Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NICK
I linger one last second over her arm before letting go, and attempt to get into a different headspace, to even remember what we were talking about.
Right. Her stocking the first aid kit.
“Because you do all the lame stuff around here?” I ask, thinking about what Sydney said.
That earns me a small smile, my chest warming with that ever-present swirl of cinnamon when she’s near. “Yeah.”
“Sounds like they’re all important things, though.”
“This place won’t run on creativity and inspiration.
” She shrugs, but there’s something defeated about it.
“My mom wishes it would. And Dad goes along with whatever she wants. I’m…
” She pauses for a second, looking down at the ground.
“What Sydney was saying about the business stuff being lame… I’m afraid she’s going to turn out like them. ”
“What do you mean?”
She’s quiet, watching me put a bandage over the burn. “She’s the most talented of us by far. Handles all the intricate design work and comes up with these flavor combinations you wouldn’t think would go together, but they do.”
I’m silent, sensing she wants to say more.
“She doesn’t understand what it takes to run a business, though,” she continues after a moment. “And doesn’t want to learn. It all falls on me.”
“What about Hailey?”
“She helps out, but she’s still in college part-time, so I know she’s busy.”
“Well, isn’t it your parents’ responsibility ultimately? Even if they aren’t here right now? Aren’t they the owners?”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Don’t get me started on them.”
A part of me wants to smile that she’s opening up to me in some small way like this, but I don’t. “You need to vent?”
She sighs. “They haven’t been running it well since Grandma died and they took over.
That’s why I came back to Aurora a couple of years ago.
To help out. But they won’t take my suggestions seriously.
Won’t advertise, won’t digitize anything.
They’re big into the whole this is the way we’ve always done things shtick.
As if technology and consumer buying habits haven’t changed in the past couple of decades. ”
Consumer buying habits ? This is getting advanced.
“Sorry.” She holds her hands to her temples. “I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. Or, you know, divulging family secrets.” She gives a faint laugh, though she clearly doesn’t find it funny. “You caught me on a bad day.”
I want to tell her she can talk to me about anything. That I love hearing her voice. That I want to be someone she can confide in.
I’m fairly sure we’re not at that point, though.
“I’m an excellent secret keeper,” I joke instead. “You wouldn’t believe what I know about Mrs. Klassen.”
At that, she does laugh, and I mentally savor the sound.
“Actually, I have a secret about her,” she says, something mischievous in her tone.
“Really?” I was only joking. What could our town librarian have hidden up her sleeve?
She nods. “She reads spicy romances. Like… super spicy.”
My eyes widen. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“Well, if I have to be burdened with the knowledge, now you do, too.”
“Hmm. Well, when you think about it, it makes sense. I mean, look at Mr. Klassen.” He would take first place in a most boring man alive contest.
“Oh my God, stop.” She pushes playfully at my arm, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and ask her to touch me again, reveling in the sparkle in her eye.
“Sorry,” she says, awkwardly moving her hand behind her as she tucks her chin down toward her chest.
“It’s fine.” More than fine.
“I guess I needed a laugh. The past couple of days have been stressful preparing all these orders. Although, it’s kind of my fault for advertising.”
“Have to move into the twenty-first century sometime, right? Even if it’s a quarter of a century late. And whatever you put in that ad must have worked.”
Her responding smile this time seems more natural. “Yeah, I guess it did.”
I want to keep that smile on her face. “I know you’re stressed, but did you have anything positive that came out of advertising? Like a fun order?”
She takes a moment to think about it. “Ingrid’s husband ordered her a dozen cupcakes piped to look like a bouquet of red roses.
That was really sweet. And rare. You wouldn’t believe how many guys order things for their mothers but not their wives for Mother’s Day.
You know, the mother of their children.”
I don’t have experience ordering for either, but I understand what she means. “That sounds nice.”
She looks down at her feet, then pushes away from the wall. “I should get back in there.”
I nod, though I don’t want our time together to be over. “I can help. If you want.”
Her lips twist. “It’s Saturday. I can’t let you waste your weekend. Don’t you have plans?”
I shake my head. “You wildly overestimate my social life. I promise I have nothing going on today.” Naps be damned. I would much rather be here with her. “And you’ve already helped me a ton with the fundraiser ideas. It’s the least I could do.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “Maybe just until we’re a little more caught up. We keep helping each other out of jams, don’t we?”
“Yeah.” I almost say something about that’s what friends do, but stop myself. I don’t want her to see me as a friend. If I’m being honest with myself, I want her to see me as something more. “Just, uh, pay me in raspberry danishes, okay? They’re worth their weight in gold.”
She shakes her head, mock exasperated. “You’ve had a danish here one time.”
“And it was a life-changing experience.”
Her lips tilt up, looking pleased.
I like this dynamic we have going on. Maybe I’ve broken through that first outer wall. I have no doubt there’s more to come, but the groundwork’s been laid.
When we head back in, Sydney glances up from what she’s doing, eyeing her sister carefully. Seeming satisfied, she says, “Wasn’t sure if you two were going to keep flirting out there or eventually come help us.”
Next to me, Rachel’s cheeks redden, her lips pursing, but she doesn’t respond. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or annoyed by the comment.
Maybe both.
The cake she dropped is still on the floor, but she ignores it, heading back over to the sink to remove the drain stopper and let the now-cold water drain out.
“I can do up these dishes,” I tell her. “You should be working on the orders, right?”
She nods and takes one last look at me. “Thank you.”
She’s gone, then. Absorbed in her work as she jumps into helping Hailey and Sydney, and I refill the sink with hot water and soap.
Two hours and a never-ending barrage of dishes later, I’m all caught up, taking the time to clean up the cake and frosting off the floor, too.
I yawn loudly, my jaw cracking, and cover my mouth with the back of my hand.
I can’t wait to get home and crawl under the covers.
Working in a fire station for so long with odd shifts, I’ve learned to get sleep when I can.
After twenty-four-hour shifts, I usually go home and nap for a couple of hours to recharge enough to go to bed at a normal time later that night.
My sleep schedule would be completely messed up, otherwise.
“Late night?” Sydney asks, noticing me.
“Oh, no. I just got off shift when I came over.”
Rachel looks up from where she’s piping macarons. “You work the night shift? But you responded during the day the other week.”
“No. We do twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off.”
She sets down her piping bag. “You’ve been doing the dishes here for hours after working that long? Oh my God, Nick.”
She bustles over and takes my arm, leading me out the double doors to the front of the bakery.
“Um, bye,” I say to Sydney and Hailey, pretty sure I’m being kicked out.
Hailey’s looking at Rachel curiously, while Sydney waves back, a sly grin on her face.
Once we’re up front, Rachel goes behind the counter to the glass display case and pulls out three danishes, one with the distinctive red raspberry filling, another with a bright yellow center, and the third I can’t tell.
She bags them up and hands them to me. “Raspberry, lemon curd, and hazelnut praline danishes. I can’t believe you’ve been sleep-deprived this whole time.”
“Well, I wanted to see you.”
The words slip out without my meaning them to, and I’m glad I didn’t say it in front of Sydney, who I have a feeling would tease Rachel mercilessly about that.
Thankfully, the girl at the counter doesn’t seem to be paying attention to us.
“You wanted to see me?” Rachel repeats quietly. Her gaze flickers over me, assessing, like she’s trying to fit pieces of a puzzle together that won’t click into place.
“Yeah,” I reply lamely, fairly sure that was the wrong thing to say. That she had no intention of seeing me today. Even if she offered to help with the fundraiser or teach me to make chili, that doesn’t mean she’s looking forward to those things. “I should get home and get some sleep.”
“Right,” she says faintly.
I give an approximation of a smile and leave, walking back to the station to get my truck and drive home.
When I enter my house, Tanner is playing some kind of farming simulator game on the living room TV. I have no idea what he sees in those games, but he’s been obsessed with them for as long as I’ve known him.
“What’re you doing up?” I ask him, setting my keys on the kitchen counter. He usually sleeps in on the weekends.
His gaze doesn’t move from the TV. “It’s nearly ten.”
Oh, duh. “Right. I’m not thinking straight.”
“I thought you were in your room this whole time. You just got off shift? There an emergency or something?”
I scrub a hand down my face, the past couple of hours of manual labor catching up with me. “No, I was at the bakery.”
He pauses his game and tosses the controller down, whipping around to face me. Ah, shit.
“With Rachel?” he asks in a sing-song way.
I grab a receipt off the counter and crumple it up to throw at him. “Fuck off,” I say good-naturedly.
He grins as he dodges the paper. “I can’t believe you’ve revived this high school crush back from the grave.”
He doesn’t need to know it never really went away. Only laid… dormant for a while.
“And I can’t believe you’re still playing farming games.”
“Hey, FS25—you know, you wouldn’t even get it. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“And I don’t to you.”
“Hmm.” He eyes me cautiously. “Touché.”
He turns and picks up his controller again. “Mom’s hosting a brunch tomorrow at her house.”
I keep my sigh to myself.
“She invited you.”
Of course she did. “What’d you say?”
He shrugs. “That I’d extend the offer.”
Tanner’s mom does this every Mother’s Day. As if I’m some sad orphan who needs comfort on this one day a year.
I mean, technically, I guess I am an orphan. But I’m an adult, so it doesn’t really count anymore. Besides, it’s easier to not think about that stuff.
I shake my head, chastising myself. She’s a nice lady. I shouldn’t be mad that she thinks enough of me to want to include me in a family celebration.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I tell him, and he doesn’t seem surprised. I decline every year. “I’m going to grab some shut eye.”
Leaving him, I enter the sanctuary of my room and change into comfortable clothes.
But even after turning on the fan and crawling under the comforter, sleep doesn’t come as quickly as it usually does.
My eyes feel heavy and gritty as the need for rest weighs down on me, but my mind won’t shut off.
My limbs are restless, wound up, wanting to do something.
This waiting, this hope unfurling in my chest when it comes to Rachel…
It tugs at me even as I recognize this is a long game I’m playing.
She’s gun-shy. I can’t rush it. This… whatever this is. What I wish it could be.
But even in my wildest dreams, what are the chances of it ever happening?