11. Harper
CHAPTER 11
Harper
The timer dinged and I rushed to the oven to take out the cake. Thanks to my alarm, that was definitely set to on and somehow did not wake me up, I’d started my day behind. Coincidence? Bad luck? I didn’t have time to contemplate. None of the day’s treats were going to bake themselves.
It was already mid-afternoon, and although it had been a hectic day, I was handling it. Plus, I was in a great mood, still riding the currents of post-first-date giddiness.
I can’t get you out of my head.
His words, delivered in that deliciously masculine voice, echoed in my mind. The feeling was mutual. I couldn’t get him out of my head either.
Letting out a little sigh, I set the cake on the island to cool. One date with Garrett Haven and I was a big gooey mess of feelings.
And temptations.
I leaned against the island. What would that stubbly jaw feel like against my face? Or… lower? For a moment, I got lost in a daydream, imagining Garrett’s big hands hauling me against him. The way his thick arms would feel wrapped around me, his strong body —
“Hey, Harper?” Beth asked.
I jolted back to reality and felt my cheeks instantly flush. Beth wasn’t alone.
Owen stood with her in the doorway between the front of the bakery and the kitchen.
“Hey, Owen!” My voice had far too much enthusiasm. I was just hoping he couldn’t tell I’d been about to imagine myself getting naked with his dad. “What’s up?”
“Go ahead.” Beth nudged him into the kitchen.
He wore a gray hoodie and had his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “Um… I was just wondering…”
I tilted my head and waited, but he didn’t continue. “Wondering about what?”
Oh no. Was he upset I’d gone out with his dad? Had he come to ask me to stop dating him?
He kept his eyes lowered. “Do you need help with anything today?”
For a second, I almost lost my mind and ran over to hug him. He was just so dang sweet, with his mild embarrassment and slightly forlorn expression.
“Do I ever. I woke up late this morning, and I’ve been behind all day. So if you’re offering, I ain’t saying no.”
His gaze lifted and his mouth turned up in the hint of a smile.
Just like his dad.
“I’m offering.”
“You’re basically my hero today.” I pointed to a row of hooks with extra aprons. “Grab an apron, wash your hands, and let’s bake.”
With a big grin, he pulled off his hoodie, donned an apron, and went to the sink to wash his hands.
I didn’t know where this was coming from—whether he’d enjoyed himself the other day and wanted to learn more about baking, or if there was some other motive—but I wasn’t about to turn down his offer. Was he bored? Lonely? It was hard to tell. I didn’t have a lot of experience—or, any experience—with teenage boys, and I wasn’t sure how to read him.
But I was grateful for the help. Plus, I really liked him. And not even because I was lusting after his dad.
We got to work on a batch of cherry chocolate chunk cookies. He got the flour and sugar without me having to ask and I walked him through the recipe.
“So, did you come here after school?” I asked. “How was that?”
“Yeah, I had school. It was okay.”
“Does your dad know you’re here?”
“Yeah, I texted him. I was grounded, but he let me off early for good behavior.” He glanced up at me. “By the way, I know you guys went on a date last night.”
“Oh, good, I’m glad you know. Now I don’t have to worry about whether I’m allowed to mention it. I don’t really know how this works.” I paused, a twinge of nervousness in my stomach. “Are you okay with it?”
“Sure, it’s fine.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I knew he liked you, even when he denied it.”
That made me laugh. “He denied it?”
“Yeah. He hasn’t dated anyone since my mom, so I guess it’s kind of hard for him.”
The twinge of nervousness grew. He’d mentioned his mom. Could I ask? “Would it be awkward if I asked about your mom?”
“No.” Still matter-of-fact. “What do you want to know?”
“Did they get divorced a long time ago?”
He paused. “Six years ago? Something like that.”
“Was that hard for you?”
His shrug spoke volumes. I could practically see him trying to push down his feelings. “She was already gone a lot, so it didn’t change things too much.”
“So, she’s gone a lot now?”
“I don’t see her. ”
That hit me like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t see his mom? Like, ever?
“Not at all? Did she move away?”
“I don’t think she lives in Tilikum anymore. But no, I just don’t see her.”
The urge to hug him was so strong. “Owen, I’m so sorry. That really sucks.”
“I guess. We weren’t close anyway.”
“I feel that. I’m not close with my mom either.”
He looked up, his expression full of interest. “Really?”
“I don’t want to say my relationship with my mom is like yours, considering I do actually see her. But only a couple of times a year at most. We talk a little bit, but not much. There’s just this weird gap between us. I can’t really explain it.”
“That sucks too, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “It does sometimes. I think, as humans, we all have a basic need to be understood. To be seen. It’s hard when one of the people who ought to really see you, just… doesn’t.”
“Yeah.” His brow furrowed. “It is annoying that my mom just bailed on us.”
I had a feeling it was a lot more than annoying. The hurt he was trying to hide was plain in the set of his shoulders, the stormy look on his face.
Maybe I could read him a little bit.
“Yeah, that’s rough.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Your mom sounds awful, what did your dad ever see in her? No, that was a terrible question. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
He met my eyes again and a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “You’re just saying that because you like my dad.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true. But you’re right, I do like your dad. Is it weird if I say that to you?”
“It’s okay if it’s weird. Is the dough ready?”
“It is. You want to start scooping? ”
He held up the cookie scoop. “On it.”
I let him dump the cookie dough onto the work surface and got out a few baking sheets. He remembered how to do it, so I left him to it while I washed out the mixer so I could get started on the next thing.
Beth poked her head into the kitchen. “How are we doing on cookies?”
“They’re going into the oven in just a minute. How’s the case looking?”
“Pretty bare, but it’s not busy. We’re fine, I just wanted to check.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Beth.”
Once Owen finished scooping cookies, he and I put the trays in the oven. We shared an amused look as I set two timers—no fire-cookie fiasco today—and I went looking for the coconut flakes. I wanted to whip up a batch of pistachio coconut drop cookies for the evening rush.
“I know I ordered more,” I said, more to myself than to Owen as I kept searching through the shelves and cupboards. “Where are—oh no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m out of coconut flakes. I’m sure I ordered more, but it probably got lost.”
“That sucks.”
“It’s okay, this stuff happens to me all the time.” I sank down on one of the tall stools. “I’m sort of cursed.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. “You want the truth?”
He nodded and pulled up another stool.
“I broke a mirror. And it wasn’t just any mirror. It was my grandmother’s full-length antique mirror in this fancy, gilded frame. When I was little, I used to love to stand in front of it and twirl. I guess she remembered that because she left it to me. Literally the first day I had it in my possession, I broke it. ”
His eyebrows drew together. “But why does that make you cursed? You don’t really think your grandma would curse you from the afterlife or something, do you? Over a mirror?”
“No, I don’t think she did it. It’s not her fault, it’s just… the physics of luck, you might say. I broke a mirror. That’s seven years bad luck. Although to be honest, I do think it’s worse because it was a special mirror.”
He eyed me like he was suddenly not so sure that hanging out in my bakery was such a great idea.
“I know, I know, it sounds crazy. It’s okay if you don’t believe me. Most people don’t. I think my aunt is the only one who understands. My mom and sister certainly don’t. They think I use it as an excuse so I don’t have to take responsibility for my problems.”
“Grown-ups love to say stuff like that.”
I laughed. “Very true. I deny it, though. I know bad luck isn’t to blame for everything. Not even my biggest life problems. It’s mostly a lot of little stuff that’s inconvenient. Although it tends to build up after a while.”
“How much longer do you have?”
“Until the curse ends? Around six months now.”
“That’s not bad. It’s almost over.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Beth came back into the kitchen. “The lobby is clear for now. Do you mind if I take a quick break? I have an errand to run.”
“Of course. We’ve got this.” I winked at Owen.
I grabbed one of the cookie timers and brought it up front. Owen came with me, and I was about to ask him what he liked to do when he wasn’t hanging out at Angel Cakes, when a customer came in.
My heart sank a little. It was… what was his name? Matt. He looked unkempt with a hole in his shirt and worn jeans. Th e smile that lit up his face was too suggestive to be described as friendly.
“Hi. Harper, right?”
I nodded. “Can I help you?”
He didn’t look in the case. Just came up to the counter, his eyes locked on me. “How have you been?”
“Fine, thanks. Is there something I can get for you?”
“Oh, yeah.” He started perusing the pastry case. “Man, everything looks good.”
Owen turned so his back was to the customer and gave me a look.
I tried not to giggle.
“What do you suggest?” Matt asked.
“We have butterscotch chip today. Those are very popular.”
“You made them?”
Why did he always ask that? “Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll take one of those.”
“I got it.” Owen jumped in front of me and put a butterscotch chip cookie into a bag.
“I was listening to a podcast last night,” Matt said. “It reminded me of you.”
I didn’t like where that was going. “Oh?”
“The victim worked in a bakery.” His eyes were intense. “Just like you do.”
“Um…”
“And her killer was a customer who was obsessed with her.”
“That’s incredibly disturbing.”
He grinned. “I know, right?”
Owen cleared his throat and held out the bagged cookie. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Matt took it, paid with cash, and I handed him his change.
“Thanks for coming in. ”
“Nice to see you again. Are you open every day?”
“We’re closed on Mondays.”
“Got it.” He took a slow step back. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Note to self: stay home on Mondays. “Enjoy your cookie.”
Finally, he turned and left. The door shut behind him and I let out a breath.
“Bruh, he was sus.”
I turned to Owen, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t smile like a dork. He’d just called me bruh. That meant he liked me, right? I was in. It was all I could do not to squeal.
“So sus,” I managed, and almost sounded like I used that word regularly. “It wasn’t just me?”
“No, he definitely lives in his mom’s basement.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh. Poor guy. His true crime fascination is disturbing. Do you know who he is?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen him around.”
The timer went off with a ding. “Hey, look at us, not burning the cookies.”
“Do you get to eat the stuff you bake?”
“Is that code for can I have a cookie?”
His sheepish grin was adorable. “Maybe?”
“Someone needs to taste test them,” I said, my voice solemn. “Come on, let’s get them out of the oven. We can start on a cake while they cool. And yes, we get to eat the stuff we bake.”
We went into the kitchen and took out a perfect batch of cherry chocolate chunk cookies. A few more customers came in while we waited for them to cool, then we dove into our taste test. They were rich and chewy with a light crispness at the edges, and the cherry and chocolate flavors complemented each other nicely.
Owen wiped his mouth and checked his phone. “I should probably go. Homework.”
“Okay. I’m glad you stopped by. ”
He took off his apron and hung it on a hook, then donned his hoodie. His expression had gone sheepish again, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He finally settled on, “Well, bye.”
“Thanks for your help today.”
“You’re welcome.”
He shoved his hands in the front pocket and started shuffling toward the front.
“Hey, Owen?”
“Yeah?” He turned and the hope in his eyes melted my heart.
“You can come anytime. Even if you don’t want to help and you just want cookies. I’ll always have some for you.”
The corners of his mouth lifted and once again I was struck with how much he looked like his dad. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. I’ll see you later.”
He nodded and left out the front.
With a sigh, I sank onto a stool. It was probably silly, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
He’d called me bruh.