Chapter 19 Now
Nineteen
Now
Callie had laughed. For the first time all afternoon, Mae found herself smiling at Callie.
No. Not today. Not with a camera aimed at her.
Mae shook her head, like a dog trying to kill its squeaky toy, determined to murder her own brief joy. Her mouth found its natural sour line.
‘Look,’ she said, forcing a sharp edge into her tone, ‘you need a very quick baking lesson. Just… to stop you from burning my kitchen down.’
Callie raised an eyebrow, still amused. ‘I can bake.’
‘You really can’t.’ Mae grabbed a small bowl and set it in front of Callie, deliberately turning her back for a moment to mix some sugar. ‘Just… pay attention.’
Callie leaned in, curious. ‘Alright then, Gordon Ramsay.’
‘Gordon Ramsay can’t bake for shit,’ Mae told her.
She showed Callie how to fold the flour gently into the butter, careful to keep her hands steady. Callie’s movements were awkward at first, too fast, too eager. And then her jacket dipped into the mixture.
‘Watch the sleeve,’ Mae said, giving her a gentle nudge with her hip. It happened before she even thought about it, and she quickly tried to pull back, as if nothing had.
She could feel Callie doing the same, a faint brush of awareness that neither of them acknowledged.
‘It’s okay. My sleeves are clean,’ Callie said quietly.
Mae rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. ‘It doesn’t work like that in kitchens.’
‘What? Uptight?’ Callie asked, breezier now.
‘You’d get three stars taken from hygiene rating, given half a chance,’ Mae admonished her, trying hard not to have a good time.
But she was failing, and she knew it.
They worked side by side, the room filling with the scent of butter and sugar. Mae could feel Callie watching her, not saying anything, but the quiet energy between them was warm and easy, like slipping into a rhythm that neither of them needed to explain.
Later, when the tray of scones came out of the oven, Callie looked genuinely pleased with her work.
‘See?’ Callie said. ‘I didn’t ruin it.’
Mae snorted. ‘Don’t get cocky. I was guiding you like a toddler.’
Callie laughed softly. ‘You know I was always good with my hands.’
Mae’s smile dropped.
Callie realised what she’d said, and horror crossed her features. She turned to the camera. ‘I think we should cut there.’
Neil groaned. ‘I don’t know another way to say this, sweetheart. But I’m the person who says cut.’
Mae checked her watch and was thrilled to see that the passage of time had come to her rescue. ‘You’re done anyway. You guys need to be out of here in twenty minutes, according to your schedule.’
She chanced a look at Callie. She looked as relieved as Mae felt.
Back Then
Mae tried to pull herself together, drying her face on her sleeve, maybe find a little dignity. But dignity was a tall order when you’d been found crying behind a counter.
‘You don’t believe me,’ Mae muttered at last, trying to sound annoyed rather than terrified.
‘No,’ Callie said simply.
‘Well… that’s stupid.’
‘Fine.’
That shut Mae up. She stared at the opposite wall, heart thrashing. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now.
Callie shifted, drawing one knee up, resting her arm casually over it in that infuriatingly relaxed way she had.
‘Mae,’ she said gently. ‘Talk to me. Please.’
‘I did talk.’
‘You talked bullshit.’
Mae pressed her palms over her face. ‘Just… drop it.’
‘No.’
This was all so oddly un-Callie. Mae was the one who could never let anything go. That made Callie’s job being the cool one.
But not today.
‘Mae,’ Callie said softly, ‘you’re not losing me. I’m right here.’
Mae swallowed hard. ‘You shouldn’t be.’
Callie’s eyes widened slightly, confusion sharpening. ‘Well, I am. And I’m gonna sit here until you’re honest. If it takes all night, I’ll do it. I’m not budging.’
Mae didn’t know if that was a bluff. And it didn’t much matter if it was. Mae could have just gotten up and walked out.
But she didn’t.
She felt a rising within herself. The truth, not to mention Mae herself, was coming out.
‘You’re right. I’m full of shit. It’s not that you’re moving on. Or anything I said.’
‘Then what is it?’ Callie asked.
Mae squeezed her eyes shut, mortified. ‘It’s you.’
A moment of silence followed, thicker than Mae’s current saliva.
‘Me?’ Callie said carefully.
Mae nodded miserably. ‘Yes. You. You’re the problem.’
‘How am I the problem?’
Mae inhaled shakily, eyes fixed on the tile. ‘Because I love you, all right? Not as friends. The other stupid way,’ she snapped. And then waited for the response.
Callie whispered it, barely audible, ‘Oh.’
Mae didn’t dare look up. Oh?
She’d just admitted to herself something she’d been fighting off for who knew how long, and Callie’s response was, ‘Meh.’
And this exact moment was why Mae had spent years insisting she didn’t care about romance. Because romance did this to you. It turned you into a person vomiting your heart out in front of someone who was lukewarm at best.
Mae had never felt like such a spectacular loser in her entire life. She stared at the floor, cheeks burning, praying to be struck down by an aneurysm. Something quick and painless, if possible. But Mae wasn’t picky.