4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Scarlett
It’s as if my feet are stuck to this spot. I watch Steven’s car get smaller and smaller. And as the distance between us increases, the vice around my heart tightens, triggering a burning sensation at the back of my eyes.
When he’s no longer visible, I turn the key and push open the bakery door, flicking on the lights. I lock the door behind me to avoid any accidental customers before business hours.
The memory of Steven’s hand on my lower back catches me off guard, and my fingers fly to my lips. Ripping my hand away, I march toward the kitchen and warm up the ovens.
Taking another swig of my lukewarm latte, I slip my phone into the drawer under the counter, determined to focus on work.
My attention focused on the recipe for today’s project: a dog in a Wolverines jersey with the number 45 on it. The perfect way to celebrate Steven’s homecoming and new roster spot.
I reach into the cupboard for the flour but my hand slips. The glass container flies into me before shattering on the floor.
A cloud of white powder flies everywhere, and suddenly I’m pulled back to the night of Steven’s dad’s funeral.
Blinking rapidly, I wipe the corner of my eye.
The door closes behind me, leaving the muffled sounds of hushed conversations, and my gaze roams the outside seating area until I find who I’m looking for.
Steven’s sitting on a bench, his head in his hands.
The grip on my chest tightens as I make my way over, the grass quietly crunching with each step.
His head whips up, but immediately relaxes when he sees it’s me. “Hey.”
Even in the fading light, I can see the haunted look in his eyes. It’s been a long two days, and it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.
I was only three when I lost my mother, but the memory of those around me, and their grief, hasn’t faded. Luckily, my father and uncle shielded me from the majority of it as best as they could.
Not for a moment did I doubt I was loved.
Staring at my best friend, I want him to know he’s loved too. That I’m here for him, and he can lean on me as much as he needs. Now and always.
The wool of his sweater scratches my chin as I wrap an arm around his shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, like he was holding it in all day, before his head collapses forward against his chest.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“I have to—”
“I already asked your mom, and she said it was okay.”
Steven lets out another heavy sigh before giving the tiniest of nods.
Holding my palm out, he stares at it for a moment before slipping his hand in mine.
Twenty minutes later, we’re at Duncan’s Donuts for Dogs, baking just for the sake of baking. Flour flying everywhere.
“If your uncle shows up tonight, he’s never going to let me work here again.”
“Good thing hockey, and not a bakery, is your end game.” Glancing around, I groan. Hopefully Uncle Duncan doesn’t pick this moment to walk in with the kitchen looking like an F5 tornado passed through, rather than two teenagers. “Pfft. Uncle Dunky would be fine with this.”
Steven’s disbelieving gaze is heavy on my face, and I snort.
But when a smile erupts across his face, I know that getting yelled at would be completely worth it.
This time at least.”
Sprinkling some flour on the counter, I begin rolling out the ball of batter.
“Thank you, Scar. I needed this.”
“This?” Taking a pinch of flour, I toss it in his direction, before grabbing a little more and dusting it over his head. “Or this?”
Catching my wrist just as the powder floats in the air, he lets out a laugh I haven’t heard in weeks. And when his green eyes meet mine, the mischief reflected there makes my heart stutter.
“You have a little something here.” Lifting one of his hands, he points a finger at a spot on my cheek. Raising my arm, I swipe at it.
Giggling, I ask. “Did I get it?”
“Nope.” His eyes sparkle, a lopsided grin lining his lips as he slowly shakes his head.
Lifting my arm, I use my sleeve to wipe at the spot again. “What about now?”
“You’re making it worse.” He pushes my arm out of the way, chuckling, before brushing my cheek with his fingers. His hand slows. The rough pads on his fingertips linger, and my breath catches.
My gaze rises to find him watching me.
“Scarlett?” His thumb gently moves across my chin.
“Steven?” One side of his mouth curves and my cheeks lift. He adjusts his hand and traces the curve of my mouth.
The first time I met Steven, in third grade, I was smitten. My eight-year-old self had us walking down the aisle and spending forever together. I don’t know exactly what changed, but after a few squabbles here and there, we somehow came to a silent agreement that we were better off as friends.
Standing here, with him looking at me like I’m his favorite dessert, I want nothing more than to throw that out the window and kiss him.
But I couldn’t.
A tiny flutter shoots through me, and I shake my head. Steven and I had avoided so many almost kisses.
For a very good reason.
Heaving out a heavy sigh, I glance down at my handy work, tempted to take a picture.
Instead, I make sure they’re spaced out evenly before turning to the oven. A blast of heat hits me as I slide the tray in and push the door closed.
I set the timer for twenty minutes.
The timer shrieks.
We both jump, nervous giggles breaking the tension between us. Stepping away, I silence the alarm.
“Here.” I muster a small smile and hand him a rolling pin. “Finish your batch. It’s getting late.”
He hesitates, staring at my hand before finally grabbing the rolling pin.
But just as quickly as it came, the confusion disappears, and he starts to roll out his batter.
We’ve been here before. It will go back to normal like it always has.
It never did, at least not for me. Because that was the night I realized I was in love with my best friend.
But three promises I made to his father stood in the way of me telling him how I felt.
A single tear falls down my cheek, and I angrily swipe it away.
Two down. One to go.
Banging my hand on the glass display case at the insistent knock on the door, fear grips me. But instead of Ryan, I see Izzy Sterling, owner of the bookshop around the corner, First Impressions.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see it’s ten on the dot.
Straightening out the dog treats, I slide the tray in and then make my way to the door.
Izzy looks at her phone, a scowl on her face and one foot tapping impatiently. When she glances up, her brows are pulled together.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I tease, my lips twitching. Her scowl deepens as she grabs the door handle and pushes her way past me.
“Do you always need to be so cheerful?” she grumbles.
If she had seen me an hour ago, she wouldn’t be asking that question. But that’s not the version of me I’m choosing to let her, or anyone else, see today. I shrug a shoulder and make my way back to the counter to finish up my opening tasks.
“Do you know who RIG Holdings is?” She slams a letter in front of me. “They purchased my building.”
At that, my brows shoot up. Sliding the letter toward me, I shake my head. “Looks like they aren’t making any changes to your current lease, which is good.”
“Yet.”
“Izzy,” I sigh, pushing the letter back to her. “What if—”
“Don’t you even ‘Best. Day. Ever.’ me, Scarlett. I’m not in the mood.”
She’s never in the mood. This isn’t just ‘today’s bad news, Izzy’; this is Izzy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friend, but sometimes I just wish she had a bit more sunshine.
“Are you okay?”
Leaning my arms on the counter, I make the corner of my lips pull up. “I’m fine, why?”
“I don’t know.” She studies me. “You just seem off.”
Pressing my teeth lightly into my lip, I shake my head.
“Oh wait! Isn’t Steven coming home today?” She points at the dog treats with Steven’s jersey number, and her eyes light up. “You’re distracted.”
Turning around, I straighten the pastry boxes. “He came back yesterday. I made those earlier.” I feel Izzy’s eyes boring into the back of my head. Facing her with a lift of my shoulder, I add, “Emma needs me to come up with an idea for her next podcast. I’m struggling.”
She nods her head, as if that explains it all. “I don’t understand why she puts so much pressure on you. It’s her podcast.”
Izzy doesn’t know I’m Emma. The only person who does is Steven. When I started the podcast, I used a voice modulator to disguise my voice so Emma sounded more confident and polished. Nothing like my usual self. It was surprising how easy it was to keep my secret safe.
“It’s not pressure.” Barks blast from the speakers as my first customer of the day walks in, and I smile in greeting. “Usually I enjoy it.”
Izzy’s brows pull together, and I wonder if she’s going to dig deeper. Thankfully, she doesn’t, but her whispered ‘we’ll talk about this later’ as she leaves my stomach churning, while also sparking an idea.
“Give me just one second,” I address the woman at the counter, who nods before shifting her attention to the display cabinet.
Grabbing a napkin, I quickly jot down ‘when love and friendship collide’.
Pasting a smile on my face, I put my full attention on the only thing I can control right now. “How can I help you today?”