15. Chapter 15
fifteen
Sure enough, when Max brought the next batch of croissants to the display case, he didn’t return as quickly as he had before. Catie’s flirtatious laughter drifted on the air.
The sticky claws of jealousy dug into my chest. Of all the emotions, I think I hated jealousy the most. It felt hopeless.
It made me feel icky and resentful toward people I normally liked just fine, and for what?
It’s not like I could do or say anything to make someone choose me.
Mom and Dad had chosen to travel the world.
Lex had chosen the FBI. And Dominick… he’d chosen drugs.
I wasn’t worth staying for, I guess.
I finished filling the muffin tins and limped to and from the nearest ovens until they were all loaded.
I winced as an invisible bear trap snapped around my ankle with each step.
Feeling jealous didn’t do any good, and especially not when it was over someone I had no business feeling possessive of in the first place.
Max could do whatever with whomever he liked.
Up until last night, I’d been convinced he hated my guts. Now, we were friends.
Just friends.
He was my sister’s coworker, for one, and a million times out of my league for another. Family excluded, he was as off-limits as possible.
I busied myself with icing the cinnamon rolls while the muffins baked.
The familiar motions were calming, the tangy icing smooth as it spread across the spiced and sugared divots.
The soothing aroma of cinnamon filled my nostrils, the pleasant warmth from the buns enough to soften the icing without melting it away.
Exactly the way I liked it. Gale preferred thicker, stiffer icing, but she wasn’t here.
I could tweak the rolls however I wanted.
It wasn’t until I straightened after coating the last of the rolls that I noticed Max had returned.
I gasped and held a hand to my chest. “Don’t scare me like that! Cheesy potatoes , you’re going to give me a—”
“Heart attack, I know,” he finished from his position leaning against one of the stainless-steel prep tables. His arms were crossed to showcase each toned muscle over his chocolate-smeared apron, and his brow was furrowed in thought.
“No need to make it a goal of yours, geez.” I limped halfway to the dish pit before he caught up to me and took the used spatula from my hand.
“Replacing me already, Chef?”
I busied myself with the next task so I wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes. I hid my emotions about as well as dropping a brussel sprout into a bowl of chocolate truffles, and this particular sprout was one I didn’t want him seeing. “Just keeping busy while Catie worked her magic.”
He set the spatula on the dish pit’s steel counter. “Magic, huh? Is that what you call it?”
“It works great on the customers, so I’d say so.” I smiled coyly at him, praying he wouldn’t be able to see the jealous claws shrinking my heart down a size. “The question is, did it work on you ?”
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to study me. “Do you want it to work on me?”
I hopped to the table where the Boston cream donuts were cooled enough to be filled. “Sure.” Lie. “She’s really sweet and everyone seems to like working with her.”
“Everyone” being Britta, Gale, and the other morning shift barista, anyway. I didn’t know Catie well enough to file any grievances, which was super inconvenient when feeling raging jealousy toward her.
Max hummed in thought. “I’m on a dating sabbatical for now, but I’ll keep that in mind for later.”
I paused halfway through stabbing one of the donuts. The relief he hadn’t been hook, line, and sinkered by Catie’s feminine wiles was quickly squashed by dismay.
I kept my voice as even as I could. “A dating sabbatical?”
“Yep.” He donned oven mitts in preparation for taking the muffins out when the timer went off soon. “There are some things I need to figure out before I’m ready to date again.”
I gulped and returned to cutting space for the cream. Stabbing something was strangely therapeutic, honestly. Maybe I’d make only filled donuts the rest of the day, take advantage of the outlet for the onslaught of sensations his statement elicited.
Guilt, writhing like an eel through my gut.
Was he still in pain over his broken engagement?
Curiosity, like an itch inside my brain.
What could he have to figure out that would keep him from dating?
Respect, settling like a dusting of snow across my shoulders.
It was a mature decision, no matter the reason for choosing it.
For someone as friendly as Max, choosing loneliness over entering a relationship before he was emotionally ready couldn’t be easy.
And, finally, rejection, like tar filling my chest.
Sure, I’d never asked him out, so he hadn’t officially rejected me.
But that hadn’t stopped my traitor heart from reaching for him anyway.
Hoping. Daydreaming about the impossibilities, about how things could be different if I hadn’t been the straw that broke his engagement-camel’s back, if he didn’t work with my sister every day, if he’d ever see me as anything more than a charity case constantly in need of saving.
“It’s not because I’m still pining for Vicky,” he rushed to assure me, my facial expressions throwing my secrets out like candy in a parade.
Like always. “The break-up just made me realize I’d been so obsessed with the idea of being in love that I didn’t even know what love was .
I decided it wouldn’t be fair to any future partners if I didn’t figure that out before dating them, you know? I didn’t want a repeat.”
I stabbed each donut for all I was worth. “So it’s not a forever thing, then?”
My heart picked itself up off the floor of my rib cage and dusted itself off. Because of course it did. For all the rollercoasters it threw itself onto, it never seemed to learn its lesson.
Don’t even think about it, Dekker , I chided myself, as if I’d ever listened to reason a day in my life. Max is off-limits, sabbatical or not. In fact, think of something neutral instead. Like tax returns. Or the little umbrellas that sometimes come with cocktails.
Max chuckled, the sound nearly lost in the muffin timer’s beep. “I sure hope not. Can’t have the fairytale kind of love my parents have if it is.”
“True that.” I finished piercing the last donut and pulled the tub of vanilla pastry cream I’d mixed yesterday closer. “That’s your end goal?”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?”
I considered the question as I filled a piping bag. Being loved and loving someone in return seemed like the only worthwhile goal in this life. But some people never found their special someone. Ever.
Was it loving someone that gave you fulfillment, or did it come from being loved by someone? From knowing that you existed beyond yourself and that the burnt edges and crunchy bits of yourself were just as wanted as the good parts?
Hattie was single. She seemed happy and fulfilled, too.
High on life and ready to take it by the horns.
So, maybe romantic love wasn’t the end-all be-all, but something that enriched your life—the peanut butter swirl in the brownie.
It made the dessert better, but you could still have a decadent, mouthwatering dish without it.
“I think I’m going to make peanut butter swirl brownies for the treat of the day,” I announced, realizing belatedly that Max was looking at me expectantly.
Cashews and wild rice , he’d asked a question, hadn’t he? And I’d started talking about brownies instead. Because of course I did.
“Sorry.” I grimaced. “To answer your question, I think it’s a good goal to have, but maybe not the be-all and end-all of life.”
He smiled and leaned against a prep table near the now-cooling muffins, not at all bothered by my topic hopping. What a saint. “And is it one of your goals?”
I twisted the piping bag closed. “If I find anyone over the age of seventy willing to date someone with the schedule I have, sure. I’d be game. Most guys aren’t gung-ho to have dinner at four o’clock and end the night by seven thirty.”
Besides, I wasn’t relationship material , as Richard Besserman had so kindly pointed out last year.
The most recent date I’d been on, a set-up with one of Kris’ friends, hadn’t gone well.
The guy was nice enough and all but had given me some serious side-eye when the only other people at the diner with us were well past their prime.
He’d also talked in detail about the process of taxidermying his favorite dog, which was the real reason I’d dipped out the minute I paid my portion of the bill.
“Well, it’s their loss, then,” Max murmured.
My eyes jumped to find his, heat flooding my face when I realized his attention was squarely on me. If he looked at me like that again, my stupid heart wouldn’t just fall for him—it would slash holes in its parachute and do a flip on its way out of the plane.
I quickly returned my focus to filling each donut, relishing the familiar aroma of fried dough and vanilla cream amidst the blueberry and lemon from the muffins. “That’s kind of you.”
“Is it still kind if it’s just being honest?”
I could practically hear the putt-putt-putt of my heart jump-starting the skydiving plane already. “Well, if there can be brutal honesty, I don’t see why there can’t be kind honesty.”
“Good point.”
Long after the whir of steaming milk and the fragrance of freshly ground coffee filled the bakery, I pulled the peanut butter swirl brownies from the oven as Max returned from restocking the chocolate cake donuts up front.
I fanned my face and offered an exhausted smile. Quincy would be here any minute to relieve Max, and I was more reluctant to see him go than I cared to admit. Mostly because I was convinced the only thing keeping my body running was pure delusion. Acknowledging the truth didn’t seem worth the risk.