Chapter 8 #2
“That’s probably a hard no,” he says with a chuckle.
“My parents pushed for me to go into business. I half hated that, but I’m half glad they did.
I wanted to go to culinary school, and I was red hot mad that they wouldn’t let me, but in my second year of college, I kind of came around.
I settled in and made some friends. I still wish I could go, and I’ll say that until my dying breath, but I’m back working at the bakery.
I have been for a year. It’s a great thing to be able to do all the financials and paperwork, plus know my way around a website and how to do proper marketing.
” If only my dad would listen to me when it comes to all the overhauls I want to do.
“But your bakery is a family tradition.”
“It is, but my parents wanted something else for me. They’ve never made a secret of that.
It’s not just that I’m a daughter.” I lapse into silence because I’ve thought endlessly about this, basically my whole life, and I still can’t figure out why exactly that is, other than surface-level practicality.
If you have a business degree, your chances of finding a job are always quite good.
He fish-mouths while he collects himself and processes that.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him open and close his lips like that.
It gets hotter every single time, and I have to force myself to look elsewhere before my panties have some kind of natural disaster.
Fire or flood, I only have this pair left.
When I said last change of clothes, I meant last of everything.
The little cottage had running water but no washer or dryer, and finding a laundromat wasn’t an issue until it was, but by then, my car had gone the way of… well, the tree.
“I remember even when I was there, your parents talked about their future children not having to inherit the bakery. They wanted it to be a choice.” His wince cuts through me.
Age is just whatever. It matters, but it doesn’t have to be everything. This is me refusing to take it as a hard no.
“Yeah, about that… I’ve kind of ceased to be weirded out by it.
Not that I ever was. So what if you were on this earth long before I was even in existence?
It doesn’t bother me. And it doesn’t change the fact that our body chemistry is grade A hot, or that you’re irresistibly beautiful on the inside and outside. ”
“You’re doing this for your father. Or for you too?” Look at him go, being a master of deflection.
I’m going to circle around back to my original point in a minute.
“The bakery is a family tradition. The only thing I can think of, after literally years of time to process it, is that my parents wanted more for me. The bakery ties them to Ohio, and they can’t go see the world.
They’ve had to sacrifice all the time. My mom thinks I don’t fully understand that, and she’s right.
I haven’t lived all that they’ve lived. I can understand why she’d want me to chase dreams and not anchor myself down in chains.
It’s also a mental thing. She’s had to watch my dad deteriorate over the years.
Running a business is stressful. You live with it twenty-four seven, and you don’t stop thinking about it when you shut the lights off at night. ”
“That’s partly my fault,” he mutters.
“Nothing is your fault.” I’ve never been more sincere about anything in my life. “I want you to understand that.”
He makes a noise in his throat that tells me he still has a healthy amount of self-blame that he’s not going to let go of.
“Have you read other philosophy or poems?” He steers the conversation away from himself again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. And you’re right. I need to stop hiding. I miss being out in the world. I want to hear more about what you think. It’s… inspiring.”
“Is it hot?” I tease.
“Dulcie…”
Sorry. It was the perfect opportunity to circle back around. “I won’t tell you a single thing until you’re honest with me. Opening my soul up and bleeding it out for you isn’t going to happen if it’s not reciprocal.”
His brows crash down as his eyes darken. The lighting reflects off of them, glinting a stark blue on his blown pupils. “Truly?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you anyway.” I settle back against the bench seat and tuck the bottle beside me. “You’re a safe person, Luca. And I admire that so much about you. You listen. You’re a thinker. A still waters run deep kind of human, which is so fucking rare.”
He bows his head, obviously deeply uncomfortable with praise and compliments.
“Intelligence is a major turn-on. That and kindness. Humor too. Have I said these things before? I distinctly remember telling you that you’re pretty much my dream man.”
“Stop it.”
“Okay fine.” My backpack and suitcase are tucked at the front wall of the bus.
I didn’t want them to be placed underneath in the luggage compartment.
The driver offered when Luca picked me up, but I declined.
I have a ratty old notebook in the same compartment as my laptop.
It’s been with me since high school, but it’s nothing special.
Just a composition book with a plain blue cover.
I sit back down with it and flip through the pages while Luca’s gaze burns a hole through me.
I don’t think he was expecting me to pull out the big guns.
I like the element of surprise. “Slightly depressing, funny, a little bit unhinged, or motivational?”
“You can pick.”
“Motivational, then, I guess.”
Ever since my grade ten English teacher told the class that journaling didn’t have to be writing down what you did in a day, I’ve been inspired to have this notebook and jot down my thoughts and feelings.
It’s a great tool when it comes to taking the stuff banging around torturously in my brain and getting it out so it doesn’t bother me anymore, especially when I’d rather be sleeping than having my thoughts whirr around my brain in endless loops.
The book is almost full, but it’s not a problem. I’ve been inserting pages and papers in, and I can always glue in more when it gets to the end. I’m not going to stop until this thing resembles a textbook in thickness. I flip toward the back, finding something I wrote a few weeks ago.
When everything was drastically different, and I had no fucking idea what was coming down the road. No. Fucking. Idea.
“This is just my opinion. It’s not… ordained or anything.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He does that thing with his voice where it conveys his smile. I don’t even have to look up.
I’m afraid if I do, I’m going to slam this notebook shut and put it back into my bag where it belongs.
I never intended for any of this to see the light of day.
When I said Luca was a safe person, I meant it.
He’s not mine, but he’s my safe person in this moment, and if this moment is all we have, then I’m taking it.
I’m going to grasp it and run with it, bundle it up and stuff it down inside me so I can pore over every detail later and probably churn, turn, and burn it into words in this very notebook.
I hold the page open and raise my head. I was afraid a moment ago, but now I want to say something to see Luca smile. I need to. “Can I have your opinion on something before I read this?”
“Uh, I guess so?” He’s cautious, sensing the smile trap I’m laying out for him.
“Can you be called a DILF if you’re not a dad?” I let that drop, wait a minute, then give him my most charming, innocent grin, batting my eyelashes dramatically.
He loses the battle, grinning in response and laughing as he shakes his head. “I have no idea. I wish I didn’t even know what DILF stands for.”
“Your smile is the best. Has anyone ever told you that?” I ask.
It fades as soon as I mention it. He squirms on the seat, tucking his left foot up under his right knee. He traces the top of his boot. “No. Especially not now.”
“I think it’s lovely, and the way the scars start at your lip gives you this sexy sort of sneer all the time. When you smile, it’s just the slightest bit uneven. It’s disarming and adorable and so sweet,” I tell him.
His head snaps up. His eyes are narrowed, looking for a real trap. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Would it be wrong to say that I wish I were, but in a literal sense?”
“Dulcie,” he groans.
“Okay.” I’ve tortured him and myself enough.
“I’m reading now. Although I do have to note that when you say my name in a growly, threatening way, it makes me want to do the opposite of behaving.
” And putting that out there does the exact opposite of keeping my hormones and all those sexy butterflies and buzzing buzzers in line.
“I wrote this right after I talked to my dad, back when he told me we might have to shut down the bakery. I couldn’t sleep, and the weight coming down on me was endless.
Forget the roof. The whole sky was tearing apart, and empires were dying. It was that kind of heavy blackness.”
“I understand,” he says solemnly.
He does. He knows what it is like to lose everything. His restaurants. His business. His work, his life, his love, his passion.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Your problems are every bit as valid to you as mine are to me. There’s no comparison,” I say.
He gets me. Even before I speak, he hears.
I bend my head and start reading. Letting my words leave this page is the most nerve-wracking experience. My fingers are so damp that I’m afraid they’ll leave marks on the pages.
“When things get bleak, everything hurts, and those depressingly philosophical questions just hit different, look for that one bright spot. Find something to celebrate. Just one thing. Art. Music. Nature. A new style of architecture that you didn’t know you’d be obsessed with but is surprisingly beautiful.
A band you’ve never heard of. A flower that smells like dead things.
“When we keep searching, I want to believe life is an algorithm, and it will give back to you. Otherwise, it’s just all the big questions.
It’s realizing there is no answer to why, realizing that pain is too big to be contained or rationalized, and that nothing happens for a reason.
It’s realizing that happiness rushes away and slips through your fingers.
If you’re truly blessed, you might realize less than a moment of unfiltered bliss throughout the whole of a lifetime.
The hardness in the world and in yourself only compounds and compounds and becomes diamond strong and unbearable if the light of even a single candle can’t be found. ”
“Holy shit,” Luca whistles, gaping at me. “That was astounding.”
I’ve amazed him. The most amazing man. His expression and soft, low tone are a match to the explosion waiting to detonate in my insides.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I’ve read a lot.
Almost everything in life is borrowed from other minds.
Even the greats borrowed from the greats before them.
I think. Most of the time. It makes you truly realize that people had problems no matter what time they lived in.
Really, they were just like us. The one thing pain is good for is the universality of it.
It gives a sense of continuity, uniting us.
Time and space become just constructs. An idea rather than a reality. ”
“Double holy shit. Keep going.”
His praise and amazement warm me. I can now understand why he wanted to hide from the praise I was dishing out. I love it, but at the same time, it’s embarrassing.
“I think that’s enough for now. Let’s drink the champagne, or at least have a taste.”
“A taste. Believe me, you don’t want to drink more than a few sips. It’s very sweet.” He mock gags, but it’s clear he doesn’t like it.
I’ve given up messing around with the evil wire of undoable destruction. I’m more than glad to hand it over to him and let him have a go with it.
He slides over on his seat so he’s directly across from me.
And miracle of miracles, he works the metal cage open as fast as any magician ever could. He tosses it aside like he didn’t just perform a feat of epic awesomeness, and goes to pop the cork.
I gasp at the pop, but I scream at the hiss.
And the resounding torrent of champagne that explodes out of the bottle in a violent eruption, rocketing across the way and dousing my face, hair, and dress in a sticky, wet, frothy mess.
So much for champagne needing to be shaken to do that.
And so much for my last clean set of clothes, panties included.