Chapter 5 #3
She leaps up and starts pacing. Watching her manic energy, I want to do something to stop her and reassure her. I’m the one who was lied to and wronged in this horrendous charade, so why do I feel bad?
“People are losing faith in us. We haven’t won a pie competition in so long, and before that, we were unbeatable.”
“Your family was selling pies long before I was ever around. I was just a blip on the radar. The smallest, most infinitesimal flash of nothing at all.”
She shakes her head, paces a few feet away, and turns back, gesturing wildly with her hands.
“People just aren’t buying from the bakery like they used to.
I have a business degree, and I tried to talk to my dad about marketing and a new website, about advertising and all of it, but all he wants to believe in is the curse. ”
I don’t want to talk about curses. They aren’t real. I might use that word, and other people might too, but it’s just what people use in place of actions.
Dulcie apparently doesn’t need me to tell her that. “Really, he just needs to get past this idea of him not being capable. He’s lost his heart and soul.” She thumps her chest then flattens her hand, holding the spot right above her heart like it aches.
I know all about that.
I hate that I’m going soft when I should be kicking this woman out of my house and probably serving her with some kind of lawsuit. It does no one any good, least of all me, to turn into a giant marshmallow.
I don’t even like marshmallows.
But marshmallow peanut butter cake is quite delicious, though I’ll deny that until my dying breath.
I clear my throat, so tempted to rub the spot in my own chest where it hurts. “I stole that. The magic.” To prove I can be a hardened asshole, I wave my fingers like I’m going to perform a spell, but that just causes a wave of acid to splash up the back of my throat. “That’s what you thought.”
“I don’t think you stole it,” she mumbles, hanging her head.
I want to tip her chin up and put a smile back on her face. I want to tell her that I’ll go to Ohio and do whatever she wants, but that’s just… highly inadvisable.
“I think it left with you, and he thinks seeing you again and making things right between you two is the only way to fix this,” she adds.
“You let me kiss you.” I don’t mean for that to come out, but it does, snappy and harsh.
“I…”
“If things had not gotten sour between your dad and me, I would have been your dad’s close friend. You weren’t even born when I met your dad.”
More acid. This time, for an entirely different, justifiable reason.
Except my brain and body are currently at war, sending all sorts of mixed messages.
There are parts of me that haven’t quite…
calmed down the way they should have. That’s just fucked.
Beyond fucked. It’s whatever fucked is a thousand years in the future when someone invents a new word that’s just as satisfying.
My brain says no, but in the next breath (brain breath?), it wants to justify something.
I don’t even know what it is. I won’t allow myself to process it.
“Finding you hot wasn’t part of the plan,” she snorts, rolling her eyes. She taps her foot and gives me a great stink eye as though she’s not bothered in the least that we kissed.
She’s nearly two decades younger than I am, and we kissed. That makes me one of those clichés, doesn’t it?
The something that my brain is trying to conjure up by waving brain fingers of its own in an asshole magic move to rival anything I could do with my body is that there is a part of me that still finds her attractive.
I might be freaking out.
But it’s not a whole body, full-on, complete panic mode meltdown.
“It’s really quite inconvenient that you’re sexy and adorable,” she huffs.
“Stop!” I shove both hands in my ears like I’m the one who’s twenty years her junior.
But of course she doesn’t stop. She just speaks louder.
“You’re one of those people who anyone would come for a certain reason.
For the cooking, I guess, because that’s the most logical reason, but once they know you, they’d stay for you because you’re kind and adorable, and you have this infectious energy. ”
Anyone who has known me for the past few years would likely say she’s wrong.
I can’t help her.
That shouldn’t chafe as hard as it does.
I have no magic. I lost it. It’s gone.
“Plus, you’re hot as fuck.” She seems to have recovered enough to give me a devious wink, revealing that the person she was pretending to be and the real Dulcie are on the same page, at least on a take-no-shit, sass-right-back, snark-with-the-best-of-them level.
“You have a body that could be a statue; it’s so hard.
You’re also a great dancer, and you’re a great kisser.
” At those words, I gasp, and she struggles to contain a grin as she adds, “So yeah, that’s exceptionally inconvenient. ”
I shove both hands into my hair and fold over at the waist. I’m going to throw up soon. It’s going to happen. The anxiety is too much. This is all too much. “Inconvenient? Christ, you were sitting in my lap!”
Oh god, she’s felt my boner.
She touched my bare chest.
She was going to undress me and let me—
I gasp for air that isn’t there. All the oxygen in the room has been sucked out by a giant vacuum hose thing that must somehow be attached to it. This is how I’m going to die. By mortification and hyperventilation and probably a few other ations.
“Luca.”
I’ve been so busy trying to breathe that I didn’t even hear Dulcie creep up to me.
She puts her hand on my shoulder and rubs in a small circle.
Do not act like a cat and start purring.
Do not. I try to jerk away, but the movement is all in my head.
My brain can’t get enough oxygen to make my body obey.
Especially not when her hand spreads from one shoulder blade to my spine and then to the other side, tracing the smallest pattern.
“Whoa. In and out. Deep breaths. In. Out.” She mirrors the pattern of deep breaths while her touch spreads like fire through my body, cutting through muscle and bone and embedding in my cells.
Her soft voice near my ear temporarily does me in.
“I know it’s a little taboo, and some people wouldn’t get it, but I’m an adult, and so are you.
We’re allowed to find each other attractive. ”
“You fed me all the lines,” I gasp, but it’s more like “Smoo mfddd me mwall dehhh limes,” as I struggle to speak around the breaths I’m trying to suck in.
“I can’t make you believe it was real, but it was.
” Her hand. More small circles. More small shivers and wild electricity that I should in no way be feeling.
“This whole thing just got really messed up. I didn’t plan to come here today, and…
and… I just wanted to make a pie. You said you haven’t made one since you left Ohio, and I thought maybe, if you found your passion for it again, you’d be more receptive to the idea. ”
I’m more receptive to the idea of her touch sending a thousand degrees of sheer hot bliss surging through me.
Wait.
Fuck.
“I didn’t mean for my heart to start banging around in my chest or to think about you all last night or to… to want you, or to trust you. You’re… you really are special. My dad was right,” she continues.
I shake my head, jerking away. I scoot across the counter. The stainless steel makes it easy to move fast with little friction. I contain my hands, trapping them between my knees. “No, I’m clearly cursed. He was right about that. Obviously! Look at this whole thing!”
She tries to edge closer when I hiccup on the last line, gearing up for another mini meltdown, and I freeze her with as cold a look as I can muster. It’s probably more heartbroken than frigid, but it does the job. I don’t need other people to take care of me.
Err, except maybe Adam. Sometimes. When life is nothing more than a haze of pain after being ripped apart and put back together.
I certainly am not going to accept any sort of comfort from Dulcie. That’s like grabbing a butter knife with the intention of making love to a toaster and expecting anything but the worst results.
“It’s beyond messed up. There isn’t even a term for it; it’s so beyond wrong,” I mutter with a groan.
“Beyond and wrong are strong words,” she replies.
It’s annoying how many people are convinced there’s no such thing as can’t.
There are plenty of things that can’t be endured.
This conversation, for one.
The weight I’ve always felt bearing down around my shoulders, as well as my going to Ohio to try and fix anything, for another.
“I’m sorry.” I let her see all my naked regret.
Regret for every single year since I hurt a good man. Regret at the fact that I can’t undo it with one simple action. Regret that any of this happened, and regret that I trusted someone so damn easily, and now a painful storm is gathering in my chest, ready to batter the shit out of me.
“Yeah,” she breathes, her protests silenced by the finality that’s just crept into the room, somber and deadly.
The only thing that got baked here today was bullshit pie.
She snatches up the black leather messenger bag she’d set down next to the paper one on the counter earlier.
She digs around until she finds a little notepad and a pen.
Her hair obscures most of her face, but I can see her long lashes sweeping up and down rapidly.
When she lifts her head, there are streaks in her pale makeup.
I swear I’d rather leap off the nearest cliff than see her cry.
I hate that I’ve caused her misery. I know it’s more complicated than that, but at heart, it still destroys me.
Inexplicably.
There’s no way any of this makes sense.
“Here.” She tears off the piece of paper and holds it out to me.
“If you change your mind, that’s where I’m staying.
I’ll be there for a few days yet.” She makes a wet sound in her throat as she clears it.
The emotion behind her eyes only makes them darker.
Deeper. Easier to fall into. “I’m going to need at least that much time to figure out what I’m going to tell my dad.
Not that it’s your fault,” she quickly adds.
She means it.
I don’t take the paper. I’m afraid that if I move even an inch, my limbs will betray me and do something else. Like, reach out to Dulcie.
Christ, this is depressing.
“Okay.” She sets the tiny sheet down on the counter next to me.
“For what it’s worth, these have been the two strangest, craziest, best days of my life.
Minus now. And the stress and anxiety of knowing I was lying, plus the confusion of also being more myself than I’ve been able to be in years.
I know that sorry doesn’t mean shit, but I am, for the parts that hurt.
I hope you’re okay. With the surgeries and…
and with everything else. This isn’t a guilt trip.
I’m not trying to use reverse psychology or manipulate you into anything.
“My family and I will be okay too. I’ll figure out a way.
I’m sure if my dad could tell you that himself, he would.
He’d hug you too. And then he’d probably cry a little and try and feed you pie, and ummm, I’m just going to show myself out now.
Please don’t send your lawyer after me. I promise I won’t say anything about any of this to anyone.
I suppose you don’t have any reason to trust me, so uh, if I have to sign any paperwork, there’s my address.
I’ll try not to be too alarmed when I see the Grim Reaper of the law at my doorstep. ”
She brushes tears away from her eyes and sucks in a shaky breath.
I’d say.
That was quite a monologue.
Then again, it was clear I wasn’t going to participate.
I pull together the last few remaining scraps of strength and dignity I have left, raise my head, and nod.
The nod could mean anything, but she nods back.
And then… she’s gone.
It’s a good few minutes before I can unfold myself and get my aching heart and head together enough to reach for that piece of paper.
I don’t light it on fire, spit on it, throw it in the garbage, or bake it into a revenge dish.
God, I don’t even know what that last one would be, but it has a nice ring to it.
I should do a lot of things, but it all started nineteen years ago when I walked away from Ohio, leaving a copious amount of pain and grief in the wake of my departure, which lingered with me and Archie for all this time.
If I’d been a better person then, or in any of the years leading up to now, today wouldn’t have happened.
Yesterday wouldn’t have happened. Even now, knowing what I know and how horrible it is, I can’t help but think that would be a true tragedy.
I know what I need to do. I need to get my head together, be the bigger man, break the curse I said I don’t believe in, fix karma, and mend hearts.
Whatever term makes sense, it’s all really the same.
I need to take accountability and have a conversation to clear the misunderstanding that was really no one’s fault but has caused so much damage nonetheless.
I’m not limited to a few days, but Dulcie will be gone after that. I can go to Ohio any day and any time, but I can’t let her leave without at least making things some version of right.
I know that.
But knowing it and figuring out how exactly to do it are two very different things.