24
I nearly collide with Brianne outside Beth’s Bakery. She’s holding a takeaway coffee and her eyes light up when she sees me.
“Kenzie, you look amazing,” she says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. The faint scent of jasmine and lavender lingers around her. It doesn’t surprise me, considering she runs the flower shop on Main and possesses an uncanny gift when it comes to anything green.
I glance down at myself. I’m wearing jeans, a dusky pink sweater, and my hair’s in a ponytail that’s more practical than polished. “You might be the only person in town who could call this amazing,” I say with a laugh. “But I’ll take it. Thank you.”
She studies me for a moment, head tilted. “No, seriously. There’s something different about you.” Her eyes narrow in playful suspicion. “You have a glow.”
“A glow?” I echo.
Brianne gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Is there something you want to share?”
Realization dawns. I shake my head so fast I make myself dizzy. “What? Oh, no. Definitely not that kind of glow. No way.”
Her smile falters a little at the force of my response. “Oh. Okay.”
I wince. “Sorry. That came out weird. I just meant...no.”
She chuckles. “Got it.”
After Brianne and I hug goodbye and promise to catch up soon, I tug open the door to the bakery. The air is so thick with the smell of chocolate and caramel, it feels like I’ve eaten dessert just by breathing it in.
It’s been three days since we scrubbed that awful word off my windshield.
There’s been no new graffiti, no other incidents, but that hasn’t stopped everyone from hovering.
Tess and Sofia have checked in so many times, I’m half-convinced they’re plotting to move in with me.
Aaron and Gideon have also begun stopping by at odd times, always with new excuses, but I know a coordinated check-in when I see one. Joel clearly said something to them.
I didn’t want to tell my parents, but the news reached them anyway and their worry kicked in, like I knew it would. My mom let her mind run wild with worst-case scenarios, while my dad, ever the fixer, channeled his concern into researching motion-sensor floodlights and reinforced door locks.
I haven’t seen Joel since he walked out my door on Saturday. He’s sent everyone else to check on me, but he’s stayed away. Exactly like he said he would. He’s gone so quiet, it feels as though he’s disappeared. And it hurts.
How do I explain to my friends and family that it isn’t the word on my windshield keeping me awake at night, but Joel’s silence?
Most of the tables are full when I step into the bakery.
The animated buzz of conversation blends with the hiss and sputter of the espresso machine behind the counter.
I’m only here to grab a box of chocolate chip muffins for Kate.
Lisset has a class party tomorrow, and Kate got roped into providing muffins.
But with a food styling shoot on her plate today, she didn’t have time to pick them up herself.
It should be a quick in and out, except Joel Adams is standing at the counter, frowning slightly as he scribbles his signature on an order sheet.
My stomach drops. Of all the mornings he has to be here, it’s this one. And at this exact moment.
He shouldn’t look like that either. Black pants and a white button-down shirt rolled up over his forearms, the rough shadow of stubble along his jaw. The kind of intimidating beauty that makes me want to reach for him and pull away at the same time.
I open my handbag, pretending to search for something inside. But really, I’m just trying to catch my breath. Because whenever we’re near each other, it feels easy and hard at the same time.
When I glance up again, he’s already watching me, his broad shoulders tense. His eyes hold mine and I feel the spark of attraction between us. There’s no one else at the counter, and the moment feels too intimate for a public place.
“How are you?” he asks in a low voice.
“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.
A couple of customers at nearby tables shoot curious looks our way. Heat warms my cheeks, and I move closer to Joel. I’m not keen on anyone overhearing our conversation.
“Any update from Owen?” he asks.
“No,” I say shortly.
He turns to face me fully, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re mad at me.”
I cross my arms. “What makes you think that?”
“You wear every emotion on your face.”
“Well, we can’t all be as good at hiding our feelings and keeping secrets as you are.”
As soon as the words escape, my hand flies up to cover my mouth. I’m mortified, unable to believe I actually said that.
A gleam lights up his eyes. “I always knew you had bite,” he murmurs. “I like it when you don’t censor yourself. You’re too careful with your words.”
My pulse picks up. “It’s not a bad trait, being careful about what comes out of your mouth.”
“Or maybe,” he says softly, “you care too much about what people think.”
“And maybe you don’t care enough,” I say quietly.
“Maybe I don’t,” he agrees. But his response comes too quickly. And in that unguarded instant, I see the truth he’s trying to bury. Maybe he cares too much.
This complicated, confusing man is tying me in knots. I curl my fingers around my pendant, as if it can give me courage, and finally speak what I’ve been holding back. “Your silence over the last few days feels louder than that word on my car. And it hurts more.”
Joel stares at me. “You think this is easy for me?” he says finally, his voice rough.
“Staying away from you?” His throat works.
“You want words? Fine. What if I told you I think about you more than I should? That silence is the only thing keeping me from ruining everything?” He steps toward me, his face inches from mine. “Would that hurt less?”
“All right, Joel, here it is,” calls a cheery voice. “Sorry that took so long.”
Stacy, one of Beth’s senior cake artists, emerges from the back carrying a towering three-tier cake. Each tier is wrapped in smooth white fondant, with intricate piping along the edges and delicate sugar roses climbing each layer. It’s stunning. And unmistakably a wedding cake.
“It looks incredible,” Joel says, leaning closer. “Are those the edible gold leaves?”
Stacy nods, pleased. “Uh-huh. I had a lot of fun making them.”
“You did a great job,” he tells her, and she beams.
“What about you, Kenzie?” Stacy turns to me expectantly. “What do you think?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”
“Of course.” She flicks her gaze between us. “It’s your cake too.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, no, you’ve got the wrong idea—”
“The cake’s for Kate,” Joel breaks in quickly.
“Mm-hm. Of course it is.” Stacy gives him an exaggerated wink. “Nothing whatsoever to do with the two of you.”
Joel scowls. “Kate and I are doing a wedding shoot for a bridal magazine.”
“Uh-huh. I got you.” Stacy mimes zipping her lips. “Don’t worry, my silence is guaranteed.”
“There’s nothing to keep silent about,” Joel grits out.
“Of course not,” she replies with overdone innocence. “Now, let me just box up the cake that definitely isn’t your wedding cake.”
I stay rooted in place while Joel radiates quiet irritation beside me, both of us knowing that protesting further will only make us look guiltier. Why do I always end up in these impossibly awkward situations? At least this one isn’t my fault.
Stacy crouches and tugs a flat cake box from under the counter, pops it into shape, then slides it beside the cake. As she hooks her fingers under the silver board and lifts, she loses her balance. She lets out a horrified gasp as the board tips toward the open box, the tiers wobbling precariously.
Joel and I lunge forward at the same time. My fingers clamp onto one side of the cake board, while Joel grabs the opposite edge. Our eyes meet for a breathless moment.
It takes me only two seconds to realize the bakery noise has receded into a hush, as though the whole room is holding its breath with us. A line of customers has formed at the door, all staring dewy-eyed at the sight of Joel and me holding a wedding cake, like the world’s most incriminating photo.
“Ohhh, how lovely!” someone gushes. “Joel Adams, I had no idea you and Kenzie were picking out your wedding cake already. You two sure don’t waste time.”
A ripple of chuckles spreads across the room. Someone actually claps and a young server holding a tray looks ready to swoon.
Joel clenches his jaw. For a moment, I think he’s going to correct her, but then his eyes flick to mine and I know what he’s thinking. Denying it will only make it worse.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.
“You can’t blame me this time,” I whisper back.
He shakes his head. “I’m starting to realize you and low key don’t even live on the same planet.”
With Stacy’s help, we manage to get the cake boxed without further incident, but curious eyes and a chorus of good-natured well-wishes trail us all the way to the door.
Out on the sidewalk, late-morning sunlight spills across the bakery’s glass front.
Joel shifts the cake box carefully in his arms. “What exactly are you doing here?”
Frowning a little at the trace of suspicion in his voice, I hold up the box of muffins as proof. “Kate asked me to pick these up. Lisset’s got a class party tomorrow.”
He goes still, staring at me. “Did she now?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused.
“Kate was supposed to pick up the wedding cake for today’s shoot. Instead, she asked me.” His eyes lock unhappily with mine. “I think we’ve just been played.”
Before I can respond, movement on the street catches my attention. Owen is striding toward us, his expression grim.
My heart rate picks up. I clench my hands into fists so they won’t tremble. Beside me, Joel tenses.
Owen fixes his gaze on me, wasting no time on greetings. “We found the person who graffitied your car.”