Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
The fundraiser is tomorrow! Come to the address below to shop for a good cause.
Facebook event page of the St. Matthew’s Presbyterian Church.
“So what are we making today, honey?” Caroline says. Mia sits on the kitchen counter top, legs dangling, sparkly pink unicorn rainboots on her feet. She sucks on a Dum Dum, and her lips are stained purple.
Mia pulls out the sucker long enough to say, “Unicorn cookies!”
The kitchen feels warm and homey, and rain patters gently on the windows. I look at Caroline. “Do you think they’d sell well?”
“Oh, hon, you could make your sugar cookies look like the poop emoji and they’d sell like hot cakes!” Caroline says.
Mia giggles. “Mommy said poop.”
It’s Saturday, and I’m at Zeke’s house with my list of treats we’re going to bake for the fundraiser.
Nerves course through my body. Are Zeke and I going to talk about what happened last night or ignore it?
I’m here because I promised I would be, but part of me just wants to go back home and turn on my favorite baking show.
Zeke is at the grocery store getting flour, butter, and sugar, so I can avoid the awkwardness for a little while longer.
I reach for a mixing bowl. “Okay. Unicorn cookies. And I was thinking my special brown butter chocolate chip?”
Caroline sets a Costco-sized bag of brown sugar on the counter. “You had me at browned butter.” Her dark hair is piled on her head in a twisty bun today with two chopsticks holding it all together, and she wears a navy blue apron over a sunshine yellow sweater and jeans.
“Dark chocolate caramel-stuffed cookies, chocolate frosted brownies, cinnamon rolls,” I read the items off my list. “And maybe something fruity? Like blueberry muffins? If we have time, we can make s’mores bars.
They’re probably my second favorite dessert ever.
But I don’t want to go overboard with chocolatey things. ”
Caroline beams. “Honey, you’re a wonder.”
My face flushes with pride, and I can’t keep the smile from my face. If my mom was here, she’d throw a fit over the calorie count in each dessert.
I take a deep breath. Mom thinks I’m at Suzy’s studying. And I’m going to let myself enjoy this, even if I’m nervous for when Zeke gets here and things inevitably get uncomfortable.
The cinnamon roll dough is undergoing its first rise and I’m browning butter for the chocolate chip cookies when Zeke walks through the door. He brings with him his own signature scent, and it adds to the good smells of homey yeast and spicy cinnamon that are already in the kitchen.
“You’re here!” Caroline exclaims, giving her son a hug. “Let me help you with those bags.”
Zeke puts reusable canvas totes filled with baking ingredients on the table.
I focus on the pan of spitting and popping butter on the stove in front of me so I don’t have to look at Zeke.
I painted my fingernails white and beige this morning to match my sweater, and I even used an adorable nail stencil to paint tiny chocolate chip cookies on my pointer fingers.
“Just in time, too,” Caroline says. “Miss Callie needs that cream cheese on the counter to start softening, and this little lady needs to take a bath.”
“NO!” Mia protests. “Help, Miss Callie!”
I turn, laughing, as Caroline drags Mia from off the counter, kicking and screaming.
“Miss Callie can’t help you!” Caroline grunts as she carries a kicking Mia up the stairs.
I hear the tub water turn on shortly after.
Caroline pokes her head down the stairs.
“She loves baths. It takes a minute to get her in the tub, but she’ll want to play for a while. You two okay to keep baking down here?”
Zeke and I finally exchange looks. I hurry to nod and look away. “We’ll be fine.”
Things get quiet in the kitchen after that. The butter starts to show brown specks on the bottom of the pan, so I don’t stop stirring. I watch for the moment when all the particles of butter bloom into golden, caramelly brown.
“Callie, I—”
“Hold on,” I interrupt. “I’m watching the butter.”
“You’re watching the butter?”
There it is! The butter blossoms into brown, and I quickly take the pan off the stove and pour the butter into my mixing bowl, where I’ve already measured brown and white sugar.
“Perfect!” I say.
“Do you need any help?” Zeke asks. “What can I do?”
“Add two teaspoons of vanilla to that, and two eggs and two egg yolks.” I lose myself in the baking process, and Zeke’s nothing but helpful.
We make the dough for the chocolate chip cookies, bake the cinnamon rolls, and whip the cream cheese frosting.
The tension in the air gradually dissipates, and things feel comfortable.
Friendly. I’m starting to wonder if I imagined the movie night hand holding.
But then I notice the way Zeke studiously avoids touching me, going out of his way to avoid contact when he hands me a wooden spoon or a cup of flour.
He works on dishes in the sink while I unwrap a small mountain of Rolos for the caramel-stuffed double chocolate cookies. “This is going to take forever,” I say. “I was too ambitious. I always think I can bake more than I actually can. We might not be able to—”
“Callie,” Zeke says.
I turn around, and he’s right there, standing too close, filling me up with his intoxicating scent. I tilt my head up to look into his eyes.
“Can we talk about yesterday?” He’s close enough that if he leaned forward, just a tad, our lips could touch.
I nod, my throat closing up. I turn back to the counter and resume unwrapping, placing the opened chocolates in a bowl. “Yes. We should.”
Zeke takes a step back. “I don’t know what I was thinking. That should never have happened.”
I should’ve expected it, but it still feels like a gut punch.
“It won’t happen again,” Zeke says. “I promise. We’re just—just friends. Not even that,” he adds quietly.
My breath gets stuck in my throat. His words hurt more than they should’ve.
I set down the chocolate and turn toward Zeke.
I gather my courage and take a step closer.
“But what if it did happen again?” My hands are stained with melted chocolate, and this isn’t the most romantic setting.
My heart is hammering in my chest. Zeke’s mom is probably going to come back down the stairs any second now, but I have to get this out. “What if I want it to happen again?”
I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I clasp them together in front of me. This is terrifying, putting myself out there. My heart is on the cutting board, and he could smoosh it with a rolling pin if he wanted to.
Zeke’s face goes through a range of expressions. I watch them play out on his beautiful brown skin—a moment of hope, quickly overshadowed by fear and horror.
A sinking feeling takes over me. I turn around and resume unwrapping. I have to squeeze my eyes shut so the tears don’t leak out.
“Callie.” Zeke’s footsteps sound on the tile floor as he steps a little closer. “It’s not you. You’re great.”
Great. Just great.
“You know why I can’t . . . I can’t be with anyone right now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I swallow. “I . . . uhhh . . . I need a minute. I’ll be back.”
“Callie—”
I ignore Zeke’s call and walk blindly through the living room and out his front door, waving an arm in front of my face to check for spiderwebs without really thinking about it. I sit down on his front porch step, put my head on my knees, and breathe.
Zeke . . . Zeke rejected me. After I was willing to put everything aside to be with him, he didn’t want me.
I swallow the sting of tears. I can’t abandon Caroline halfway through our baking, so I have to go back in there and endure Zeke’s pitying look and the awkwardness that will unfold between us. I have to go back in there and pretend to be his friend, to act like everything’s fine.
Because it’s in the contract.