Chapter 28 Patton
PATTON
I wrote and rewrote a variation of the same text message to Winnie five times.
Come to the bakery.
Too demanding.
Would you like to come to the bakery?
Too formal.
Need your opinion on something at the bakery.
Too vague.
I settled on: By talk, I meant taste. I could use some help at the bakery and something tells me you find my Crush Cakes irresistible.
Casual, yes. Flirty, maybe. The kind of thing a guy who hasn’t completely lost his mind over a woman might say.
Now she’s on her way.
The bakery smells like vanilla and butter—a combination that is usually comforting, but instead makes my stomach twist with nerves. I’ve been attempting a chocolate frosting recipe for the past hour, and it’s still not right. Too sweet. Not enough depth. Missing something I can’t name.
Kind of like my life before Winnie walked into it.
I scrub a hand through my hair, probably dusting it with flour and check my phone for the third time in as many minutes.
What if she changes her mind? Fell asleep? Decided that whatever this is between us was a lapse in judgment. That I’m not worth the trouble.
The door opens.
I look up, and Winnie stands there wearing leggings and an oversized Huckleberry Hill Parks & Rec sweatshirt featuring a giant squirrel holding an acorn. It’s two sizes too big. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, face scrubbed clean of makeup, eyes slightly red like she’s been crying.
She is so beautiful, I’m reduced to single syllables. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she says softly.
We stare at each other across the bakery. All the smooth things I planned to say evaporate like steam. I want to close the distance between us, pull her into my arms, promise her everything will be okay, even though I don’t know what’s wrong or how to fix it.
But that’s not what she needs right now. She needs normal. Easy. Something that doesn’t require her to be “on” or perfect or anything other than just Winnie.
“I’m trying a new recipe. Can’t get the frosting right.”
“You want me to help you bake?”
“I want—” The truth retreats.
I want you. Always.
But I can’t say that. Not yet. Not when she looks this fragile. I try again, building steam. “I want you here. With me. Baking together. Talking. I don’t know. Whatever it is people do when they’re not working or pretending they don’t like each other.”
A smile whispers across her face. “Interesting concept.”
“I’m full of them.”
She walks toward me and I track every step. The way her fingers twist together nervously. The slight hesitation before she reaches the counter. The moment she spots the mess of bowls, measuring cups, and ingredient containers spread out.
“This looks like my office,” she says.
“Your office has chocolate?”
“Only in the back of my drawer. Mindy is sneaky, so I have to hide it.”
I chuckle and hand her a spoon covered in chocolate frosting. “Try this and tell me what’s wrong with it. I think something is missing.”
She takes the spoon, brings it to her lips, and I do not watch the way her mouth closes around it. I tell myself to remain professional, focused on the recipe.
I fail.
“It’s good,” she says after a moment. “But it needs something. More salt, maybe? Just a pinch.”
“Good thinking.” I add salt to the bowl, mix it thoroughly, then offer her another taste. Our fingers brush as she takes the spoon.
This time, her eyes close as she tastes it. “So close to perfect.”
“But?”
She bites her lip. “Have you thought about adding a dash of espresso powder? It adds depth of flavor while elevating it at the same time.”
My chin lowers. “That’s brilliant.”
“I’ve been an accomplice in more than one Great Brownie Battle.”
I go to the pantry and find a small glass container and then add a pinch. We both try the frosting again. Once more, her eyes close, but this time she lets out a small sound, telling me everything I need to know.
I collapse on the spot. Flatline. Cause of death: Winnie Sorrentino.
She looks so beautifully ecstatic, yet peaceful, like that lick of frosting temporarily erased all her woes.
“You make everything better,” I blurt, my voice ragged.
Her eyes open, meeting mine. We’re standing close now—her rose perfume scent makes me want to lean in and never stop breathing. Yet, I see the hint of exhaustion in her face, the worry lines between her brows.
“What’s wrong?” I set down the bowl, giving her my full attention. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You’ve been crying.”
“How do you—?” She stops. “It’s just been a long day.”
“Talk to me.” I boost her onto the counter and kiss her forehead, then brace my hands on either side of her legs.
She lets out a little gasp and stares at me like she appreciates me taking charge, insisting she sit, rest, take a load off.
“I don’t want to burden you with my problems.” Her voice breaks slightly.
I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger against her cheek. “You could never be a burden to me. Whatever it is, I want to know. I want to help. Is it about the restaurant or something else?”
Please don’t say it’s about us.
She leans into my touch for just a second before pulling back, nodding. “My brother said they received an eviction notice for the restaurant. And I’ve been trying to fix it, sending money home, but it’s not enough and I don’t know what else to do and—”
The words pour out of her, each with a thud, revealing the weight she’s been carrying. The pressure to fix everything, save everyone, be perfect at all times.
I take both her hands in mine. “You’re not alone. Don’t have to do this alone.”
“But that’s just it. If I don’t fix it, no one will.”
“Did anyone ask you to?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“Did your family ask you to drain your savings to save their restaurant?”
“Well, no, but—”
“So you decided to take on their financial crisis by yourself, without telling them, while also managing a full-time job, fixing up your grandmother’s house, and planning the biggest fundraiser this town has seen in years?”
She looks slightly sheepish. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to be a superhero. But even superheroes need a team, Winnie. You can’t save everyone by yourself. I happen to be an expert on this.”
Eyes liquid, she looks up at me. “But what if I can’t save anyone at all?”
The vulnerability in her voice splinters something open in my chest. This woman believes her worth is tied to how much she can do for other people.
“Listen to me.” I pull her closer, framing her face with my hands so she has to look at me. “You are valuable because you’re you and not because of what you can do or fix or solve or how much you give. Anyone who fails to see that isn’t worth the effort.”
She wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to my chest. I slide my arms around her and kiss the top of her head, then rest my chin there.
“I meant what I said earlier about you deserving someone who builds you up.” I take a breath, preparing to jump off this cliff. “I want to be that person.”
“But I thought you hated me.”
I peer down at her. “If this is what hate looks like, we’ve had it all wrong. I’m sorry I made a bad first impression and insulted you. I’ll never call you Parks & Recs Princess again if you don’t want me to.”
She bashfully bobs her shoulder. “Maybe I want you to.”
I bite my lip. “It’s kind of cute, if you ask me.”
Her smile dims and her gaze sharpens as if her inner stubborn streak is getting up for one last swing. “But on Taco Tuesday, when you accused me of cheating at trivia and looked at me like I was the most infuriating person you’d ever met—”
I shake my head. “No, I was thinking, ‘This woman isn’t afraid to call me on my garbage.’”
A sniffly laugh escapes her. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. You were wearing a blue sweater, your hair was half up and half down, and you were so mad at me that your whole face was red. And I thought, ‘I am in so much trouble.’”
“I was not that mad—”
“You threw a chip at me.”
“You deserved it.”
“I did.” I brush my thumb across her cheek, catching a tear that’s escaped. Okay, here goes. I’m coming clean about the dumb bet. “But there’s something I need to—”
The front door crashes open.
Much like in the hall when Pauline interrupted, we jump apart as Austin walks in, takes one look at us, and grins like he’s just won, well, a bet.
My thoughts snag. Hold on. Did the guys trick me?
Did they mastermind this whole thing to push Winnie and me together?
But does it matter? I agreed to it and that could hurt Winnie. It’s a breach of trust.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. This is just getting good.”
I consider the various ways I could exact revenge for the interruption, including but not limited to sentencing him to a lifetime of cleaning the truck with a toothbrush, rewatching old training videos and writing essays, or exiling him from the common room couch.
“Forgot my jacket.” He saunters over to the coat rack, moving at half his normal speed. “But this is much better than a jacket. This is quality entertainment.”
Winnie’s face matches Oreo’s collar. She lowers to her feet and puts distance between us that feels like miles.
“Austin,” I growl.
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He grabs his jacket, but pauses at the door. “Oh, by the way, Mav? The guys want to know if you’re bringing Winnie to poker night tomorrow.”
“Get. Out.”
“That’s a yes, then. Great! I’ll save her a seat.” He winks at Winnie. “See you tomorrow, Winnie. Bring your piggy bank. Should be fun. We can all talk about—”
“Out!”
Austin leaves, still grinning like the menace he is.
The silence he leaves behind now that we’re alone again is like a siren in my ears.