3. Cupcakes & Croissants
Chapter three
Cupcakes & Croissants
Eslin
Present day
“Move in the summer!” they said.
“It’ll be easier!” they said.
Well, the next time I see any one of my so-called friends who told me it was a good idea to move to the freaking South in the middle of July, I’m going to slap the taste from their mouths. All of them. On sight.
I wanted a change of pace. Hell, a change of life.
So when my college friend, Maxine, called, telling me the Atlanta Strikers were looking for a team therapist and performance coach—someone to help get their players’ heads right before the soccer championships next year—I didn’t hesitate. It sounded like the perfect fit.
And since Maxine’s boss just so happens to be married to one of the owners of the club, well, the door practically flew open for me.
Is friendship nepotism a thing? Because if it is, I one hundred percent condone it.
Sure, most of my experience has been with high-performing executives. But with a doctorate in psychiatry and years of therapy work behind me, stepping into the world of elite athletes wasn’t exactly a stretch.
And the perks are exactly what you’d expect when you land a role in a professional sports organization.
The job came with a sleek new apartment—completely covered by the team—in one of the ultra-exclusive Fury buildings. Word is, the waitlist runs close to ten months, and landing an apartment in this building requires a background check just short of a full-blown FBI investigation.
It’s one of those sleek work, play, stay buildings—designed so you never really have to leave unless you want to. The first few floors are all glass-fronted boutiques, coffee shops, high-end fitness studios, and a couple of restaurants that are so exclusive they don’t even bother with reservations.
Above that are office spaces—modern, open-concept, floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind of corporate playground where execs in designer suits power-lunch and close million-dollar deals.
The top floors are where the luxury apartments sit—secure elevators, concierge service, rooftop pools, private gym, the whole works. My unit has views for days, smart everything, and finishes so high-end I had to Google a few of them to figure out what they were and how they worked.
It’s basically a vertical version of a dream life. And somehow…it's mine now.
I overheard one of the movers say it was practically impossible to get into this place. But apparently when one of the owners of the Strikers makes a call, suddenly, I’m VIP.
It’s a far cry from how I’ve lived in New York. And I’m not even talking about my foster care days. Even with a multi-six-figure job, life in the city wasn’t exactly affordable. Hustle in, hustle out, paycheck gone.
So when the offer came—more money than I ever thought I’d see in my lifetime, a place to live, and the chance to actually save something for once—I didn’t hesitate.
Oh, and did I mention they paid off my student loans?
Who the hell says no to that?
The movers have just left the final box, and I stand in the middle of my new apartment, spinning around slowly, barely able to believe it.
I made it. To this part of life.
The good part.
I’ve never been one of those people who thought they didn’t deserve nice things. I was raised with enough good sense—and enough fight—to know my worth.
But if you’d asked me back then when this moment would come, or what it would even look like, I wouldn’t have had an answer.
I just believed it would come. That somehow, all the bad, all the ugly things I’ve had to endure in this life would eventually stack up to something good. Something that made it all worth it.
And standing here now, I know two things: it was absolutely worth it. And I’m never going back to where I came from.
Cue the theme music.
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing that chick.
Who gon’ check me, boo?
I grab my phone and FaceTime my best friend—the same best friend who’s been trying to convince me to move to Atlanta for years. And then the moment I finally do? This heffa up and moves to Canada. The betrayal.
“Babe!” she answers, all bright-eyed and cheerful like she didn’t just abandon me for maple syrup and snow.
“Hey, babe! I made it!”
“OMG! Your very own Fury apartment! What are you waiting for? Show me around!”
“Quit bossing me around, skank!” I laugh, flipping the camera and starting my impromptu tour.
First stop: the kitchen. All clean, modern lines, sleek white cabinetry with matte black hardware, marble waterfall island big enough to host a cooking show.
“Girl, look at this kitchen! I don’t even cook that much, but suddenly I wanna bake croissants & cupcakes from scratch or something,” I say, panning the camera slowly.
Next up: the living room—floor-to-ceiling windows with a skyline view that looks straight out of a movie, soft neutral-toned sectional, glass coffee table, gold accents, built-in shelves already calling for designer coffee table books I don’t own, yet.
“Gorgeous,” Maxine gushes. “All those clean lines and beautiful finishes. So many different surfaces for you to—”
“Don’t say it,” I breathe out, already shaking my head because I know where this is going.
“So many surfaces for you to get your back blew out!” she yells, cackling.
“Eww!” I scream, clutching my chest dramatically. “I cannot stand you! I am a lady, after all!”
“Yeah. Being a lady is why your va-jj is sending up smoke signals to every penis it comes within five feet of,” she chides, wagging her brows.
I gasp, flipping the camera back around so she can see my face. “The disrespect! When are you coming back to Atlanta to pack up the rest of your stuff?”
She’s wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, laughing so hard she’s practically wheezing. “Probably not until closer to the holidays. We’ve got a ton going on with Eli’s business, and I’m training my replacement for Timantha’s company from here, so, there’s really no rush for me to come back.”
“I still can’t believe Timantha didn’t kill you for quitting!”
Max went on a road trip to Canada for a romance novel conference and somehow ended up stranded there for a week.
And apparently, that’s all it took. Because in true romance novel fashion, this woman managed to get herself swept up in a full-blown small town love story—complete with a sexy Black lumberjack who spoils her rotten and looks like he walked straight off a book cover.
And even though I will hold my suspicions for later, Max is also sporting what’s starting to look dangerously close to a baby bump.
She told me while she loved being a boss and a badass back home, life in the Rockies gave her a kind of peace she didn’t even know she needed. A different pace. A softer kind of happiness.
“Why would Timantha be mad at me for leaving? I found her an amazing replacement who’s working out brilliantly!” she says, flipping her hair like the boss she is.
“I guess you’re right,” I say, flopping down onto my ridiculously soft new sofa.
“Is it weird? Living in a new city?”
I let out a slow breath. “Yes. But also it’s no different than moving to a new home. I’m used to it. I treat it like an adventure.”
“I love that,” she says, her voice softening. “And I love how you always manage to find the positive in everything.”
“It’s the only way I know how to be,” I shrug.
She sighs. “I miss you. And I’m sorry I moved the second you finally decided to come to Atlanta.”
I wave her off, grinning. “It’s fine. If I had a big, sexy Black-ass lumberjack taking care of me, I would have left you too.”
We’re both still laughing when her voice softens, turning a little serious.
“So... let’s promise to get together for the holidays?” she says.
“Which one?” I frown, tilting my head.
“How about Thanksgiving? Eli doesn’t really celebrate it, so we’ll probably be down there.”
“Okay! It’s a date,” I grin, my cheeks practically hurting with how wide I’m smiling. Just the thought of seeing her again already feels like home.
Because for me, home has never been a place.
It’s always been people. The right people. The ones who feel like safety, like ease, like belonging.
I’ve lived a lot of lives. At one point, I was convinced I was going to work in tech—mostly because every guidance counselor I ever had drilled into us it was the one field that would always be in demand.
So I came down to Atlanta for a cyber security certification course at North Kensington University.
That’s where I met Maxine.
She was the first real friend I ever had who introduced me to the glorious hot mess that is chili cheese Fritos—yes, with actual chili and cheese squeezed straight into the bag. It was ridiculous. It was delicious. It was the moment I knew we’d be friends for life.
And even though it’s July, we immediately start a shared Pinterest board for our Thanksgiving menu—because why not be extra—and start pre-planning where she and Eli will stay when they come down.
After a flurry of ideas, recipes, we finally say our goodbyes.
And then?
I do the one thing I’ve always wanted to do in my very own, brand-new, luxury apartment.
I run around screaming at the top of my lungs, jumping on every single couch and bed like an over-caffeinated kid at a sleepover.
Because this is mine. And I’m going to enjoy every damn second of it.