12. Eden
EDEN
Iwas going to lose my mind and all my fingers.
When Alana said making Mille-feuille was probably not my best idea, I should’ve believed her.
I couldn’t bake to save my life; simple cookies took me out earlier. Yet here I was, covered in flour with layers of pastry stuck together by a lumpy, uneven custard. I think it was a custard.
Alana was laughing as she watched me struggle, her apron dusted with powdered sugar from her own successful decorating, or baking, or all of it.
I was certain the bits of flour in her dark hair were my fault, but I knew better than to mention it. Instead, I forced a smile and tried to salvage what was left of my poor attempt at a dessert.
With shaky hands, I carefully added another layer of pastry, hoping it would somehow hold everything together.
Focusing on the awful-looking something in front of me on the counter instead of Alana’s laughter, I took a deep breath and decided to go all in.
I reached for the raspberry coulis and poured it over the very lopsided Mille-feuille.
But instead of the coulis flowing gracefully over the pastry, it came out in a sudden gush, pooling in the center, creating something that looked more like a murder scene than anything edible.
I was good in the kitchen, at least I thought so. Dad taught me everything I needed to know to cook the perfect meal. Part of me was sure I couldn’t have possibly been this bad at baking, but the thing in front of me certainly proved me wrong.
Alana’s laughter echoed through the kitchen, louder than before. I shot her a quick glare before turning my attention back to my disastrous creation.
Well, maybe I could persuade Brooke to give her baby shower an interesting twist by giving it a theme, like murder or something horrible like that. At least then my sad excuse for a Mille-feuille would make sense.
No, that would’ve been a horrible theme for a baby shower. Damnit.
I gave up trying to salvage my lopsided Mille-feuille and turned to Alana. “I hope you’re enjoying the show,” I said, sarcasm lacing each word.
“Oh, trust me, this is better than any comedy I’ve seen in a long time,” she replied as she grabbed her piping bag and walked over to me.
She studied my failed dessert, humming to herself. I already braced myself for the worst possible comments she was going to throw at me, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought.
“The good news is, it’s edible,” she said as she smiled up at me. “And I think we can salvage this.”
I blinked in disbelief, unsure if she was serious or just wanting to give me false hope.
“I’m not so sure about that.” I stepped back, watching as Alana reached for a knife and started to spread my excessive amount of coulis over the top of my lopsided pastry like it was some sort of jam.
“Look, it doesn’t have to be perfect,” she told me, holding her piping bag with both hands, and began to add a couple of drops of cream on top of the raspberry coulis. “It’s your first time trying to do this anyway. You’ll get better with time.”
A sigh drew from my lungs as I tried to fight back the frustration that was lingering inside me. While Alana’s words were meant to build up my confidence, the disappointment that overwhelmed me was too much to leave space for hope.
I watched Alana in awe as she reached for some fresh raspberries and gently placed them on top of the cream, turning my disaster into something that also looked edible.
“This isn’t what we said we’d do, but it’s one way to fix a mishap like yours,” she said as she stepped back to admire her rescue mission. “Not so bad anymore, right?”
How was this possible? How could she turn something I was sure belonged in the trash into something presentable? It wasn’t pretty by any means, and one could tell it was a rescue, but it was definitely better than before.
Bet if she cooked a bad dinner, I could’ve made it look just as good as she did my failed attempt.
“Will you teach me how to fix mistakes?” I asked, feeling as the weight of my failure slowly began to lift off my shoulders.
Alana was right, this was my first time trying something like this. Of course I was going to fuck up. Guess I had to learn how to walk before I could run after all.
“Sure, it’s really necessary anyway.” She shrugged lightly, then carefully grabbed the Mille-feuille and placed it onto a separate plate with all the others that she’d made while I was working on this one.
“Everyone starts somewhere, and the best part of making mistakes is learning from them. Baking is a science and an art. It takes practice and patience to get it right.”
I walked over to my phone, tapping the screen to see the time. It had gotten really late, and I knew I should’ve helped Alana clean up and then left, but something inside me didn’t want to leave just yet.
Nonetheless, I began collecting every possible ingredient that was standing on the counters and dusted them off before putting them back where they belonged. While I didn’t exactly know my way around Alana’s kitchen, I simply tried to remember where she got them from.
Alana joined me, moving effortlessly around the kitchen as she put away utensils and wiped down surfaces.
“Ally-Bear?” I said once I found out where she kept her sugar and flour.
“Yes, Eden?” She walked around me to throw a dirty spoon into the sink.
“I have a confession to make.” I avoided making eye contact with her, knowing she would be angry at me in a second. Instead, I chose to occupy myself by doing the dishes. She already wiped down the counters, so this was my job to do anyway.
Alana dropped another few things into the sink. “Okay?”
I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to continue.
“I’ve taken a bunch of pictures of you while you were busy baking,” I said, quickly reaching for a bowl to distract my hands.
“You what?” Her tone was sharp, but something told me she wasn’t quite as mad about it as I had thought she’d be.
“I think it’s time you started posting more pictures online.
And these ones are without me in them, so it will leave people wondering who took those pictures.
” Though, she didn’t have the following for anyone to care who was behind the camera.
It didn’t matter anyway. “Once we cleaned up, I need you to take a picture of me so I can post it. Some of my amazing stalkers will try to find out whose kitchen I’m in. ”
“How would they know it’s not your own?”
Valid question, though I was a little hurt that she clearly hadn’t looked at my social media profiles. I’d like to believe that my profiles were pretty entertaining. “Because I post from my own kitchen all the time.”
My entire feed was either ice hockey, adorable selfies, or me in the kitchen. Also, the apron I usually wore didn’t have cupcakes and other baking images on it.
While I hated the spotlight, I liked posting my life online. Or parts of it anyway. The good parts. The my-life-is-oh-so-perfect parts. Besides, it was expected of me anyway. I mean, if your entire family were known, that gave you barely any chance to live your life in private.
I didn’t blame my parents for it, if that’s what it sounded like. Mom and Dad always made sure my siblings and I could stay as anonymous as possible. I chose this life for me before I knew what it would do to me. What it would do to my privacy.
I wish I could blame hockey for my misery, but I was posting online from my parents’ kitchen way before I played televised ice hockey games. Also, I was a very ugly person in high school. Not appearance-wise, mind you, I’d always been pretty awesome-looking.
Personality-wise, I mean.
Tori Caldwell had been writing her stupid blog since the start of middle school.
Unfortunately for me, I’d been the punchline of most of those entries from a very young age.
Most of those were pretty scandalous, as expected.
To this day, I still had no idea how she managed to follow me throughout my entire academic life.
Alana stepped away from me for a moment and returned with a phone in her hands.
“You know, maybe your followers are in need of seeing a more humane side of you,” she said before I could hear the click of the camera on her phone.
“Also, why bother doing the whole secrecy thing? In a week or so, you’re just going to post a picture of me anyway, or you make me post one of us together.
So why not just start with a bomb right away instead of easing into it?
One unwise guy once told me easing into it is unnecessary or something like that. ”
Who was she calling unwise? Not me, that was for sure.
“I thought you needed to ease into it slowly.” I finished scrubbing the dishes and quickly washed my hands before turning off the water altogether.
“Yeah, well… I guess people will talk either way when they see us together on campus.”
I chuckled, knowing she was right. The rumors would spread like wildfire once all those puck bunnies who were after me saw us together. And once Tori heard those rumors, it was over for us anyway. She’d declare us as a couple no matter what, so it was better to break the news ourselves.
It’d been almost two weeks since we started our deal, and we were yet to make a public appearance together.
“I suppose you’re right,” I answered, finishing up drying the last of the dishes and turning to Alana. “Might as well give them something to talk about, right?”
I was sure the thought of it was already a nightmare for her. Nothing would’ve changed for me, but her life was about to be turned upside down.
We still had a very long way to go with her confidence. While I thought throwing her right into the situation gave her no other choice but to adjust, perhaps it wasn’t the right approach after all.
I didn’t know a lot about Alana yet, how she reacted in uncomfortable situations—other than stuttering—but from what I could tell, I had my work cut out for me.
“Can I see the pictures you took of me?” she asked, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty in her voice.
I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and opened my gallery, then handed it over just to watch as she scrolled through the images. She looked at each picture like she was analyzing every inch of it, yet her expression remained neutral.
I couldn’t tell if she liked or hated them, but since I knew she didn’t like having her pictures taken, I was sure she wasn’t pleased with a single one of them.
As she reached one of the last pictures, a small frown creased her forehead, and at that moment, I braced myself for what she was about to say.
“Maybe it’s better if only you post the pictures of yourself. My account is irrelevant anyway. Austin doesn’t even follow me so…”
I cocked my head at her, yet I wasn’t surprised by her change of heart.
“I mean, you have a brand to maintain, and followers to keep engaged. Also, I wouldn’t want to mess with those women who want to… uh… do things with you,” she added, handing my phone back to me.
A brand to maintain? My social media was all in good fun. I didn’t care about anything I posted or how I looked in those pictures I uploaded. To be fair, I was pretty photogenic—I always looked good.
“Do you actually worry about how people perceive me, or is this about you not liking the pictures?” I asked, leaning against the counter as I locked eyes with her.
I was certain I knew the answer, but I needed her to confirm it.
Admission was the first step toward growth.
The last thing I cared about was how anyone perceived me. I was alive for myself, not for anyone else. If I chose to fuck up my life, so let me. And let’s be honest, Alana couldn’t have even put a dent in my reputation even if she tried.
As sad as it sounded, as long as I had enough money to support me and a pretty face, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. Whoever was after me now would still be after me when I’d finally publicly declare Alana as my girlfriend. It wouldn’t change a thing for me.
I kind of wish it did.
Alana shifted on her feet, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Look, you can see so much of my body in those pictures and—”
I held up a hand to stop her, not wanting to hear the rest of her explanation. “Alana, you’re stunning. You have nothing to be ashamed of. And if someone can’t appreciate your beauty in those pictures, then they don’t deserve to look at you anyway.”
Honestly, I didn’t understand what she was so afraid of.
So she had curves, what was the big deal about it? Her body kept her alive, and that was all that mattered. She was beautiful. Anyone who didn’t see that was just plain stupid.
And, alright, there were awful people out there who thought if anyone weighed a bit more or didn’t have a flat stomach, they weren’t allowed to live. But they were wrong, and frankly, they were more than immature.
Alana blinked at me, and I could swear she was holding back tears. “But—”
“No buts,” I interrupted, shaking my head as I took a step closer to her. “You have every reason to be confident in yourself, in your body, and your beauty.”
She sighed. “I hope you’re right.”