Chapter Five
Juniper
The stupid clearance cake stared at me from the counter when I walked in, the red piping smeared a little at the edges where the gel icing bled onto the white after sitting there too long.
I picked it up by the plastic dome and dropped the whole thing into the trash with a thud. The sound echoed in my empty kitchen.
Brett’s things had colonized every flat surface like he’d been planning to stay forever.
His gym bag sat haphazard in the hallway where he’d tossed it last time he used it.
His shaving cream on the bathroom counter and the stack of real estate magazines beside the toilet all went in the trash.
I started in the bedroom and worked my way out, dumping everything I found into a cardboard box I’d swiped from behind the bakery.
His clothes smelled like the expensive cologne he favored.
My phone buzzed from inside my purse. Brett’s name lit up the screen. Then a text. Then another. I set the phone face-down on the coffee table and kept working. The messages piled up, the vibration making the table hum.
By midnight, I had three boxes stacked by the front door, along with a couple of garbage bags filled with his shit, and a kitchen that felt like mine again.
I’d scrubbed the counters with bleach until my hands stung.
The smell burned clean through the apartment, wiping out every trace of him.
I slept with the window open and the blankets pulled to my chin.
When the alarm went off at three-thirty I’d only managed a couple hours of light dozing.
By four, apron on, ovens preheating, I set about the familiar rhythm of my work.
Sure, I was way earlier than normal, but sleep was a lost cause, so I figured I’d get a jump on things.
First cake order was for a baby shower on Saturday.
Pink and white, two tiers, buttercream roses.
Simple. I could do simple with my eyes closed and my brain turned off, which was exactly what I needed.
My phone buzzed at seven. I almost didn’t even look at the thing, but for some reason I glanced over to where I had it laying face up on the counter. Not Brett this time.
Inferno: Did you make it home OK?
I smiled as I wiped flour off my hands and picked up the phone.
Me: Made it. Threw out the cake. Packed his shit. Standard breakup protocol.
Inferno: Protocol needs whiskey. My place at the clubhouse. Friday. You bring the cake this time.
I laughed. The sound surprised me, bouncing off the tiled walls of my empty kitchen.
Me: I’ll think about it. Got a baby shower order to finish.
Inferno: Babies? Gross. Cake? Good!
I couldn’t help but laugh.
At ten I looked up from the register and saw Brett’s car.
The leased black Audi idled at the curb across the street.
Brett sat behind the wheel, phone to his ear, pretending not to look at the shop.
The light turned green and he drove away.
This, likely, was Brett being Brett. He’d do petty shit just to be noticed, then pretend to be all innocent.
Well. I had better things to do than give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.
Later that night I lay in bed and scrolled through my messages. Brett’s texts had tapered off into silence around two in the morning. Twenty-seven messages total. I didn’t read them, instead setting the phone on the nightstand. With any luck, he’d get bored of pestering me and get on with his life.
But the next day his car was back in the same spot, though at a different time. Just so happened to be while I was loading a wedding cake into a customer’s SUV. He sat there the entire time with the engine running, not leaving until I went back inside the bakery.
My phone buzzed during my lunch break. How was this even my life? No one ever called me. Brett never called me! Yet, now, after he broke up with me, he wanted to call and shoot the shit? Christ, my life!
Inferno: How’s the baby cake?
Shit. Seeing Inferno’s name light up instead of Brett’s was a welcome relief. I sent back a picture of the finished product, pink roses climbing the side of a white tier.
Inferno: Jesus that’s good. You’re hired.
Me: Already hired. By myself.
Inferno: Smartest person I know.
I put the phone away and ate my sandwich standing at the sink.
I didn’t want to examine my feelings for Inferno too closely.
Logically, there was no way for us to actually…
date. Right? Did I want to jump from one man straight to another?
I’d have to think about that. Though I knew I’d be meeting him Friday like he said. And I’d bring cake.
Thursday mid-morning. when very few people were in, Brett finally came into the shop. The bell rang and he strolled in wearing a blazer and jeans, hair perfectly tousled, smiling at me like we were old friends catching up. The blonde was conspicuously absent.
“Hey, Junie.”
“Juniper.” I didn’t look up from the display case. “What can I get you?”
“Just black coffee.”
I poured it and set it on the counter so there was no way he could “accidentally” touch me. He set a five on the counter and put the change in the tip jar.
“How’s business?”
“Good.” I wiped down the espresso machine. “Thanks for asking.”
He stood, sipping his coffee and looking around the shop like he was casing it for a listing. “Place looks good. You’ve done a nice job with it.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a smile that I didn’t feel, but I could be polite.
“Well.” He raised the cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Any time.” I meant the opposite.
As he left, I watched him cross the street to his car and drive away, and I didn’t feel a thing. At least, I didn’t feel like a girl who’d been dumped less than a week ago on her birthday.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and by closing time, I’d worked myself out of the funk Brett always put me in when he turned up here. Later that evening, my phone buzzed again.
Inferno: Heard a rumor there’s a baker in town makes a mean dinosaur cake.
I grinned at the screen.
Me: Heard a rumor there’s a firefighter who can’t dance.
Inferno: Former firefighter. And I can dance. You just didn’t give me enough room.
Me: Next time I’ll clear the floor.
Inferno: Next time. I like the sound of that.
He did that. Texted me daily. We never had intense conversations or anything.
He just checked in and, without fail, made me smile.
I remember he’d told me to tell him if Brett started showing up.
I’d also told him I’d block Brett, but for some reason I couldn’t make myself do it.
Did I think we’d get back together? Absolutely not.
But for whatever reason in my messed-up head, I couldn’t make myself block him.
If the texts and calls kept up, I’d have to.
Friday I closed alone. The afternoon rush had cleaned us out of everything but three croissants and one muffin. I wiped down the counters, swept the floor, counted the till. The rhythm of closing was its own kind of meditation.
I flipped the deadbolt and reached for the lights. Through the front window, across the street, his Audi sat parked at the curb with the engine and lights off and no one in the vehicle.
I stood there with my hand on the light switch, my keys in my fist and watched the shadows gather inside the car. Nothing moved. The street was quiet. Only my reflection looked back at me from the dark glass of the bakery window. There was no sign of Brett.
I flipped the lights and locked the door behind me. The deadbolt turned with a solid click that echoed in the empty street. His car didn’t move as I walked to my sedan with my keys between my knuckles. I didn’t look back. Instead, I pretended not to notice the bastard.
I swung by a pizza place and picked up dinner, preferring the carbs to fucking pork chops. The rest of the night was quiet. Pizza and mindless TV helped to calm my mind.
The next morning, about fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave for the bakery, a knock came at the door. I looked through the peephole to find Brett standing in the hallway. I opened the door until the chain caught.
“Junie.” His smile was wide and empty. “Hey.”
“What do you want, Brett?” I did my best to sound indifferent, but the truth was, I was getting a creepy vibe from Brett just now.
“I came for my stuff. You texted me it was ready.” He grinned as he wiggled his phone in the air, like this was all no big deal. Prick.
“I didn’t text you anything.”
His shrugged unconcernedly. “Must have been Gary. He said you called the office.”
“I didn’t call anybody.” I shut the door, slid the chain off, and opened it again. “Your boxes are by the door, though. I have to open the shop, so I’d appreciate it if you made it quick.”
He stepped inside and the apartment felt smaller with him in it.
He looked around like he was taking inventory, noting what had changed.
The counters were cleared, his things gone.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. He’d practiced this.
I could hear it in the cadence, the careful pauses.
“The way I handled things on your birthday was… I wasn’t at my best. You deserved better than that. ”
“You’re right.” I crossed my arms. “I did.” I nodded at his things. “Boxes are there.”
“I mean it, Junie. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.
About us. About what happened.” He took a step toward me.
I took a step back. “The things I said. I was stressed about the lake listing. Gary was riding me hard. It wasn’t about you.
” I didn’t say anything. “It wasn’t. You know how I get when work piles up.
I say things I don’t mean.” Another step.
His voice softened into that concerned register that used to make me feel seen.
Now it made my skin crawl. “But this reaction… showing up at Throttle, getting with some random biker to make a point. That’s not you, Junie. That’s not the woman I fell for.”