34. Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
L aura
I pull another test batch of kringle from the oven and frown. They still don’t smell quite right. They certainly aren’t competition-worthy.
An ache flares across my low back. Probably from letting Jesse flip me onto my stomach while he fucked me with my vibrator. Again.
No, that isn’t the problem. The problem is that all the nights with Jesse are an addictive combination of exhilarating and exhausting. I want to sleep, but his proximity is too appealing. Not only his proximity, but the way he listens to me. I spill all my anxieties, and he holds me without saying a word. It isn’t just that he sees me, but that he wants to know everything that makes me tick. Like I matter to him.
Just thinking about him has me shivering.
“Are those the kringle? They look amazing.” Sasha sails into the room and sniffs the tray, pulling their long blond hair from their face. “Yum.”
“They’re not quite right.”
Sasha raises their eyebrow. “Really? How so?”
“They’re supposed to be Mexican hot chocolate-flavored, but I think I didn’t put enough cinnamon or chili in them.” I wave a cutting board over the top of the pan to speed the cooling. The only way to tell would be a taste test, but I’ve already sampled too many options that day. If I eat one more bite of kringle I’m going to move to Tennessee.
“Hmph.” Sasha heads for the espresso machine and packs grounds into the spout. “Maybe the problem is that Hard-Bodied Hardware Hottie isn’t giving you the goods?”
My blood freezes in my veins as a flush rises along my spine. It’s a very confusing mix of hot and cold. “What are you talking about?” I know people are going to talk since Jesse accompanied me to the wedding. They were gossiping way before that. The problem is that it’s supposed to be fake. I should be able to manage a one-night stand, but instead I turned what was meant to be casual into something that feels completely monumental. Ground breaking. Earth shattering.
And I know it will all come crashing down. It always does.
“Come on.” Sasha doesn’t turn from making a hazelnut cappuccino, their sure hands moving around the shiny espresso equipment like the professional they are. “Everyone saw him hanging all over you at Daisy’s wedding. Not to mention he’s living with you.”
“He’s living in the apartment over my garage.” This gosh darn kringle is never going to cool, and then how am I ever going to test out my spicy mocha glaze? “He’s not living with me.” Just sleeping with me. Cooking me breakfast. Taking care of my animals. Holding me in the night when the rain surges outside.
“Mhm.” Sasha makes a second cappuccino, this one with sugar-free vanilla syrup. “Is he coming to the fish fry with you tonight?”
“Yes.” I abandon the kringle to the cooling racks, which is a far better fate than chucking it like I really want to do. “But as friends. He hasn’t been out much with the rest of the town, and it’s good for him to mingle.”
Sasha’s eye roll can be seen from Mars, even as it’s reflected in the high-shine steel of the espresso machine. “Don’t let him mingle, Laura. You do that, and Maddy Olmstead will try to foist potential partners on him. He’s a gorgeous single man, he’s employed, and he’s new. Talk about a unicorn.”
That only reminds me that he found the glittery sex toy in the pink unicorn box in my nightstand drawer. Unopened, of course, but Jesse was thrilled at the prospect of using it.
Still. As he keeps reminding me, I don’t know anything real about him except that he’s from Florida and is amazing in bed. Amazing doesn’t cover it. It’s a wonder my poor old IKEA bed frame hasn’t fallen to little unsalvageable bits over the past week.
“He’s not a unicorn. He’s just a guy.” I will repeat this to myself over and over until I finally learn to accept it.
“He’s a guy who is super into you. I don’t want you to miss out. You deserve better than the Chrises of this world.” Sasha picks up a tray holding the two cappuccinos they made and heads back out to the bustling café.
I sigh, staring at my kringle. I should be out there, serving sandwiches and soups and salads and pastry. I’m never going to win the Sweets Showcase at the cherry festival in two months. I’ll never expand into a restaurant and bar. I’ll never be on a cooking show. I’ll never have a long-term relationship with Jesse or someone like him.
No matter what, I will always be Laura Marshall, my family’s de facto mama bear and permanent singleton.
My phone rings with a call from an unknown number, and I swipe it on to speaker mode while I lift the kringle from the baking trays to the cooling racks. “Hello?”
“Hi! Is this Laura Marshall?” The voice is a cheerful alto soprano with a slightly nasal New York accent.
“Yes. Who’s calling, please?”
“We’re from America Bakes! Maybe you’ve seen it?”
I drop the spatula I’m holding, and it makes a deep clanging noise on the floor. Thank heck the kringle is already on the cooling racks. My mouth is so dry I’m not sure I can form words. “Um, yes! Yes, I love that show.”
“Thank you! We are so proud of it! Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that we saw your Insta post, the one with your Wild in Love cake, and it’s absolutely fabulous! We have never seen a cake like that before! How unique! I’ll bet it tasted just as good. What were the flavors again?” There is a pause where I imagine her scrolling through her notes. “Chocolate, passionfruit, and raspberry cream! Heaven!”
Apart from her affinity for speaking in a royal we with exclamation points, her cheer is infectious. Or maybe it’s the compliments.
“Thank you.” I perch on the stool set beside my worktable. “The bride was very clear on what she wanted.”
“So true! And you delivered!” The woman laughs. “Anyway, we are so impressed with the cake and the rest of your gallery. Frosting Monkey, such a great name. We wanted to invite you to audition for America Bakes! Is that something you’d be able to do?”
“Yes.” I speak without fully considering anything, but it feels like the completely right move. “Yes. Definitely. I’d love to.” My mind fills with a thousand different recipes, colorful and flavorful.
“Wonderful! I’ll just get your email and we will send you all the details.” I give it to her quickly. “Perfect! I’ll get that sent out over the weekend. By the way, who was that gorgeous man standing with you in that photo? Talk about a hunk of Wisconsin cheddar.”
I reel from the abrupt shift in the conversation. Also, despite being a lifelong Wisconsinite, I have never before referred to a man as a “hunk of Wisconsin cheddar.” Besides. Jesse is more of a rare, aged blue cheese.
“Jesse? Do you mean Jesse Vanek?” Great. I’ve been so pulled together, so professional, and now here I am blathering away.
“Jesse Vanek? Great name. I notice you didn’t tag him. I wouldn’t mind following some of these lumberjack thirst traps, if you know what I mean.”
Of course I do. She isn’t being obtuse in any sense of the word. “He’s just a friend. He helped me out at the wedding.” The words taste like week-old stale donuts in my mouth. Just a friend? A person who refers to my thighs as thick and glorious, says he wants to spend all his time with them as earmuffs– and actually means it– is not “just a friend.” So much for keeping it casual, Laura.
“I don’t think he’s on social media,” I say, since she seems to be waiting for a reply.
“Right! A real mountain man, huh? Mm, yes, please.” She laughs, but it sounds tinny through my speaker. “Anyhoo, we’ll send out the audition information over the weekend, so make sure you’re checking your email. Have a great day!” The call ends with absolutely no fanfare, just an empty line.
My hands shake where I sit. America Bakes! I’ve watched that show from its first season, when the tent they were in caved on one side during an unexpected snowstorm. And that episode where Indira Ravaswamy baked her bread sculpture into a replica of a mango tree?
The scent of chocolate-filled kringle wafts toward me and I stare at them. How are they good enough for a show like that? Am I good enough?
Maybe I should call her back, explain that it’s a mistake, that I don’t think I am the right candidate.
Then it occurs to me that she had never given me her name.