Chapter 4
4
DULCE
I ignore the way my stomach flips at the sight of him as I stare at the iPad, playing it off like I don’t know him. Like his name wasn’t on the cover of Sports Illustrated , in commercials, and on every sports racing channel in the world. Seeing his face is unavoidable just doing everyday things like watching TV, using social media, or even glancing at the magazines in the checkout lane at the supermarket.
“Ford Keller,” he says, with a fire in his blue gaze.
My fingers tingle as I scroll to his order like I didn’t know it was the batch of chocolate chip raisin cookies I made cooling on the rack behind me.
“It’ll be just a minute.”
I turn around and put together a box and tissue paper, placing the cookies carefully in neat rows, trying to calm my shaking hands. Letting out a small breath, I calm my racing heart, ignoring the memories of that night when I was ready to share a part of me with him.
“Dulce?” he says softly. My name rolls off his lips like a caress, like he knows me intimately.
My throat feels like I swallowed a large pill.
I close the box, seal it with tape, and turn around. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Dulce?” he repeats gently.
My fingers tremble as I avoid his gaze. I tear the yellow copy of the invoice and place it on top of the box.
“Dul—”
“You can place orders online.” I interrupt. “We ship internationally to you.”
“Why are you pretending you don’t remember me?”
The memory claws its way back, intense and sharp. Sweat prickles at the back of my neck.
The trickle and heat of blood feels thick, trickling down my thighs. The sensation lingers like a black stain.
“Why wouldn’t I? Is there something memorable I missed?” I reply.
Of course I’m pretending because I could never forget him. But I’m not giving him any part of myself, not even recognition. Never again.
He pauses, looks at the coffee machine, and then scans the menu above with a furrowed brow. “Are you open for breakfast?”
“That’s what it says,” I say monotonously. My face remains expressionless.
He digs in his pocket and places a wad of cash in the tip jar. “What time?”
“Eight to eleven.”
“Every day?”
“Monday through Saturday. We’re closed on Sundays.”
“I want to place an order for the same cookies every week. Is there a way it can be a recurring order?”
“Of course.” I unlock the iPad to set a calendar reminder and pull up the menu. Knowing he will be around makes my heart race. “How many?”
“Fifty to start.”
I swallow.
“Are you going to leave a card on file?”
“Yes, but I want you to personally deliver them.”
“That’s not…”
“Or I can pick them up every Monday at a specific time.”
I don’t want him in my space where I don’t have control over how long I have to be around him. If I deliver them, I can drop them off and leave.
“Delivery is fine,” I reply flatly, keeping my gaze unfocused like it doesn’t bother me that he is here again, turning my life upside down.
“Great, can I have a number to call you directly?” he asks hopefully.
“Unfortunately, I don’t give out my personal number to customers,” I reply bluntly, the words falling flat between us. “You can call the bakery, and if I’m not in, you can leave a message.” I grab the wad of cash out of the tip jar and slide it back to him on the counter. “We don’t take tips in the store when we are closed.”
His mouth pulls into a frown and glances at the money like it’s diseased, and I’m sure he knows I’m lying.
I don’t want his charity. All this time, he ordered the same cookies I gave him that day when he dropped me off. It was under a company name that I thought was a couple of towns over. A courier would pick them up every week. Same day. Same amount. He’s been out of the country this whole time, so who did he send those cookies to?
He sighs, grabs the money, and shoves it into his pocket. “Do you have the information from the credit card used for this order?”
“I do,” I mutter, barely looking up. The words slip out almost inaudible, as if he is robbing me of things to say.
He smiles like he won a rare collectible in a contest. “Good. Use that.”
“Where do you want them delivered?” I ask, trying to hide the curiosity in my tone as I tap the screen to enter the address. The need to know where he is staying burns like hot coals in my stomach.
He smiles, writes on a blank order form, and says, “Here is the number and address.”
I input the number under a new customer profile with his name. “Alright, you’re all set.”
He grabs the box, and I follow him to the door. After flipping the sign to Closed, I open the door. His blue eyes linger on my face. He bends close, his woody bergamot cologne caressing my senses, and says softly, “See you soon, Dulce.”
I close the door and watch him walk across the street. His scent still in the air.
I back away from the door. A shuddering sob escapes my chest. Tears prick my eyes. Memories flash unbidden like a sudden vivid snapshot. The bathtub filled with blood all around me. Screaming.
My fingers press into my temples. My head pounds, robbing me of breath. I look down my legs and close my eyes. The room spins. I take gulps of air from the sudden surge of uncontrollable panic.
“It’s a panic attack, Dulce,” I mutter. “Breathe…” I let out a puff of air through my mouth and nose. “Breathe.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and jolt when I hear a knock on the door.
I look through the storefront window and sigh in relief, opening the door when I see it’s Officer Mays. “Hey.”
“Are you ready?” he asks softly with a boyish smile.
I take a steady breath. “Yes. Um…let me get my bag and tablet.” I walk behind the counter to grab my bag, phone, iPad, and charger.
“Are you okay, Dulce?” he asks in quiet concern, careful not to push too hard.
I look up at his handsome face, trying to calm my racing heart and sweaty palms. “Yeah. I guess I’m a little tired.”
“Is this about earlier? About…”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine, Off?—”
“It’s Danny,” he interrupts with a nervous smile.
“Sorry, I’m not?—”
“There is nothing to be sorry about.” He grins. “I think we are past calling me Officer Mays.”
He’s right. We are past that. Since I started working at the bakery full time, he stops by every day at closing time to ensure I’m okay.
He checks his watch. “I know you agreed to Friday night.” He clears his throat. “I thought maybe we could get a burger or something?”
“I don’t?—”
“You still have time before Mary is due to leave,” he says with a hopeful expression.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” I say softly, letting him down gently. “I need to get home.”
He nods, looking at his shoes. “I understand.”
But he wouldn’t. No one would. Every minute I spend away from my grandmother is a minute I’ll miss when she’s gone. She’s the only person I have left. It’s why I’m still here in this shitty town, where I only have my grandmother and the bakery. Because everything else has been taken away from me.