Chapter 1 #2
I know Jane meant well. Still, I feel uneasy. Our mother was firm about this. Almost frighteningly so. I wasn’t sure why, but she was adamant about it, and it was one of her last wishes.
“Oh my god, everything looks amazing!” Noah peers into the window. “I want all of it.”
Jamie comes up behind him, resting his chin on top of Noah’s head and looking into the glass.
I’ve known Noah since college, and seeing him with Jamie of all people is a mindfuck.
I’ve known Jamie as long as I’ve known Hunter, and Noah is literally the opposite of him in every damn way. Somehow, though, they fit. A little too well according to Hunter. “Is that your mom’s sticky rice?” he asks me.
“Yeah, it’s her recipe.” Sympathy flashes in his onyx eyes. I really wish people would stop looking at me like this. She’s gone. It’s devastating. It’s slowly tearing me apart.
I don’t want to think about it.
I haven’t even cried about it. It’s like I know I’m upset, I know this is horrible and I’ll never see her again, but somewhere in my brain it hasn’t fully snapped into place.
It’s like my mind is running from the reality.
My mother was always my biggest helper and supporter, and this has all felt very empty since she got sick.
She taught me how to bake. Baking with her was always my favorite.
Now I feel . . . empty.
We had to sell the old bakery, which used to be her restaurant, when she got sick. We needed the money for treatment. But I don’t know. I think part of me didn’t want to stay in a place that held so many memories. Not while her health deteriorated and the reality of her situation became clear.
I need to stop thinking about this. I don’t have time for a breakdown right now.
“You want one?” Jamie slides onto the barstool at my counter.
I have five of them lined up at the white counter next to my glass display case, and there are tables and chairs throughout the small shop.
There’s even a couch and coffee table in the back for people to sit and hang out.
It’s cozy and cute and I wish it were filled with more bodies than it currently is. I had dreams of people working in here while they sat down to enjoy freshly made desserts and coffee.
Most days I don’t even bother making a pot, though.
I want to feel life in here, but I have no idea how to bring it in.
“Two please.” He puts down a twenty. “Keep the change.” I take his money, appreciating the tip, and give him and Noah a cup with these cute eco-friendly seafoam green spoons I found.
“This is incredible.” Noah basically moans, taking a bite. “Sweet with just a little bit of sour. Perfect.”
“Sawyer’s mom used to make this for me when I was recovering. It’s just as good as hers,” Jamie says.
That’s a compliment if ever there was one. I watch them eat a moment. It’s this I love. Knowing I made these things from nothing, it brings a rush unlike anything else. Noah scoops up some of the mango puree and rice at the bottom. I loved the idea of turning it into a parfait. Easy on the go.
Mango puree mixed with coconut milk, then sticky rice, and some more mango puree at the bottom. It’s topped off with a coconut-cream mousse then a layer of fresh mangos. Delicious.
“You look like you’re about to have some private time with that parfait cup.” Jamie’s eyes hood.
Noah shakes his head. “Don’t embarrass me in front of our friends,” he says to Jamie.
Jamie stops eating to look at Noah. “Your shirt literally says I need HEAD.”
“Yeah!” Noah pulls his shirt out, reading it. “Hugs. Encouragement. Affection. Devotion. Some departments you’ve been lacking in lately.”
“Knock it off, you know I’m obsessed with you.” Jamie kisses his head.
Noah laughs. “I know, I just like to hear you say it.” He leans in for a kiss, which Jamie gives him gladly then wipes the cream from the corner of his lips before sticking it into his own mouth.
“I’m sorry I brought them,” Hunter apologizes. “What do you want, babe?”
Mark stands behind Hunter as my friend sits on another barstool. Mark and I have had an odd relationship. I like him now. He loves my best friend deeply, which is all I could ask for.
Back in college, Mark got caught up with some bad people. My sister’s ex set fire to my mother’s restaurant and Mark almost went down for the crime even though he didn’t have anything to do with it. Hunter somehow got involved and it was messy.
Mark fucked up, but since then I’ve grown to like him a lot. “Can I have one of those chocolate brownies?”
“It’s made with coconut milk.”
“I’ll take two.” Hunter seconds that, and I grab them a box and put six brownies in it because why the hell not. Most of them will still be in the case later today anyway.
I watch my friends, all with their partners. Hell, Noah’s friend Bo, who I went on a very short date with, is now with his best friend. Not that I’m surprised. During our date the man literally couldn’t take his eyes off Bo.
They’re cute. All of them are cute. And I . . . well. I’m painfully alone.
I try dating. I do. In fact, I have one this weekend. It’s just that whenever I go on one there’s always something missing. It’s why I didn’t really care too much that Bo moved on. There was no spark anyway. I really need to feel it.
Maybe I’m too desperate. Or way too picky. I’m not my sister, who would literally gnaw her arm off to get away from a man.
She’s single by choice. Or how does she put it?
“I’d rather put my tit in a garbage disposal than come home to a man.
” My sister’s as unattached as ever. I really wish I could be one of those people who separates sex and romance.
Sex . . . It’s been a while since I had any of that too. I wish I could be freer.
Maybe more like how Noah used to be before Jamie.
Okay wow, not something I ever thought I’d say.
“When do you open?” Noah asks, practically licking his cup clean, and I laugh, taking another out of the case and handing it to him. “Oh, thank you!” Noah puts it between him and Jamie. “Go ahead, babe.”
“I am open.” Noah freezes with the spoon at his lips. “It’s slow in the mornings.” And nights, and weekends, and afternoons.
“You know what you should do?” Noah says.
“You should throw events, on like Friday nights or the weekends. Something fun. Hey!” Noah’s fingers lace around Jamie’s tattooed bicep.
“You should do an art exhibit. Have people come, make special treats. You can charge a small admission fee and anything you put out they can try. Like little sample sizes of your things. Then if they want the full-sized dessert they can order! My brain is brilliant!”
That sounds great except I can barely get people in here for free.
How could I charge people just to walk through the door?
That thought’s too embarrassing to say out loud, so instead I just nod and smile.
Sometimes the best course of action when Noah is involved.
“I don’t know. I don’t really have time to plan all that. ”
“Let me,” he offers.
“What?”
“Let me plan it. Then you can bake that gorgeous butt off.”
“Why are we complimenting other men’s asses when I’m sitting right here?” Jamie says.
“You know I’m obsessed with your butt. I’m just complimenting a friend. He knows how he got that nickname, believe me.” Noah whispers, “Man’s got a whole bakery back there.” He shrugs. “It’s how he got the nickname.”
“Does he get a Daddy name too?” Jamie asks. “Wait. Why don’t I have one?!”
“Why do you want one?” Hunter shakes his head.
“Can’t I be like Tattoo Daddy or something?” Jamie asks licking his spoon.
“No, that’s taken,” Noah says simply, finishing the rest of his cup.
“By who?!” Jamie glares.
“Ian.” Noah slides me the empty cup to throw away. “Anyway, Bakery Booty, I want to help. Let me help.”
“Wait, it’s Bakery Booty?” Jamie’s brows pinch. “Why not Cupcake Daddy or something?”
“Why are you giving him ideas?” I hiss.
“Oh! I didn’t think of that. Too late. It’s like having a pet. You can’t just change their name suddenly. He’ll get confused.” Noah looks back at me. I’m getting whiplash. “Seriously, let me do this. We can think about a bunch of fun things we could do.”
“I don’t . . . This is a lot.”
“Think about it. Today, it’s not enough to just be a good pastry chef. You need to shout your craft from the rooftops and hope you shout loud enough to get someone’s attention. Doing events will help draw in crowds. People need a gimmick. We can do game nights—”
“No,” we all say collectively.
“Guys, don’t be jealous. Strip poker is just for us. It’s our magical bonding time, and I wouldn’t even think about doing it with anyone else. Something else, though. Game nights. Book clubs. You need to be more than just a badass baker with a great ass.”
That last part aside he may be right, but I can barely handle being a pastry chef, how the hell would I be able to do all that too? I’m not outgoing. I’m not Noah. I don’t know how to put myself out there. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to do all that.”
Noah takes his phone out. “What social media do you use?”
“Social media?”
Noah blinks at me. “Okay, wow. This is what we’re doing. This weekend I’m coming over after work on Saturday, and we’re setting up your social media. I’m going to teach you how to use it, then we’ll plan an event. This is what you need to do. Believe me.”
“Noah, this is a lot, I don’t—”
“Listen to me.” His green eyes pin me in place. “You’re an incredible pastry chef. You are a kind, sexy, sexy, sexy man. We just need everyone else to know it too.”
“That I’m a great chef or that I’m sexy?” I joke.
“Both. Have you seen some of those thirst traps online? Believe me . . .” Noah takes a breath. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s very rare that I take things seriously.”
“You don’t say.”