Chapter 4 #2
“It’s the perfect ratio of mint and chocolate. Sometimes the mint is just off or tastes too much like toothpaste . . .” I take another bite and swallow, covering my mouth. “But this is perfect.”
“One moment.” He gets up and I crane my neck, watching him walk to the back. It feels like my chest is both on fire and freezing to death. I don’t understand what medical emergency is happening to me. A heart attack? It feels like I’m about to pass out.
That feeling thickens when I watch him come back out with a bottle of water. “Here. If you need more, I have some upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
He nods. “I live upstairs.”
Upstairs. Which means it could be up there. It’s like the end is right in front of me. No more Ivan. No more sneaking around to see the only family I have left. “So . . .” He slides the paper across the table. “It’s all standard stuff.”
I finally have a license, so answering questions will be easier than when I went to Cam’s gym that first time.
“You can take that and fill out the questions. If you have any questions of your own, just ask. I’m looking for someone to help with the front end, cleaning, sometimes helping me prep desserts.
Just basic stuff. We’re changing our hours, though, when we reopen the first Friday in June.
We’re closing at the end of this week until then to prepare and redecorate. ”
My eyes slide to the chairs. “It’s not supposed to look like a doctor’s office?”
Sawyer frowns, his eyes sliding into a glare.
“No. Not really what I was going for.” I glance at the paper.
“After we reopen, those hours on the paper are the ones I’ll need you available for.
These next couple of weeks, if you can just come in a few times a week for four to six hours to help prepare for the reopening .
. . After that it’ll be about twenty to twenty-five hours a week. ”
“Helping renovate and prepare before, and then what when you reopen?”
“If you want the job, you’ll have to work Friday until about eight.
The exact time is still being worked out.
I haven’t decided on eight or nine yet. Then Saturday nights, the shift would be from ten till eight.
The shift you’ll work will be four till eight.
I’d have you running the register and cleaning while I prep for the week.
Sundays and Mondays we’ll be closed. The nights we hold events I’ll need you to run the register and anything else our guests will need. ”
“Events?” Why ask? It doesn’t matter? I’m not staying here for that long. With access to both his apartment and the bakery, it shouldn’t take me more than a couple of shifts to look while he’s busy.
“We’re reopening the first Friday in June, and we’re going to have a Valentine’s themed reopening party. We’re going to have a queer-safe mixer where people can come meet new friends or maybe something more. My friends are helping me run it.”
“Queer safe?”
He nods. “My friend’s idea, but it sounds like fun. I’m gay. Um, yeah. I just—” He shrugs. “It sounds nice. Not a lot of queer-safe events going on. It’s a good way to meet new people.” His face flames. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
Sawyer’s eyes widen as he stares at the table. “I have no idea.” He laughs nervously.
He’s so awkward, it’s insufferable. “I don’t know anything about baking.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do that. I may need help on occasion, but you can learn as you go. I just need help. Like really, really need help. I need extra hands.”
My eyes drop to his nervously moving hands.
“I really need help,” he says softly.
It’s my interview, but it feels like he’s the one auditioning.
“That sounds great.” If he has me cleaning and managing things, I’ll have time to look around.
Find that stupid elephant and never see the state of New York again as long as I live.
I have no idea where we’ll go, but I’m taking her away from all this.
“If you can fill out the paperwork . . . and I just need a phone number where I can reach you.”
“Are you hiring me?”
“I mean, yeah. If you want the job. I haven’t had any other applicants. Not that there’s anything wrong with you! It’s not that, I um . . . I’m going to shut up now.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “When should I start?”
“If you want to come in Monday, we can start. I have some planning to do. We’re moving furniture around. Eleven till four?”
“Sounds good.” I stand with my box of brownies. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Bye, Aiden.”
“Bye.”
I walk into the gym and find who I’m looking for at the front desk. As his eyes lift, I toss the box on the counter. “What is this?” he asks.
I met Cam last winter. He’s Latino, with an umber skin tone and curly dark-brown hair. I think he’s Honduran. I know his grandmother was. He rambles a lot and I tune most of it out, only snagging bits and pieces here and there.
He’s also very muscular, but I’ve seen this man cry enough times over random shit to know how fucking pathetic he is inside. The muscles, I’ve come to learn, are decorative.
Last week there was a grasshopper in the gym basement, and I thought he was going to have a panic attack until I found it and scooped it up to take it outside.
“I brought you dessert.”
Cam’s golden eyes flit between me and the box. “Is it poison?”
“Yes.”
I started coming here late last year after we moved to the farmhouse. Cam is one of the trainers here, and the biggest pain in my ass. I also know that the only thing he loves more than his boyfriend—who he never shuts the fuck up about—is food.
His attention goes back to his computer.
“Why do I still kind of want it?” He looks at me. “Is it gluten free?”
“I don’t think so.”
He nods. “My boyfriend can’t—”
“Eat gluten, yes, I know. Your boyfriend can’t eat gluten.”
“My boyfriend.” Cam grins wide. “My boyfriend,” he singsongs.
He finishes typing.
“When are you going to stop saying that?” I ask.
Cam punches one of the keys loudly. “When it stops being awesome.” He beams.
Idiot. “Are you busy right now?”
“I’m almost done entering applications. By the way, your membership is coming up. If you’re going to be super sketchy and hand me cash again, I’m going to need that by June first.”
“I have a debit card now.” He looks up at me. “It’s not poison, Cam.”
He opens the bag, peeking in. “Oh, shit.”
He pulls the box out and opens the lid. “Ugh, I love these raspberry limonada cookies.”
“You’ve had them?”
He nods, taking a bite. “This is Sawyer’s bakery.”
“You know him?”
I watch his dark brows pull together. “You know that guy Bo went on a date with, before he became my boyfriend?” What is he talking about? “Mr. Fantasyland?” He imitates what I think he thinks my voice sounds like.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Like what? Like you’re slightly bored with the earth spinning, so you’re trying your hardest to get it to stop?”
“Shut up.” Then I remember what he’s talking about. Last year he was whining about some guy Bo had a date with. “That’s him?” He nods. Well shit. I guess I understand why Bo wanted to date him.
“But it didn’t work, and now Bo is my—”
“Boyfriend. Got it. Well, I got a job there.”
“No shit. That’s awesome, man, congrats. Sawyer’s a great guy. A little high strung. He needs help.” He shakes his head. “He’s been through it. Especially lately.”
“What do you mean?”
Cam’s attention pulls to me. “His mom died recently. I don’t even think he’s stopped working since. Sawyer is great, but he needs to relax, so I’m glad he’s getting help. Even if it’s from someone as bitchy as you.”
“Excuse me?” Cam grins wider. “Fuck you, I’m not bitchy.”
“Number eighty-four,” he whispers, focusing on his screen.
“What? What’s that? Eighty-four?”
“Oh, nothing.” He grins wide. All white teeth.
“No, tell me! What did you just say?”
Cam sighs and finishes typing then turns to me. “I keep count when you tell me to fuck off, go fuck myself, or the classic . . . fuck you. I turn them into endearments in my mind. You really love me.”
“Fuck—” His thick brows rise. “This,” I grit. “I was going to ask if you wanted to spar for a bit.”
“Can’t today. I’m leaving in half an hour. Bo’s parents are flying in from Cali with his sister and nephew and I promised I’d help him clean. My man is spicy when he’s stressed. It’s the first time he’s seen them since he became—”
“Your boyfriend,” I finish.
“I was going to say a homeowner, but yeah, that too.” He winks. “I’ll join you next time.”
“Sounds good.” I ignore the disappointment as it settles. Not because Cam’s too busy for me, I just really, really want to punch something.
“Hey, um . . .” I turn to Cam as he rounds the desk and walks up to me.
“Between you and me . . . not that I don’t think you’re awesome, but like, all of this .
. .” I flinch back as he waves his hand over my face.
“The strongman attitude and words that you love to fling at me? Don’t do it to Sawyer. He’s not as strong as I am.”
I snort. “Sure thing Cam.”
“He won’t understand your flavor of affection.”
“Did you just call me an asshole?”
Cam grins wide. “Me?” He blinks innocently. “Never.” He slaps me on my shoulder, gripping it in his palm. “Have a good day, grouch.”
He’s the asshole.
It’s a shame he’s not coming downstairs with me.
I really want to punch something.