Chapter 2
2
DULCE
A flurry of flour dusts the well-worn wooden table. With deft hands, I measure the last of the cocoa powder. The aroma of vanilla fills the kitchen after I place a few drops in the mixing bowl.
The door leading to the counter out front swings open, the hinges squeaking.
“That hot police officer is asking for you again, Dulce,” Katie singsongs.
I pour the flour in. “I’m busy.”
Katie started working for me part-time when she moved here from Mooresville after graduating from high school. She’s been trying to set me up on dates ever since. If she only knew my history in this town.
She leans over the counter and grabs her apron from the hook on the wall. “I can see that, but you can’t hide back here forever.”
“I’m not hiding. We have five special orders for tomorrow, and I have to finish these for today.”
She bumps into me playfully. “You could go out there and put him out of his misery and finally say yes. Go out on a date with him. Fuck him.”
I almost drop the whisk in my hand. “It’s not like that, Katie.”
“You should see the way he looks at you.”
With pity.
“I didn’t notice.”
I try to ignore her, whisking the batter by hand to avoid over mixing the dough.
“Has he asked?”
“Yes,” I reply, adding whole milk to the mixing bowl.
“How many times?”
“Eight to be exact.”
“Eight times?” she says in surprise. “Well, get out there. It looks like today is number nine.”
I drop the whisk, knowing I have to go out there to see Officer Mays. The last thing I want is to turn down the only person who has been there for the past four years. He keeps the town safe and is eye candy for the ladies with his Wayfarers and straight black hair that seems to defy gravity.
“Okay, wrap this up for me,” I instruct her, stepping aside. “They have to be in the oven in two hours to be fresh. Oh, and please get the macarons ready for me. They’re on the baking sheet. Third rack.”
She picks up the whisk. “Got it, boss.”
I wipe my hands on my apron and give her a hug. “Thank you, Katie.”
I hope she doesn’t think I’m not grateful for her help. I know she means well, encouraging me to go out and date. But it’s not that simple.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers, pulling me close. “If you ever want to talk, you know I’m here. I worry about you, Dulce. You’re always working and taking care of your grandmother.”
A pang hits my chest. “I’m just grateful she’s lasted this long.”
“That’s because she’s lucky she has a granddaughter who loves her and puts everyone first except herself.”
I pull back, trying to hide the sadness in my eyes, knowing the last thing my grandmother and I have is luck.
“Oh…” She grabs an invoice and hands it to me. “Here is the pickup order for the cookies. There is a name instead of a company this time. I think it’s a coincidence, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
I look at the name on the invoice, and my heart catapults in my throat.
“Ford Keller,” I say softly. I haven’t heard that name in a long time, but I could never forget it, even if I tried. “Yeah, I know him,” I say faintly.
What I don’t know is why he’s returned.
Four Years Ago
DULCE
The bathroom was filled with shouts, echoes, and the sound of toilets flushing like airplanes when I walk in. Girls wasting time after they’ve escaped their last class of the day and are just waiting for the bell to ring so they can go home. Some are laughing and pushing up against each other, trying to use the mirror to apply makeup without getting wet from the other girl washing her hands. Others are leaning on the wall with their attention on their phones.
Before they notice me, I make a beeline for the stall at the end. I wait on the toilet until they leave, then use the bathroom and walk out. Throughout high school, I was considered the outcast by the popular kids at Airy High even though I went to school with most of the girls since second grade. I wasn’t a nerd or considered an emo kid. I wasn’t what they considered pretty by their standards. My dark-brown hair wasn’t dyed and styled. I didn’t wear clothes two sizes too small or show enough skin. I wore jeans, Crocs, and a band tee. I didn’t wear a ton of makeup to impress anyone, and my parents didn’t have money. My parents were dead. I lived in a small old house with my grandma on the edge of town. I helped her bake and worked at her bakery whenever I could.
And they made fun of me for it.
The stalls rattle from doors opening and closing, followed by latches sliding to lock and unlock. The water turns on and off. The whooshing sounds of a hand dryer go off like the roar of a small jet engine. Conversations bounce off the black-and-white tiled walls.
“So I heard Ford broke up with Summer and is not taking her to prom. She?—”
“I heard he caught her at Trent’s house?—”
“I heard she broke it off with him because he was leaving?—”
“She caught him with Heather like last time?—”
“I heard he got Summer pregnant, and she lost it, and that’s why they broke up?—”
“I wonder who he’s taking to prom?—”
The water shuts off. The hand dryer goes silent. The bathroom door opens with a scream and then silence. They’ve left. All that can be heard are the distant voices of people out in the halls.
The bell rings.
Trying to beat the horde of rushing bodies, I hurry to use the bathroom, wash my hands, and skip the hand dryer. Instead, I wipe my hands on my jeans. I pull the door, the scream drowning the voices of all the bodies rushing to their lockers. I turn left to head to my own locker, hoping the rest of the senior class leaves before I make the mile-long trek home. My hopes of any of that happening disappear—like when I waved at Ford Keller while walking into English class, thinking he was waving at me, but instead, he walked past me like I was a ghost.
Standing next to my locker is the biggest asshole of Airy High—Trent Walker. He’s lean and tall, has dirty-blond hair, and always smells like gas and motor oil from working on his car. Chris Ellis leans against the wall on his shoulder and watches me approach with a big smirk. According to the female populace, he’s the nicer one of the three boys in a boy-next-door kind of way with his brown hair and high cheekbones. But he always has a look in his eyes that he knows something you don’t.
Trent’s always had a harsh mouth. He’s good with a football but doesn’t have the grades to get into a good college like Ford. When he looks at Ford, I’m unsure if he admires or hates him for it, but he has no problem getting girls. He’s good at other things like fixing a motor or anything to do with his hands, but at times, Ford gets annoyed by the things he says.
Chris looks at Ford curiously. He admires Ford. They met in fifth grade when Ford’s parents moved to Airy. Out of the three, Chris seems to be the nice one. I don’t know much about him because he mostly keeps to himself, but then again, I really don’t know anyone since I don’t have any friends.
Ford Keller, Chris’s best friend, the king, most popular, hottest guy ever created, is listening to the three girls who hate my existence. His eyes are blue like the sky, and he’s the tallest of the three. With a chiseled body, he has arms that fit every shirt he wears and jeans that hang on narrow hips, hinting at the brand of underwear he wears (which is designer). He smells like he came from the men’s cologne section of a department store.
I turn the dial on the lock to my locker as quickly as I can with clumsy fingers. Thankfully, it gives way with a click but catches Vicki’s attention before I can block my face after opening the door.
“Hey, look. It’s Betty Cocker,” Vicki sneers, causing everyone to laugh.
I grab my notebook and pack of cookies I baked and slam the door closed, getting everyone else’s attention. “My name is Dulce, and it’s Betty Crocker,” I say scathingly as I walk past them, instantly regretting the words sliding off my tongue. I shouldn’t have said anything. For the most part, I don’t, but it’s the end of the year. I don’t have to deal with them much longer.
Vicki snorts. “Yeah whatever, you stupid ugly bitch. That is why no guy has asked you to prom.”
“What is she wearing?” Marissa says, giggling.
She stands next to Trent, wearing low-rise skinny jeans and a low-cut shirt with a push-up bra. Her makeup is overly done with a red shade of lipstick too bright for her complexion.
I act like her words didn’t hit home. She is right; no one has asked me to prom. At this point, I can go alone and save this humiliation or disappoint my grandmother and stay home.
I turn around and ignore the way Ford looks at me, rolling his eyes at Vicki and her stupid friends.
“Let me guess, Vicki. You’re going with Chris but wish it was Ford,” I retort, watching her eyes widen. Her face turns a shade close to purple, knowing Summer is his girlfriend. “I wonder what Summer would think since you two hang out these days.”
“You bitch,” she says in a harsh, piercing tone while Chris raises his brows and looks between her and Ford.
I wonder what Chris sees in Vicki. She has a nice body, long dirty-blond hair, and green eyes. I don’t know how he doesn’t see the sultry looks she gives Ford every time they hang out or how bitter she is because, in her mind, she settled for less than who she really wanted.
I don’t care what Ford thinks. I don’t care what any of them think because they are all privileged assholes and bitches who deserve each other. I used to avoid them as much as possible, but I’m tired of being harassed and made fun of.
“I’m calling it like I see it,” I tell her.
“Dude, did you piss yourself?” Trent says with a smirk, looking at the front of my jeans. Vicki laughs, followed by Marissa, Chris, Gwen, and then Ford.
“It’s called washing your hands, Trent,” I say sarcastically. “You should probably be doing it more since you keep putting yours where they don’t belong.”
“You’re just jealous because no one but your grandma likes you,” Vicki sneers. “I bet your parents died because they couldn’t stand the sight of you and killed themselves.” I flinch like she slapped me, taking the air from my lungs.
“Hey, knock it off, Vick,” Ford chides, his eyes filled with sympathy as he looks at me.
“What?” she says in a playful little voice like she did nothing wrong, but I see the twist of fury in her eyes. “It’s true.”
I turn around to leave. Before I push the exit door, Trent says, “I think she likes me.” His words are followed by laughter.
I’d rather die a virgin.
The sky was overcast, and I could smell the rain coming. I wanted to get home before it started, but the Crocs I wore pretty much all the time were impossible to run in.
I loved my Crocs. They were comfortable, affordable, easy to clean, and they went with all my plain outfits, including the fifties diner-style dress I wore as a uniform to work at my grandmother’s bakery.
I own one fancy dress, and it was my mother’s. My grandmother made the white gown for her when my father asked my mom to prom. It was the most beautiful gown my mother owned aside from her wedding dress. Both were white, and my grandmother made both.
My grandmother saved it for when it was my turn to go to prom. It’s too bad she did it for nothing because I’m not going to prom tomorrow night.
Every guy or girl hopes to be asked to prom by whoever they are crushing on their senior year. I hoped, but I didn’t expect it. I knew I wasn’t going, and I knew just like everyone else at school that no one would ask the bakery girl they dubbed “Betty Cocker.”
The clouds break in the sky, and the cold wind picks up, hitting my face as the first drops of rain fall. The blades of grass sway in the wind, picking up my hair, and the sound of leaves swaying as I pick up my pace.
The sidewalk ends, a sign that I’m a quarter of the way home. Cars speed out of the student parking lot, heading in the other direction. Their loud engines rumble as the tires kiss the pavement and horns blare. Most kids at Airy High are into racing cars on the backroads when their parents are out of town. And apparently, Ford is the best driver of all.
Ford Keller wasn’t like the other boys at school. Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, he was popular. But he wasn’t immature. He loved to drive his car from what I overheard at school. He raced all the popular rich kids on the backroads. It was a popular hangout, according to Summer and her friends, but what had me listening was how good he was at sex. It didn’t surprise me. Ford was good at everything he did.
So good, he was accepted to some sort of prestigious racing school overseas when he got his driver’s license. He was waiting to graduate from high school and make a name for himself, but he was already a celebrity in the town of Airy.
It’s hard not to like him. Honestly, he hasn’t made fun of me or called me names. There was never a time when my heart didn’t flip or butterflies didn’t swarm in my belly when I looked at him, but he didn’t notice.
Sometimes I thought he noticed me, but I imagined it.
Ford only noticed me when his friends were making fun of me. He laughed along a couple of times but never said anything nasty, and those butterflies went up in ashes. Like today, he was the only one who told them to stop. I should have hated him, but I didn’t.
But he never looked at me the way he looked at Summer or Heather or even Marissa. They were pretty, with nice bodies and pretty hair. All the guys liked them.
I hear a loud engine coming from behind as the rain starts to fall steadily, but I keep walking, pushing my long hair away from my face as it sticks to my skin. The tall trees sway as the wind picks up. The sound of the powerful car drowns out the wind as it stops right next to me.
I recognize the black Lamborghini Ford received for his eighteenth birthday before the dark tinted window rolls down, revealing his handsome face. I don’t care if I’m getting wet, so long as I can see his handsome face when no one is around.
“Hey.” He grins. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”
I shake my head out of the trance his deep blue eyes put me in and keep walking because I’m better off getting wet than taking my chances with Ford. It must be part of some prank they put him up to.
It isn’t the first time. At the beginning of the year, they put a firecracker inside my locker. The year before, they locked me in the women’s restroom for an entire period. At lunch one day, they switched my food with leftovers from the trash when I went to grab utensils, leaving me hungry because I was out of money.
That just brushes the surface of all the things they’ve done.
“I’m good,” I call out. “I’m almost there.” But I wasn’t. I had three-quarters of a mile to go, and the cold rain coming down in sheets weighed down my clothes, making them stick to my skin. My soaking wet socks made a swooshing sound with every step I took.
“I’m not leaving you out here. It’s dangerous.”
I stop and face him, my wet hair sticking to my face.
“I’m fine,” I snap, raising my voice over the sound of water hitting his car. Dismissing him, I keep walking, wiping the rain from my face and cursing myself for not bringing an umbrella even though the weather app on my phone that morning didn’t forecast any rain.
After I take a few steps, I jump when he revs the car and pulls off the road, blocking my path. His window is still down. I can tell he’s getting wet. The drops of water shine against the black interior of the door and glisten on his dark hair and face.
“Get in,” he demands. “You’re going to get sick or, worse, get hit”—lightning flashes and thunder rumbles above—“or you could get hit by lightning,” he says with a raised brow.
“Why would I get in your car?”
“You have no reason to trust me, and I’m sorry for the way my friends treat you. But right now, I’m your best bet if you want to get where you’re going without getting electrocuted or sick.”
The thought of any of those scenarios is unlikely, but leaving my grandmother alone when Mary has to leave causes a panic inside my chest.
“Take me straight home, and this better not be one of your stupid pranks. I know you hang around Vicki and her stupid friends. Your girlfriend isn’t any better.”
“I don’t have time for stupid pranks,” he says. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here alone. Now get in.”
When another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, followed by thunder, I have no choice but to get in his car. I walk up and scan the door, looking for the handle. When I find it, I open the door, and it swings up like a bird’s wing. I slide in the car, shivering from the cold air. I try not to get the inside of his car wet, but he insisted, so he kind of deserves it.
I manage to shut the door and lean back. I’m out of breath, clutching my backpack to my chest. The fact that I’m alone with Ford Keller inside his car has my stomach in knots. It smells amazing. He…smells amazing, like leather, clean ocean, and rain.
His black hair is tied back in the sexy man bun he always wears, and the bottom part of his head is shaved. His eyes are the color of a blue flame, framed by full, thick lashes that make it appear he is wearing eyeliner. He has a razor-sharp jaw, perfect straight nose, and lips so soft and symmetrical they look almost fake.
“Are you cold?”
I’m startled by his question. My hands grip my backpack, and it’s not because I’m cold. My heart is beating fast, and my stomach is clenched tight, not wanting to sound stupid.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were cold?”
“Oh, um…” Say yes, Dulce . “Yes,” I say breathlessly.
His hand shoots out, making me jolt and causing him to freeze. “I'm just turning the heat on for you,” he reassures gently.
“Oh…right.”
He shakes his head and presses the button for the heat. Warm air instantly shoots out from the vent, causing goose bumps to erupt over my skin like a warm bath.
“Better?” he says softly. His voice is a caress on my skin, very different from the boy I’m used to seeing at school.
“Yes, thank you,” I say shyly.
“Where are you headed?”
“Less than a mile down this road.”
“Alright,” he says, “but first…” He moves over me, and I freeze. My heart jumps in my throat. “I’m just trying to get to the seat belt.” He pulls the belt from my right and buckles me in. I’m surprised that he cares.
He places the car in gear. My back presses into the seat as he effortlessly maneuvers the car down the curve of the road. I can’t help but watch the muscles flex on his strong forearms. Chills run down my arms when he notices me staring from the corner of his eye, and his mouth lifts in a grin.
It takes him two minutes to reach the dirt road that leads to my grandmother’s house because I counted. It was the best two minutes I’ve ever experienced in a car.
“Right here is fine,” I tell him over the persistent drumming of the rain.
The car comes to a complete stop. “Here?” he asks, confused at the overhanging branches, wild grass, and clusters of bushes.
“Yes,” I say nervously, my heart pounding. I point at the beat-up blue mailbox that reads Webster, with the W peeling off, and it’s hammered into a slanted piece of wood. I’m glad he can’t see my house from here.
“You live here?” he says, surprise laced in his words.
“Yes, right up the drive.”
The windshield wipers swipe across repeatedly. He leans forward, looking at the wet, uneven patch of dirt with tall weeds growing in the center, riddled with potholes and deep ruts filled with murky water, the drops of rain creating a rhythmic patter. “Are you sure you don’t need me to…?”
“No, that’s okay,” I say politely, pulling my long, wet strands to the side. “Thank you…for the ride.”
I can feel him watching me as I unbuckle the seat belt and grip my bag.
“Why don’t you wait a bit?” he says quickly.
I look up, and my wet hair slides forward as I look out the windshield, the wipers moving fast like an old clock.
“Until the rain slows down,” he says, causing my heart to somersault in my chest.
It would make sense to wait a few minutes until the rain subsides. I thought he would want to get rid of me as fast as he could.
“Okay,” I say softly, lowering my head.
“I hope you can accept my apology…” He swallows and then continues, “For everything.”
I open my bag and reach inside for the cookies I made, and I'm glad they’re still dry. I have nothing to offer him for taking me home, but maybe he would appreciate it.
“Here,” I say and hand him the bag of cookies with a sticker that reads Sugar Coated Sweets with my cell phone number on it.
He gives me a side grin and takes it, looking at the label. “What are they?”
“Well, they’re cookies,” I rush out. “Chocolate chip raisin, to be exact. I’m not sure if you like chocolate chips or raisins. The staff at school seemed to like them when I gave out some samples today.”
“Wait, you made these? Not your grandmother?”
My grandmother hasn’t been able to bake in years, but I don’t want to explain that to him.
“Yeah, it’s an old recipe from my grandmother. I didn’t use anything that contained nuts in case someone had an allergy. It’s becoming more common these days, and I thought it would be good for the bakery.”
I’m rambling because I’m nervous. He must think I’m a loser who only talks about baking because I can’t think of anything else to say to him. We have nothing in common except that we go to the same school.
He stares at the pack of cookies for a few seconds. He’s gorgeous. My heart pulses inside my chest, changing rhythm. The way the color of his eyes flicker in different shades of blue. The smooth column of his throat and the lines of hard muscle on his chest underneath his black shirt.
“Thank you, Dulce. It’s very nice of you.”
I smile, surprised he didn’t laugh or roll down the window to throw them out. He called me by my name, not “Betty Cocker” or any of those stupid names they call me at school.
The rain slows to a drizzle. A heavy weight sits on my chest with each passing second as I look out the dark tinted window and know this is the closest I’ll ever get to Ford.
“I guess it’s time for me to go.”
He looks out the windshield and nods. “Yeah.” He holds up the bag of cookies. “Thanks for the cookies.”
“The number is on the bag if you want to get some more.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks like a wave from my neck to my face.
He looks at the sticker. “Good to know.”
“Bye, Ford,” I whisper.
He looks up, and I’m trapped in his blue gaze. “Bye, Dulce.”
I pull the door handle.
“Wait!”
I let go. Ford jumps out of the car, walks quickly to my side, and opens my door.
My stomach flips when he holds the door so I can get out. I'm glad that the rain has ebbed almost completely. He is so tall that my forehead only reaches his chin, and I have to bend my neck to look up at him.
When I smile to thank him, the moment is ruined when a white sports car pulls up next to Ford’s car, and the window rolls down. “I thought it was you,” Chris calls out.
Ford turns, shuts the door, and looks over. “What’s up, man?”
The passenger door to Chris’s car opens, and my heart sinks when Trent gets out. Leaning over the car's roof, he looks directly at me and says, “I guess we know why he didn’t make it.”
“I was busy,” Ford replies.
“I can tell,” Trent mocks. Trent points at the bag of cookies in Ford’s hand. “Can we have some?”
Ford glances at me and then at Trent. “These are mine, pussy.”
Trent shakes his head. “Damn, it’s like that, Ford? I thought you were too good to be slumming it.”
“Go fuck yourself, Trent,” Ford warns. He’s half joking, but I’m not so sure. I’m confused that he is defending me for the second time today.
“Ahh, the hero,” Trent mocks.
“Hey, are we going or what?” Chris snaps impatiently.
The rain comes down harder, reminding me of Mary and my grandmother.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say softly before walking away, knowing there is no way Ford would ask me out to prom. I have to accept the truth like a dead weight pulling me down. Not everyone gets their wishes granted.