FIVE
Elton
“Jeeves, I need to find cupcakes for Neive,” I shout to the front of the car.
I’ve been on a conference call for the last forty minutes and, luckily, Jeeves took the initiative to drive around aimlessly until I was done.
He deserves another raise. The backseat of my Jeep is somewhere I do an impressive amount of work, like now with my laptop and paperwork spread out over the seats.
I’m stretching myself thin, and soon something will give.
But if I’m going to make this work for Neive then sometimes work is going to happen in the back of the car, especially when I’m doing the odd six-hour round trip into London to be home in time for dinner.
He nods at me in the mirror as he taps on Google maps, checking our location.
Claire and Jeeves have taken care of most of the presents and organised a meal with Neive’s new friends from her new school, but I want to do this bit myself. Show her how loved she is, and show her that everything is okay despite life as she knows it falling apart.
“Elton, there’s a bakery around the corner, or there’s a few in the city centre.”
I wave my hand in indifference. That’s what’s great about having your oldest friend work for you.
Little communication is needed. This is going to be a long and painful day, packed with meetings squeezed between Teams calls.
I run my hands through my hair, counting down the hours until I can be outside by the firepit with a beer.
Jeeves parks right out the front, before getting out and opening the door for me. He knows I hate it when he does that. So naturally, he continues to do so. I raise my eyebrows at him and tell him to leave the car running. I’m going to be in and out.
The old-fashioned shopfront isn’t exactly screaming award-winning cakes, but I don’t have time to find anywhere else.
The paint around the door handle peels off as I pull it open, letting a bell ring above my head.
Old school, I like that, it might not be so bad here after all.
“One minute,” a sweet voice calls from the back.
The inside is a slight improvement on the outside – clean but outdated, redeemed by a selection of brightly coloured cupcakes, biscuits and cookies filling the displays. The radio plays quietly in the background, giving a relaxing mood.
But a smell of burnt confections fills my nose as someone yells, “Fuck!” along with the sound of crashing pans coming through the backroom door.
A short woman steps through the doorway, brushing flour off on her apron.
“Sorry about that. How can I help?” Her red hair is tied into a mess of a bun on her head with a couple of pens sticking out of it.
I’d recognise those curls anywhere – I had them splayed across my bed and now I see them in my dreams every night.
With a smear of icing on her chin and bits of batter in her hair, she’s a far cry from the goddess I had under me a few weeks ago, but still she’s a striking woman.
Her face drops. “You!” she seethes, her words dripping with disdain. She’s pissed off with me? What did I do?
“Reilly. What? Erm … why? You work here?” I stumble over my words.
“Clearly,” she states, one hand on her hip and the other waving at her yellow apron with Sunshine Cakes written across her chest. The sass and feistiness coming off her in waves stirs something inside of me. She is not pleased to see me, and I can’t help but smirk at her ire.
“I need cupcakes. Although should I be concerned about the burning smell?” I ask her, genuinely intrigued by what could have happened.
She huffs a breath and wipes her hair off her face with her dusty hands, leaving a streak of flour on her forehead.
I want to brush it off, to touch her, the memories of our night together creeping in.
“No! The oven’s on the brink of death, and the timer didn’t go off.” She huffs out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest. “How many cupcakes? What kind?” she spits at me, angrily. It’s cute.
Her unexpected presence has brightened my day; I might finally get answers to the ending of our night together. I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I school my features, trying not to give away how ecstatic I am to see her.
“Six cupcakes. Anything. Something girlie.” I shrug. God knows what sort of cupcakes I’m meant to buy. I didn’t ask, and Neive was vague this morning. Probably a little upset at the prospect of spending her birthday without her mum.
“Mmm, girlie cupcakes. For someone special, perhaps?” she asks me, as she raises her eyebrows. The hostility I received that night is still there, and I’m still at a loss as to why.
She boxes up a selection of pink and purple cupcakes adorned with flowers and what I hope is edible glitter.
The crease in her forehead distracts me – her face sharp and her lips firm, but her hands delicate as she handles the box.
She pushes it towards me with one finger, as if she doesn’t want to get any closer, clearing her throat and pulling me out of my head.
“Will a thirteen-year-old like these?” I ask, not having a clue what Neive is into currently. It changes every week. Reilly’s mouth pops open, and her eyes widen at my question.
“Unbelievable. So not only are you in a relationship, but you have a child?!”
What the fuck is she talking about? She must see the confusion on my face, even as she continues to berate me.
“I heard your phone call!” She practically spits the words out. “You lied to that poor woman on the phone about where you were and who you were with. You thought you could have your fun with me and run back to be a ‘family man’.”
She thinks I’m married! And she ran off instead of asking me. Not even giving me the chance to set her straight. Another person not stopping before jumping to conclusions. Unease settles in my chest, old wounds reopening. I haven’t got the energy to deal with this today.
“Right, anyway,” I huff, wanting to move this along and get out of here.
She doesn’t trust me, no need to waste my time.
“Can I just get the cupcakes? I’ve got a long day.
” She rings me up, and I tap my card, grab the box and make my way to the door to get the hell out of there.
As I reach for the door handle, I take one last look back at her.
She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, her chestnut red hair falling over her eyes, which are storming with disgust. There’s flour and batter covering her apron; honestly, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
But she’s made her mind up about me, and I won’t be able to change it.
“I’ll see you around, Reilly.” My last words to her as the ding of the bell sounds when I exit. And honestly, despite the flight mode kicking in, a part of me hopes I will.