up butter, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
He chuckled and emptied the rest of his laundry. “Why are you hanging out in here? That can’t be comfortable, sitting on the floor like that.”
“It’s more comfortable than moldy underthings.”
His brow furrowed over his smile. “ What ?”
I waved away his— valid —concern. “This way I can get my laundry out as soon as it’s done and free up a machine for someone else.”
It wasn’t my biggest motivator, but it was still true. The only thing worse than my musty clothes when I forgot was the guilt over taking up a machine someone else could’ve used. As it was, the fact that Max and I had managed to find an open washer on a Sunday was a miracle.
“Sure, but at what cost?” He inserted the necessary coins and started his machine.
“My butt—that’s the cost.” I cringed again. “Sorry, it’s weird to talk about butts in casual conversation, isn’t it?”
He shrugged, his eyes sparkling like diamonds against black felt. “Depends on the company you keep, I guess.”
“Fair point.”
And just like that, the constricting embarrassment that followed me everywhere loosened its hold.
Its heat receded until I could breathe without inhaling ashes.
Max had that effect often. His happy-go-lucky demeanor brushed out the tangled knot I made out of everything like it was nothing.
I don’t think he even knew he did it. Simply by being himself, he parted the fog I saw myself through until I glimpsed the person my friends thought I was. The person I might actually be.
He didn’t find my awkwardness painful. He didn’t mind the zoning out or the random questions, just like my friends didn’t. They rolled with the punches, and they hadn’t left yet. They could easily avoid me, but they didn’t.
Maybe I wasn’t so unlovable after all.
Max sat beside me, his warmth leaping across the few inches separating us. He’d sat as far from me as he could in the space we had, but I tried not to dwell on that tidbit. The fact remained that he’d chosen to sit by me in the first place.
Today was about small wins.
“What are you watching?”
“Only the greatest contribution to television this century has ever seen.” I angled my phone screen so he could see the competitive baking show and dug out my other earbud from my pocket. “Want to join me?”
“With a glowing recommendation like that, how can I refuse?” He accepted the earbud and popped it in.
Never before had I wished for corded earbuds to share instead of Bluetooth ones, but it was probably for the best that we wouldn’t be forced shoulder to shoulder.
My traitor brain might start daydreaming about kissing him again.
Not that it was a frequent fantasy of mine or anything, but… yeah. It was.
I dedicated an unholy amount of energy to keeping my breathing level when his faint, but familiar scent reached my nose.
Sweet mercy and sour cream , how was this fair?
His cologne mixed well with everything, but especially the laundry detergent in the air.
Meanwhile, my perfume ghosted me five seconds after I applied it.
“In that case,” I said, managing to not sound like I wanted to snort him like permanent markers, “we should start with this one.” I navigated through my streaming app to find my favorite show.
“This one’s entertaining no matter your baking prowess.
Amateur bakers compete to see who can replicate a professional creation the best before the time limit’s up. ”
“Now that sounds like one I might actually qualify for.”
I laughed and playfully bumped his shoulder with mine.
Though, let the record show, I retreated into my own space no matter how desperately I wanted to snuggle against him instead.
I was the epitome of self-control today.
Gold star for me. “Based on how you did helping me when my ankle bit the dust, I think you’d win, easy breezy lemon squeezy. ”
“I think all the credit goes to you on that.” He smiled softly and waited until I met his eyes. “You’re a patient teacher and a good boss, Dekker. I would’ve been less than helpful if it were anyone else directing me.”
I shook my head. “You gotta give yourself more credit, Max—”
“And so do you.” He held eye contact, his expression grim and dark eyes stormy.
I sighed heavily and set my phone on the floor between us. Max followed my cue, removing his earbud and angling to face me better. Our legs touched this way, his bronze skin peppered with dark hair under his gym shorts while my running shorts-clad legs were alarmingly pale.
I hadn’t told anyone about Besserman and the article that had cut me down to ribbons.
No one. Not even Lex. The shame still felt too heavy, the pain too raw.
But I needed to let it out to someone somehow sometime.
I’d cried over it enough by now—I needed catharsis .
And Max was safe. Above all else—the devilish good looks, thoughtfulness, kindness, and all the things that made me fall for him a little more each day—he was safe .
I took my own earbud out and nervously rolled it between my fingers. “You know how running a bakery is a bit of a sore subject for me? Well, that’s because I… did have my own bakery.”
His eyebrows rose marginally, and he nodded, the only indication of surprise as he waited for me to go on.
“Back in Pittsburgh, I owned and operated Double Dekker Cakery for four years. It was my baby, I guess. My dream.”
When I didn’t continue, he asked, “What happened?”
I gritted my teeth, the memories bitter and biting behind my eyes.
“Richard Besserman happened.” I took a calming breath, willing myself to keep my composure.
Besserman wasn’t here. I was safe from him and his cutting words.
“He was an employee of mine at the time. He had good business sense, but his baking skills weren’t where they needed to be if he was going to have his own bakery like he wanted. ”
Max hummed in acknowledgement, his brow furrowed.
“The bakery was doing pretty well for itself. Business was steady, we were in the black, and we’d even made it in the top ten list for best bakeries in Pittsburgh two years in a row.”
It had been a source of pride for me, proof that the impulsive fledgling could spread her wings and fly. And then the fledgling made too many mistakes, flew too close to the sun, and went down in flames.
I smoothed a hand over my hair, wishing it wasn’t in a bun so I could give it a good tug. Experiencing this the first time was painful enough. Explaining it and my culpability—my stupidity —in all of it was so much worse. But the only way out was through.
“Richard asked me out about once a week for months, and I always declined because I was his boss, you know?” And then there was the fact that I was more attracted to a bottle of hot sauce than I was to him, but that was probably irrelevant. “Finally, I gave in. Just one date, right?”
Ha! If only it had been that easy. But no.
A muscle flickered in Max’s jaw, his features uncharacteristically stony and his eyes sharp as obsidian. Still, he listened.
“It was an okay date, just a simple dinner, but there wasn’t any chemistry.
” Literally none. A freezer at zero degrees Kelvin—if that were possible—would have more chemical reactions going on than there were between Besserman and me.
“So when he asked me out again, I told him I didn’t see it going anywhere, and that continuing to date my employee wasn’t a very professional practice to have. ”