T W E L V E
- Oliver -
J ust when I thought the cactus got my point across, I found another present on my doorstep… If you can call a rude note and a gift you don’t want on your stoop a present.
Sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s be friends. Here’s a kit to get you started if you’re still holding out for that pie. Hope it helps with your adult hyperactive disorder.
Frankly, the first two sentences might’ve been a nice touch if they hadn’t been crossed out. And I got a chuckle out of the suggestion that I make my own pie. But her brazen accusation that I had hyperactivity disorder was a low blow. Not that she could know I was a hyperactive kid, but I was sincerely trying to bring this war to a close, and she’d gone out of her way to throw fuel on the fire.
This witch obviously had no idea that I’d spent the previous weekend being force fed the best desserts in the state. So my palate was undoubtedly far too refined to enjoy the contents of a cheap pie kit that she almost certainly tampered with. Besides, if I were going to take up baking, I’d start with something more basic, like slicing frozen sugar cookies.
The thought did occur to me that developing my confectionary skills might be a good way to impress Brownie Babe, but I dismissed the idea immediately. That would be as asinine as flirting with Michael Jordan by trying to prove you were great at basketball. Waste of time. I’d have to impress her in other ways. I doubted it would be with bakery-related banter, though. She was probably up to her crust in sweet talk by the end of the day. Frankly, I’d be lucky if she could stomach any more of it from me.
I arrived just before closing time, and the place was open but not busy. To my surprise, the outside was pretty unassuming, least of all because the narrow shopfront was wedged between a dry cleaner and a phone store. Inside, though, it had serious Candy Land vibes. The ceiling was painted to look like it was crowded with fluffy pink clouds, and the mouthwatering details didn’t end there. From the punny welcome mat to the cupcake clock to the coat hooks behind the door that looked like melting ice cream, every fun feature contributed to a sense of frivolity I hadn’t expected after tasting their seriously delicious desserts.
Once I digested the elaborate décor, I headed towards the counter, passing a woman with two kids and a stroller making an ungodly mess near the front window and a man reading a thriller behind a half-eaten piece of red velvet cake. But as soon as my eyes found the glass cases full of tempting treats flanking the register, I forgot all about the other customers.
In fact, I was so seduced by the shocking abundance of powdered sugar I almost didn’t see the woman bending over on the other side of the counter. Of course, once I noticed her, I couldn’t look away, least of all because I was curious about the tattoo peeking out from beneath the waistband of her dark jeans. It looked like a vine of ivy, the softly shaded leaves trailing away from her spine into a delicate curl. I cleared my throat as soon as I realized I was staring.
She shot upright at the noise and spun around, and when she saw it was me, so many expressions fought for real estate on her face that I regretted sneaking up on her even though it was an accident.
“Oliver Harrington.” She rolled her shoulders back and kicked the cupboard behind her shut without glancing back at it. “Hi.”
“Thought I’d swing by and make use of my loyalty card,” I said, raising it in the air between pinched fingers.
“Well, you’re in the right place,” she said, smoothing her hands over her hips.
My stomach growled as I resisted the urge to let my eyes drift towards the deep neckline of her V-neck shirt, which flattered her curves much more than the oversized tee she was sporting when we met.
“What are you in the mood for?”
Nothing that’s on the menu, I’m sure . “Bit late in the day for coffee.”
“We have a great selection of artisan soda.”
I arched a brow.
She clocked the confusion on my face and waltzed over to the cooler a few feet away, returning with four glass bottles, each of which was filled with unnaturally bright liquid.
I watched her set them in front of me, carefully spinning the labels towards me. “Grapefruit, Lemon & Ginger, Blackcurrant, and Clementine.”
I blinked at them.
“They’re surprisingly refreshing.”
The Warhol-esque labels were undeniably eye-catching, but the alien brightness of the liquid set me on edge.
“And not nearly as sweet as they look,” she said. “In case you’re worried they’ll clash with whatever else you have a craving for.”
Was she trying to get me riled up? “What’s your favorite?”
She searched my eyes like she hadn’t heard me, and I held her gaze, wishing I’d asked her a more interesting question.
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, prying her eyes from mine and casting her lashes towards the soda between us for a moment.
“Do you have plans for dinner?”
Unfortunately, she blurted “blackcurrant” at the same moment. It wasn’t that unfortunate, though, because the way she blushed made me feel hot all over.
“I’m supposed to try this new place,” I explained. “And they always bring me too much food.”
Her lips pulled towards a smile.
“Not that I’m suggesting you come out to nibble my scraps.” Shit .
“I take it you’re not interested in the soda?” she asked, ignoring my question.
“No, I am,” I said quickly, sliding the Clementine flavor towards me.
She returned the other bottles to the fridge, and I used the break in conversation to collect myself. It had been a while since I invited a woman to eat food with me, but I couldn’t recall ever having been totally ignored.
“Would you like something sweet with that?” she asked, gesturing towards the glass case to her right. “I’m sorry we don’t have a wider selection. If you’d come earlier—”
“The triple chocolate layer cake looks nice.”
“Great choice,” she said, pulling a small box from under the counter.
“I meant the whole cake.”
She paused and looked back towards the glass case. “It’s missing two slices already.”
“Are the other six not for sale?”
“No, they are,” she said. “I just thought… since you have dinner plans.”
“So you did hear me?”
She slid the remaining cake from the case, and the shiny icing was so chocolatey it was almost black. “I’d offer to let you enjoy a slice here, but since we’re technically closed…” She glanced at the other diners like she was sending them subliminal messages to chew faster.
“To-go is fine,” I said, watching her make a box and lower my cake inside. Lord knows why I bought the whole thing. I had no one to share it with and enough excuses to spin. Then again, having something to look forward to might make my trip to the “world-class” salad bar more bearable. “If you don’t want to have dinner with me, you could just say so instead of being rude about it.”
Her eyes flashed up at me, the whiskey-colored flecks in them sparkling. “I don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She slid my loyalty card across the counter, pulled out a stamp with a cupcake-shaped handle, and marked three of the thirteen blank spaces on my card. “It doesn’t matter what you believe.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
She punched some buttons on the register, read the screen, and looked up at me. “That’ll be $26.50.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said, handing her my card. “But would you at least tell me why the thought of eating food with me is so off-putting to you?”
“It’s not off-putting,” she said. “It’s just a conflict of interest professionally.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Was she for real? “How so?”
She waited for the machine between us to noisily spit out my receipt, tore it free, and extended it in my direction.
I waved it away, and she crumpled it with one hand.
“Just to confirm, are you ignoring me again?”
“I’m not ignoring you,” she said. “I’m just… choosing my words carefully because I don’t want to offend you.”
Interesting . “I have pretty thick skin,” I confessed. “Whatever you want to say, I assure you, I can handle it.”