3. Maribel
Maribel
It’s embarrassing how much time I let pass before I have the courage to set my plan into motion. Days . Enough time to risk losing my chance.
I find Sasha cradling a piping bag, her eyes glued onto a baking sheet full of cupcakes, each missing a chunk, replaced by an apple filling. At this early hour, bags hang under her eyes, but her passion for her job keeps her focus clear.
The scent of butter and sugar is a comfort, but it does nothing to calm the nervous energy buzzing under my skin. I lean against the stainless-steel workstation, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm.
I can do this.
“Can I ask you a huge favor?”
She doesn’t look up; her focus is on the perfect, caramel-colored swirls. “You can ask. The answer depends on whether it involves me getting involved with another one of your ‘community outreach’ ideas that somehow always ends with me baking ten dozen cookies.”
It was for the middle school’s bake sale, and it was an awesome pitch. Even better outcome.
“No cookies,” I promise, taking a deep breath. “I need to borrow the bakery. After hours. For a… project.”
That gets her attention. Her hands go still, and her sharp, knowing eyes flick up to mine. “A project .”
It all comes tumbling out in a rushed, excited whisper. It’s the outcome of holding everything in for three days straight without telling the one woman I consider my best friend.
“It’s Wesley,” I blurt out, voice too soft for the chaos happening inside me. “I’ve decided I can’t just… keep watching him from across the room, pretending I don’t care. I have to try. I have a plan.”
A slow smile spreads across Sasha’s face. “ Finally . Does this plan involve something more effective than just staring at him while he stares miserably at a slice of cheesecake?”
Her eyes truly are knowing.
“It’s the only way I know how,” I confess, feeling a blush warm my cheeks.
“I’m going to win his heart, literally through his stomach.
I’m going to invite him here for private tasting sessions.
I’ve already told him that I need help improving, that I want to be a real pastry chef.
It’s the perfect excuse to spend time with him, and we’ll get close.
Friendship will form, and then a relationship will develop. It’s foolproof.”
I beam at her, expecting her to share in my genius.
Sasha just squints at me, pulling back when she messes up a swirl.
She cocks her head, and the look she gives me is so full of blunt affection it makes me want to squirm.
“Maribel. Sweetheart. Let me get this straight. You, the woman who is already overqualified for this place—which is why you’re my assistant head baker and not just a weekend decorator—are going to pretend you don’t know what you’re doing to impress a man? ”
The embarrassment hits me in a warm wave. She sees right through me.
“He doesn’t know that,” I mumble, looking down at my own flour-dusted shoes. Maybe I’ll flip my goal then. I’ll use my knowledge to win him over. I just have to do something. “I just… We talked, and I felt something. Like… I’m not the only one feeling the way I do. All this time, I felt invisible.”
His saying my name did more damage than he can ever imagine. Now I want to hear him say it again and again.
I’m totally gone for this man.
Sasha hums, as if she’s thinking about my request. Returning to her task, she nods. “Keep him out of the back. I don’t want any makeout sessions happening next to the ingredients.”
My face goes hot at her suggestion, and I struggle to believe such an outlandish scenario could possibly happen.
“That—” I scoff and shake my head. “I’ll keep it professional!”
Laughing at my pink ears, she finally nods and gives me the permission I need to reply to the first text Wesley sent a few days ago. While I’m mid-type, she lifts away from her cupcakes once more.
“Maribel?” She pauses long enough to shoot a side glance in my direction. “Just… be careful. You don’t really know much about the guy since he keeps to himself. I’d blame myself if anything happened to you.”
With a smile coming to my lips at her concern, I nod. “Don’t worry, Boss. I know enough. He’s a good guy, I promise.”
Deep in my chest, I know he is. From the moment I laid my eyes on him, I felt it in my guts. Everything I’ve learned about him since then has only solidified my feelings.
* * *
The bakery is kind of haunting after hours. With the blinds on the front windows shut and the town silent, all there is around me is the hum of the equipment I still have turned on.
Feeling on edge because of everything going on, any unexpected sound easily makes me jump. Sasha’s warning still simmers in the back of my mind, but I try not to linger on it for too long.
Just as I’m finishing cleaning up my mess, my phone rattles against the stainless steel surface. Checking the device, my heart does a little flutter when I see the text waiting for me.
Wesley is here.
Oh boy. Here we go. I can do this. I take a steadying breath, smooth my apron, and rush over to unlock the door.
Before I tug it open, I steady my heart and reinforce what fuels me.
He’s always so reserved and reclusive, like the world took something from him and he’s afraid to ask for it back. I want to give it to him anyway—even if he doesn’t know how to hold it. I can do this. I can be what he needs.
The evening air washes in, cool and crisp, and with it comes Wesley.
My breath catches. Tonight he’s dressed down. A soft, gray t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, and worn, dark jeans hug his thighs. His hair is slightly mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it. Tonight, he looks more like a regular person instead of sticking out like a sore thumb.
Is it because the day is almost over? Has he let his guard down with the setting sun?
I drink him in, this new version of him, from the hesitant set of his shoulders to the way his eyes, the color of a stormy sky, find mine in the dim light. For a moment, I just stand there, lost in a daze.
Remembering that I’ve got a goal here, I straighten up. “Hi. You made it.”
He nods. “I’m a man of my word.”
He’s also a man too serious for his own good by the looks of it. Still, he’s here, and I’m prepared to do whatever I can to win this man over.
Motioning him to follow me inside, I lock the door behind him. Now we’re both here to soak up the silence. Having him all to myself is causing my stomach to flutter. Even more now that he’s following closely at my heel.
Hoping to extend this to a few taste tests, I bring out only three different types of desserts. Hoping to expand a little to discover what he likes and what he doesn’t, I motion to him to join me at the counter.
I can’t have him tucking himself away like he normally does. Right here, he’s within my reach and close enough that I can enjoy his presence.
Wesley peers over my shoulder at my creations. I tried not to go over the top despite the urge to impress him. Even if they’re nothing spectacular, I really want to find something he’ll enjoy.
“None of this is out on display.” Looking down at the three choices, he tilts his head. “They’re quite different.”
Rocking on my heels, I nod. “Well, they’re more special. I made them with you in mind.”
His eyes flick up, and I catch a twitch to his mouth. Almost like he wants to smile, but forgot how to. “You’ve gone out of your way, Maribel.”
My smile forms naturally as he uses my weakness against me. Before I can get too distracted, I introduce him to each dish I spent the last handful of hours alone creating.
I’ve always had a passion for creating pastries, but there’s always that small worry that they aren’t good enough. With Wesley, this isn’t a complete excuse to get him alone with me. Whatever he doesn’t like about the baked goods, I want to improve.
If I can find the right treat, something good enough to bring a smile to his lips instead of his frown, I would count that as the biggest win.
Just imagining it now has me fighting off a dreamy sigh.
If he smiles, I think he’ll make me fall impossibly more in love with him.
“This is a scone.” Grazing my finger against the pan, I slide it in his direction. “I went with a lemon blueberry combination, drizzling it with a lemon glaze.”
Holding my breath, I watch as the corners of his eyes wrinkle while his nose has the smallest scrunch. Is it the citrus? Maybe he’s not a fan of fruit. There are so many possibilities, it’s not funny.
Despite trying his best to conceal his displeasure, he scoops some up anyway and plops it into his mouth. Holding my breath as he chews, I watch his throat bob and feel a pulse low in my stomach.
I know it’s a good scone. I tried a piece before I considered giving him any of it. Still, I want to hear him give his opinion.
His mouth pinches together, and he nods. “It’s good.”
Ugh. He doesn’t seem like the type to tell someone what they want to hear. If he doesn’t like it, why doesn’t he just say so? He’s not trying to save my feelings, is he? I can take it, seriously.
“Okay, cool. Moving on.” Trying to mask my disappointment with the next dish, I steal the rest of his scone before he tries to take another bite to make me feel better. “Next one is going to be an apple pie. But I did something a little different.”
Sliding it toward him, I hope that he doesn’t actually hate fruit. If that’s the case, then this one will be another failure.
He stares at the slice, squinting as he tries to see what’s different. To the normal eye, it looks just like any other slice. Scooping up some chunks of apple, they fall off his spoon in an ooze.
Chewing on my lip nervously, I follow his movement as he takes the bite.
His brows lift in genuine surprise, and before he can compliment me with words, he’s plunging in for another bite.
Oh my goodness. I think I’ve put myself in the right direction. It’s not the fruit. So, what else could it be?
“What is the crust made out of?” He pokes at it, examining it closely. If he takes another bite and slowly lets his taste buds reveal my secrets, he’ll taste the cheese I put in the crust, picking out where I pulled back on the sugar.
“It’s a secret.” Lips curling, I keep it locked up tight. “If I tell you, then you won’t want me to make it for you again in the future. I can’t have that.”
Teasing him, my smile stretches further when his mouth twitches like he’s amused. It’s a small success, but one I’m willing to clutch onto.
So, now I have to figure out what the glaring problem is.
Looking between the two he’s already tried, I pick out the differences and make the ultimate guess. It’s a ludicrous one, but there’s only one way to confirm my suspicions.
“The last one is a simple puff pastry. Can’t go too wrong with the basics.
We had some extra strawberries on hand, so I went ahead and loaded them up.
” Stealing away his pie before he ruins his appetite, I give him the final dish to try, hoping it’ll be what wins him over, but having a gut feeling that it might not be.
He looks at the powdered sugar, and once again, his face gives it away. Despite the grimace on his face, he still takes a bite. The moment the sugar hits his tongue, my suspicions are proved true.
Does he even like sweets? Who in the heck comes to a bakery if they don’t?
As I’m thinking about the reasons behind his actions,
He has a little bit of glaze on his lips, and I find myself leaning toward him. Does he even know it’s there?
I want to lick it off. One swipe of my tongue will be all it’ll take.
Picking up on the space between us decreasing, he pauses long enough for his throat to bob. “What is it?”
Can’t lick it now. What a shame.
“Here.” Speaking ever so softly, I reach up without thinking. In a daze, my thumb grazes his perfect mouth before I’m swiping it off.
I’ve always loved desserts and sweet things; it’s why I followed the path I did. Seeing the cream on my finger instantly makes my mouth water. Without much thought, I bring my finger to my lips and taste it.
As I expected, it’s delicious.
Wesley makes this choking sound, drawing me out of my daze and making me realize what I’ve done.
Heat trickles up my throat, but it doesn’t just travel toward my face. It also seeps down to my stomach, causing my knees to press together. There’s no denying what this guy does to me, even without lifting a finger, and this little stunt of mine hasn’t changed that.
The only difference is that I don’t want to run away. Rather, I’m running right toward what I want, acknowledging the blaring fact of what I want to do.
I want to kiss him. That’s the only thought running through my head. It’s playing on repeat like a broken record. Over and over until I do something about it.
There’s no room to be shy. Not when I’ve tiptoed around this guy from the moment we crossed paths. Always watching him from a distance, this is my chance to change everything. To be someone to him. Not just a baker behind a counter, but someone he lets his eyes set on and stay there.
Whatever is burning behind his gaze makes me suspicious that he may feel the same way. It’s the final push I need to finally do something.
Leaning toward him, I expect him to meet me halfway. With the hunger in his gaze, he looks like I’m the one thing he wants to get his mouth on.
Yet, he doesn’t budge. He’s a brick wall, stiffened from his toes up to the blond strands of hair on his head.
“Wesley?” I won’t lose my courage and become shy. We’ll go back to the way we were if I give up, or worse. If I let him go now, who’s to say he’ll even return?
“I shouldn’t.” His voice is tight, his eyes locked onto my lips like he’s talking more to himself. “Maribel… I really shouldn’t. It’s best that way for both of us.”
And I really like it when he says my name, even when he’s trying his hardest to convince himself of his last words.
Maybe he’s right. The thing that’s holding him back should be enough to make me think about doing something reckless.
Yet, I can’t. Finally having the man of my dreams right here is making me want to throw caution to the wind.
Against my better judgment, I’m the one to lift onto my toes. Unsure if he’ll pull away or not, I don’t want to let myself think about what will happen if I’m rejected.