Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elodie
It’s closing time on Friday. I flip the dead bolt and peer out the window like I have every day since Sunday. Dean isn’t anywhere to be seen.
Fucking Damon. Like I’d actually talk to someone about him. Fuckwad.
Still, I check the locks again before I finish wiping the tables and running a quick mop over the floor. I shooed away Kinley a half hour ago. I could probably close earlier on Fridays, but then I’d be stuck in the back even longer on my Friday nights.
I could close earlier and just go do something.
My exhale is heavy. Campbell stopped by to talk about future cookie dough fundraisers. The good news is that everyone she’s talked to loves the idea. The bad news is that everyone she’s talked to loves the idea. Even two sports clubs in the next town over have contacted her, asking about it.
My table in the back is littered with schedules, and I don’t know where to pack in hours of mixing and packing cookie dough. It means more work. A lot more. Also, more ingredients, more freezers for storage, and more help.
It also means that if word gets out about my time with Dwayne and how I started the bakery with stolen money, then all my business plans will burn away, like the bourbon I added to the soup I made Cruz last night. It won’t matter how much of the money was mine, how much was taken from me too.
As if I summoned him, my phone rings and his name flashes across the screen.
I’m smiling when I answer. “Locked inside, safe and sound.”
“Good.”
He was with me several hours on Monday to help out, and he’s taken to calling every night right after I close to make sure the door is locked. I even saw my cousin drive by in the squad car when Maggie left after her shift.
“Did you ask Callum to look in on me?” I ask.
“I might’ve mentioned to the good deputy that you had some idiot hitting on you last weekend.”
If only that’s all Damon were doing. My smile fades. “I told you I would talk to him.”
“Did you?”
“Cruz.” His heart’s in the right place, and he’s going to law enforcement instead of trying to track Dean down himself, but I can’t have him getting my family worked up.
“I’ve asked him once already. Twice is going to make him suspicious, and he’s going to tell my dad or Uncle Karl, and then what?
That guy isn’t a local like Pete.” And Huckleberry Springs’ loveable but belligerent Pete is harmless enough.
“This has happened before?”
Shit. “It’s tourist season.” Please accept that answer. “They’ll worry. Mom’s finally feeling normal again, and she’s going to get all worked up.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, but I’m worried about you too.”
“I’ve been around creeps like him for longer than I’ve known you.” I’ve been around that very creep, in fact.
“If you’d have known me longer, you wouldn’t have had to deal with them.”
“That’s sweet, but we can’t turn back time.”
“You actually can. I’ve been doing it in my head since the picnic.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep a groan from slipping through. It was hard to come back to the bakery and dive into recipes and weekly menus. Cruz came with me, but he had to go home soon after so he could get up and do chores. Lane’s in Denver again. “It was a nice picnic. We should do it again.”
“We should. It’s going to be raining this weekend. Can I abduct you after close on Sunday and bring you to my place?”
A rainy day at Cruz’s sounds divine. Any day off would be fabulous. “I can spare a few hours.”
“I’ll help you make them up.”
I wish he didn’t have to. But not only do I need to be prompt on my next payment, I have to squeeze more golden eggs out of sugar and flour. “I’ll see you then.”
“Sleep tight.”
I will with that voice in my head. I hang up and stuff the phone in my pocket.
In the back, I start readying supplies for the cupcakes and coffee cakes I’m going to make for tomorrow.
I have two pies that I want to prep and a special-order strawberry rhubarb pie for the birthday party at the senior living center.
I’m in the middle of a yawn when someone knocks. I jump and nearly bite my tongue closing my mouth.
“Who is it?” I call, sounding scared. Damn my ex and his brother. Stupid intimidation tactics.
“Meeee,” Clem sings from the other side.
Relief pours through me. I open the door to Clem in linen shorts, socks with sandals, and a shirt that reads I like big books and I cannot lie. “You’ve got bangs.”
She huffs them out of her eyes. “Don’t remind me. I got so frustrated with a scene last night that I took shears to them.”
“You did it yourself?”
She grimaces. “This final look is a la Jess at the salon. She’s a miracle worker.”
“Good thing you didn’t hack them off too short.”
She hands me a packet of mail. “I grabbed this for you.”
My stomach sinks to the floor when I see the letter on top.
“Is that him?” she asks.
I’m glad I told her, or I’d be explaining it now. A sour taste fills my mouth. I’ll still be lying to her. “Yes. He tries to keep in touch.”
“Can’t take a hint?”
“He just doesn’t care.”
She comes in and washes her hands. “Mind if I hang out with my big sister tonight?”
“No. Something wrong?”
“I have kids’ time at the library in the morning, so the guys don’t schedule me for very many Friday nights. Then I sit at home and write, but I also do that every night. Kind of starts feeling a little, I dunno, lame after a while. You know?”
“No,” I say wryly. “I have no idea.”
“Sister night!” She flashes me a smile and grabs a fresh apron out of the drawer. “What are we making tonight?”
Giddiness rises inside of me and I shimmy. “This is going to be so fun.” I get an evening with my sister, and I have a date on Sunday with my boyfriend. “Go ahead and start on the lemon curd. I know you love to make that.”
“Only because I get to eat a bowl when I’m done.”
I take the mail to the table and set it down. My happiness dips the longer I look at the return address of the correctional center Dwayne is in. On a whim, I rip open the envelope. I’m not letting him rain on my sister night with Clem.
Who’s the new guy? is the first damn sentence he wrote.
I angrily fold the letter up and shove it into the envelope, ripping the side as I do.
That asshole. He also dated it, and it was written before Damon’s visit. Damon must’ve been lurking around town, spying on me, before the second time he stopped in to harass me.
Seething, I turn around. Clem’s apron is tied and she’s studying me. “That bad?”
Worse. Instead of shutting him out of my life, he’s burrowing in deeper. From prison! I struggle to retain my light composure. It’s Friday, and I’m with my sister. I just talked to a man I’m crazy about. Fuck Dwayne. He can’t get to me tonight.
I aim a broad smile at Clem. “He won’t let go. Too much time on his hands, and I’m irresistible.”
“Naturally.” She does a curtsy. “It runs in the family.”
I table the letter and the money I need to raise. One day at a time. First, regular business. Then the street fair. After that, I’ll buy myself another month, and then I’ll have to face the problem I left five years ago.
Cruz
I knock on the back door, and it swings open to a harried Elodie.
“Sorry!” She gives me a quick kiss and ducks inside. An alarm clock is going off.
I step in and stay on the mat. It’s sprinkling out, and I don’t want to get her kitchen dirty. She takes out three rounds of cake and tosses the hot pads on the counter before inspecting her work.
I lean against the doorframe. “What flavor?”
She squints and bends, looking for imperfections I can’t see. “Chocolate mocha, bourbon chocolate, and cayenne chocolate. All with a simple chocolate frosting.”
“Sounds delicious. Wedding?”
She nods and pushes her glasses up. “On a Monday. They’re getting hitched at the courthouse, going to the river for pictures, and then they rented the rec room at the senior center to have the reception.” She straightens. “I’ll put the crumb coat on when I get back.”
“What if I tire you out too much?”
“Then you’ll have to tell the happy couple that you fucked me silly and that’s why their three-tier cake looks like shit.”
“I’ll try not to sound like I’m bragging.”
She laughs while untying her apron. “I’ll run upstairs. I told you I could’ve driven.”
“I get to have you to myself longer if I pick you up and drop you off.”
“So damn sweet.” She swings by me to give me another kiss, and I make it a much longer one this time before she disappears upstairs.
I keep to the edges of the kitchen on my way to her little table. Pulling out a seat, I spy a return address I’ve seen before. I pick up the envelope. How often is this guy mailing her? Why hasn’t she thrown it away?
Does she still care about him? Are they still in touch?
My fingers tingle to take out the letter and read it, but I won’t. She trusts me, and I’m not risking that. I set it down how I found it, push the chair back in, and go to wait by the door so she doesn’t have to question whether I looked or not.
The dread still lingers. It’s not the same feeling as when I find my own letters in the mail from my dad.
A correctional facility in Colorado, but not the same one.
What a coincidence that we’d both know someone in prison and that they’re in the same state.
Does she want to vomit when she sees Inmate Dwayne’s letters like I do?
No, this heavy feeling inside me is different. We’re more than dating, and we’re not just fucking. I care for her. She means a lot to me. I don’t want to let her go. But she’s still working through some things, and for whatever reason, she doesn’t want to share them with me.
The back of my throat aches from something that feels like hurt.
She lands at the base of the stairs. “Sorry you had to wait.”