Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
brUCE
Bruce
So, my parents think I have a crush on you.
Three dots appear. And disappear. And appear again.
Farrah
Little do they know you only like me for my cakes.
Bruce
*GIF of SpongeBob waggling his eyebrows*
Farrah
Get your mind out of the gutter; that’s not what I meant.
Bruce
Riiiiiiiight. I do like your cakes.
Farrah
Knock it off, Bruce.
Bruce
I meant the ones you bake. Wow. Not sure why you had to go and make it dirty.
Farrah
Bruce
For real though, best cake I’ve ever had.
I chuckle, knowing she likely can’t tell if I’m trying to sound inappropriate or not. I’ve never come on this strong with a girl I like before, but then again, none of them have ever made it this challenging. I remember Colby going through this with Noel. She really put him through the ringer despite him being—arguably—the best-looking guy in the NHL.
If I genuinely didn’t think Farrah welcomed the attention, I’d leave her alone. I’m not trying to be a creep. But I can see the way her eyes take me in and the appreciative glint there. She can push me away, but she’s got to see how amazing we could be. Our chemistry alone is off the charts… I mean, when our hands brush, it’s more palpable than anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s like our fingers have a taste of what full skin-on-skin could be like and the cells are telling us to go all the way. Just from hands brushing.
Plus, she’s a baker, and I have to eat a ridiculous amount of carbs to keep up my energy. A man gets tired of pasta. Sometimes he needs something sweet.
My father clears his throat, drawing me back to reality and making me realize I’ve been standing in my kitchen for five minutes thinking about Farrah and staring blankly into the room with a stupid smile on my face.
“What are you smiling at?” He asks, his hazel eyes alight.
I roll my lips. “Ah, just thinking about that shutout last night.”
Dad scoffs. “I wasn’t born yesterday, son.”
Son. I’ve always loved it when he called me that. I know I’m his son, of course. But when he says the word, it’s like he’s choosing me all over again. A prickle of guilt hits me that I thought they were too busy with their new grandbaby to remember me. I was jealous of an infant.
“I’m so glad you guys came down,” I tell him, draping an arm around his shoulders.
He groans under the weight of my body. “Merde, tu es un géant,” he grumbles, the words are a French expletive paired with the word giant .
My mother appears at the top of the spiral metal staircase that leads to the second level and all four bedrooms. She’s wearing a clean, white tunic and black leggings and she’s barefoot. Her short, black bob is tucked behind her ears, and she’s smiling so wide, I can barely see her irises.
“Ahh, I love having everyone together. Little Piper is asleep, and Avery is lying down too. What should we make for dinner while they’re sleeping?” She doesn’t wait for us to answer before she makes it to the bottom of the stairs and jabs her index finger into the air. “Miso soup and pork!”
“I think I have all the supplies for that, actually,” I say, opening my walk-in butler’s pantry and showing off the bare, empty shelves.
“Always a smart mouth, this one,” she replies with a heavy sigh and a hand on her hip.
My phone pings, and I grab it out of my jogger’s pocket. I’m hoping it’s Farrah, but I’m not disappointed when I see it’s Jackson.
Jackson
Hey Bruce, my foster mom cut her finger making dinner and needs to go in for stitches. She’s freaking out, and her husband has to drive her. Just giving you a heads up that my social worker is likely about to call you for respite.
Wow, this is by far the longest text he’s ever sent me. I usually get random memes I don’t understand, or two-word responses. I appreciate the heads up, but I hate that he feels the need to be responsible for himself like this. I wish he could just enjoy being a kid without wondering where he’ll be each month, or even each day.
I glance up from my phone where my parents are watching me. “Hey, is it okay if Jackson—my little brother—spends the night? They need someone for respite.”
Mom’s eyes soften. “Of course, the more the merrier.”
“All right, I’ll grab dinner supplies after I pick him up.”
I quickly text Jackson back and just like he said, the social worker calls about respite. I tell her I can pick him up immediately, and forty minutes later I have Jackson in tow and we’re pulling into Whole Foods. He does a low whistle as I’m pull into a parking spot.
“Damn, I knew you were boujee…but I didn’t realize you had Whole Foods rizz.”
My head snaps over to look at him, I try to plaster a stern expression on my face for the first time in my life. “First off, no swearing. And secondly, I have rizz for days.”
He snorts. “Ohio rizz, maybe.”
I gasp. “I do not have Ohio rizz.” I’m not sure what that is, but I’m assuming it’s not good.
Jackson crosses his arms over his blue tee. “Then why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
I open the door of my pickup. “Because I’m waiting for the right woman to come along.” I step out and close the door behind me. Jackson unbuckles and joins me in front of my baby-blue truck.
He looks at me with a smirk. “That’s what everyone says when they don’t have a girl.”
I roll my eyes. What does he know? He’s ten.
We walk inside and I pull up the supply list Mom texted me. We find everything quickly and are making our way to the checkout when I see familiar long, dark hair in front of me.
“Farrah?”
She turns, causing her hair to whirl dramatically. I’m mesmerized by it for a few seconds. “Bruce? You shop at Whole Foods?” Her eyebrows draw together in surprise.
I hold my arms out defensively. “Yes! I have Whole Foods rizz, not Ohio rizz.”
Her eyebrows scrunch ever tighter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jackson, who’s pushing the cart, glances between the two of us. His little mind is working; I can see it in his eyes. He’s definitely going to drill me about Farrah later. Just what I need—him and my family teasing me about the girl who thinks she wants nothing to do with me.
“Hi.” Farrah does a cute little wave and smiles at Jackson. “I’m Farrah.”
“Jackson,” he replies with a tilt of his chin. This kid, I swear he’s ten going on sixteen.
“Jackson is my little brother,” I explain. “We’re having a sleepover tonight. There will be nail polish, face masks, and of course…a fashion show.”
Farrah snickers and Jackson looks aghast. “There will be none of that. I’m too old for sleepovers. It’s just respite,” he says, correcting me.
“Respite?” Farrah asks, staring at me for answers. I like this, her paying attention to me and asking me questions.
“I’m approved for respite so if Jackson’s foster parents need any help, I can step in, and he can hang with me for a few nights.”
She smiles at Jackson. “That’s pretty cool.” Her eyes widen like she just remembered something. “Oh, hey, I was going to text you. But I left my favorite cake knife at your place and wondered if you could bring it by in the next couple of days? If you’re not busy.” She glances back at Jackson.
It sounds made up, but I know it’s not. Farrah likes using the best quality and I have no doubt she invested in the best cake knife available and needs it for her next event. I look down at her cart for the first time and see it’s mostly full of flour and sugar...but also tampons and one bar of dark chocolate. My eyes move back up to find her blushing and embarrassed.
Quickly, I think of something to say so she’s not embarrassed. Not that there’s any reason to be embarrassed about periods. I mean, all girls have them. Once when Avery and I were in high school she made me run out to the store and buy tampons. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
“I’m actually pretty busy,” I say, going back to her question. “Why don’t you come get it now? And you can stay for miso soup and pork.”
“I’ve heard Mrs. McBride is a really good cook,” Jackson adds.
Well, well, well . I give him an appreciative nod. Who would’ve thought Jackson would make such a great wingman.
She shakes her head, making her shiny, brown hair do something intoxicating… it’s like a dance of hair. I want to reach up and thread my fingers through it.
“Oh, no. I won’t interrupt your evening.”
“You’ll be watching Nella all week, and I’m leaving Sunday for four days in New York. It’s now or never. And you have to eat.”
She considers this. I can tell she really wants that cake knife.
“I have a whole stash of chocolate in my pantry,” I whisper.
Farrah purses her lips. “Fine. But just because I want it for our wedding event next Friday.” She pauses, glancing down at her cheap bar of chocolate—at least, it’s the cheapest one you can get at Whole Foods. I’d know because I try to only buy fair trade cocoa products. “What kind of chocolate do you have?”
I pump my eyebrows once. “Tony’s.”
Farrah makes a tiny squeak. “You might be my hero, Bruce. Whole Foods is out of Tony’s chocolate.”
I grin. “I have every flavor.”
“Even raspberry?”
Jackson sighs. “He has raspberry. Can we go, already? I’m starving.”