Chapter 5
HAZEL
I’m still smiling when I wake up, which is unusual.
Usually I wake up thinking about the day's orders, if anything needs to proof, what needs to come out of the oven first, if I’ll have to take on someone else’s emergency order.
Today all I can think about is the way Cal kissed me on my front step, like he'd been wanting to do it for a really long time.
I reach for my phone out of habit, and that's my first mistake.
Immediately I see forty-three new notifications.
The drop down bubble says they’re coming from Spotted in Whispering Pines, and my stomach drops the second I open the app.
Someone posted a picture. Not a great one, a little blurry, taken from across the street, but it's clearly me and clearly Cal, standing close together outside The Pizzeria last night, his hand on my waist.
Lucille Wagner: Well would you look at this!! Guess Deputy Doody found a way to make it up to her after all.
Allison McGregor: I SAID he should take her to dinner and would you look at that, he listened!! So happy for you Hazel
Karen Davidson: About time somebody treated that girl right. She deserves it after everything.
There are sixty-some comments under the post by the time I finish scrolling, most of them sweet, a few of them nosy in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I set the phone down on my nightstand and stare at the ceiling for a minute, trying to figure out why something that should feel nice instead feels like somebody's got their hand pressed flat against my chest.
I tell myself it's nothing. People are happy for me. That's a good thing. I get up, shower, get dressed, and by the time noon rolls around, I've almost managed to talk myself out of the strange feeling from this morning.
Cal picks me up right on time, wearing jeans and a soft gray T-shirt that fits him just as well as the uniform does, if I'm being honest. We decide on the diner a few blocks over, the one that I love with vinyl booths and a pie case up front, since neither one of us wants anything fancy.
"You look tired," he says, once we're seated, studying me a little too closely.
"Long night. Good long night," I add quickly, feeling my face heat.
He grins at that, pleased with himself, and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand before letting go so the waitress can set down our waters. We fall into easy conversation, same as last night, and for a while it's just us again.
“When I got home last night, I told Biscuit about our date. He was very impressed, very happy for us,” he laughs.
“Oh yeah? I can’t wait to meet him. I’ll do my best to impress him,” I tease.
“You won’t have to try hard. He destroyed a couch cushion while I was gone, and thought he’d really protected the house. So you can probably just pet him, and he’ll be good.”
I laugh, taking a drink of my water.
“What do you have going on?”
I’m not used to talking about my day-to-day with anyone other than Tiffany, and maybe a few customers here and there.
“A huge wedding cake due at the end of the month. I have the sketches done, and my ideas, along with the colors, but I’m nervous.
It’s such a big day for a couple. I don’t wanna fuck it up, ya know? ”
He nods, reaching over to grab my hand. “I’m sure you’re going to do great. I’ve never met someone who cooks or decorates the way you do. I think you’ll end up surprising yourself.”
God, I hope so. “Thanks, Cal.”
“You’re welcome.” He flashes me a bright smile.
Somewhere in the middle of him telling a story about his rookie year, an older man at the next booth leans over. "You two went to Whispering Pines High together, didn't you? My daughter was in your class, Cal. Your last name is Sutton, right?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Ellison. Good to see you."
"Small world," Mr. Ellison says, smiling between the two of us like he's already picked out names for our children. I wonder if he’s going to report back to social media. I saw him liking the posts about us. "Y'all make a good pair."
Cal thanks him, polite as ever, and the conversation drifts back to us, back to high school, to the library where we used to cross paths and never say more than a few words to each other.
"I used to hope you'd sit down," I admit, stirring my straw around my glass. "At lunch. I always left a seat open near me, like an idiot."
"I noticed," he says, quiet.
"You did?"
"I noticed everything about you back then. Didn't think I had any business sitting down, is all."
Before I can respond to that, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Two women near the counter have their phones up, angled toward our booth, not even trying to be subtle about it. My stomach twists.
"Cal," I whisper, tilting my head slightly.
He follows my gaze and his jaw tightens, just barely. "Ignore them."
I try. I really do. We finish lunch, and he walks me to my door again, and he kisses me again, softer this time, less rushed, and it's just as good as the night before.
But that evening, scrolling through my phone before bed, I see it.
A video, ten seconds long, of us in the diner booth, leaning close together, laughing.
It's already been shared into the Facebook group.
Marjorie Teal: Look at these two!! I always said Cal was too hard on himself because of the things we say about him in this group, glad he's finally loosening up. Good thing he apologized, cause Lord knows he never should've arrested her in the first place.
Dozens of comments follow. Most of them are kind. Some of them are not so kind, dissecting my hair, my outfit, whether I've always had a thing for cops. A few debating whether Cal's only being nice to me because his boss told him to, whether this whole thing is even real.
I set my phone face down on the counter and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
It isn't that people are talking. People always talk in a town this size, I've lived with that my whole life.
It's that our first date, our first kiss, our first quiet lunch where we finally said the things we should've said in high school, all of it happened with somebody's phone pointed at us the entire time.
None of it was ours. It was the town's, the second it happened.
I think about the years I’ve spent building Butter My Biscuit into something that is mine, something I didn't have to share with anybody's opinion until I chose to. And I think about how fast this thing with Cal has already stopped feeling like it belongs to just the two of us.
When he texts me a little after nine, something easy, something about Biscuit knocking over the trash can again, I read it twice, and then I don't answer.
I tell myself I need space to think, that's all. But some part of me already knows I'm pulling away, and I don't know yet how to stop.