Chapter 5
Five
Quincy
Before I open the door to the mostly empty Four and Twenty bakery, I spy the owner, Evelyn, and her girlfriend behind the counter. They’re standing close and gazing at each other, sharing small kisses as they talk and smile and laugh about something.
The sweetness of the two of them makes me ache, and I feel like a perv watching them through the window. When I open the door, they look over and smile, Evelyn greeting me by name.
“Hey, Quincy, right? The usual?”
“Actually, I have something special that I wonder if you might be able to whip up by tomorrow. I’m looking for a flag cake?”
Evelyn smirks and gestures toward the refrigerated display case on the far wall. “I believe those are what you’re looking for?”
I turn to see at least a dozen flag cakes on display with red, white and blue icing.
“I get at least a dozen requests every summer, so I thought I’d go ahead and make a dozen or so,” Evelyn says.
Turning back to Evelyn, I tell her specifically what I’m looking for, hoping it doesn’t sound too demanding. “Those are great, but what I really want is the kind with strawberry stripes and blueberries and icing for the stars. You know what I mean?”
Evelyn nods. “Unfortunately, I don’t make those in advance. The berries tend to bleed all over, and it ends up looking like a complete mess, even if you refrigerate it overnight. What time is the party?” Evelyn asks.
I wince, “I was hoping to have the cake right after the boat race tomorrow. Really, I don’t mind if it looks a little messy.”
Evelyn shakes her head. “Sorry. I can’t put that out there. Wouldn’t be up to my standards.”
I tell her I understand, and I’m about to tell her to box up one of the pre-made flag cakes when a blast of humid air wafts across my bare legs.
“Quincy.”
I turn to see Reef walking in the door, all brawn and golden, totally out of place in the pastel interior of the bakery. The tiny hairs on my forearms stand at attention at the sight of him.
“Hey…boss,” I croak, sounding weak and wilting. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Why did I ask that? He has every right to be here as much as I do? How is that my business?
“Just had some dinner and I’m grabbing dessert.”
Dessert. I stare at him. I don’t picture Reef as a dessert guy. But I bet he’s super into the other kind of dessert that is a euphemism for something else. At the thought of it, I have to cross my legs.
He notices.
And he stares right at my legs. His face looks weirdly soft. Me? I suddenly feel like taking up speed running as a hobby. Speed running out of this bakery, down the block, out into the hills, and straight into a cave, never to be seen again.
Reef’s expression hardens again as Evelyn pipes up. “Decided on your flag cake yet?”
“Flag cake?” Reef looks at me quizzically.
I smile. “Yep. For the afterparty.”
Those slightly wild eyebrows draw together. “What afterparty?”
I lower my chin and stare up at him. “It’s the Fourth of July. You can’t be serious.”
“Most people who work for me would say I’m serious all the time.”
This makes me snort. “Come on. Lighten up. Don’t tell me you don’t let your employees have fun some of the time.”
His silence tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t do office parties. Even though this technically isn’t a typical office atmosphere.
“You want an afterparty, we can have an afterparty.”
“Problem is, I want a flag cake with fruit, not just icing. Evelyn won’t do it because she says the berries bleed if left in the fridge overnight.”
“It’s true. I won’t do it in good conscience and have a cake looking like a crime scene out there with my name attached to it.”
It’s not like it’s the end of the world if it does, but I can see Evelyn is not going to budge on this.
Reef looks from Evelyn to me and nods. “You want your flag cake, we’ll make your flag cake.”
“How?” I ask. “I don’t bake.”
“It’s not like it’s rocket science,” he says. “Well, go get a box mix from Robin’s and whatever else you need.”
“Pretending I didn’t hear that so I don’t get offended,” Evelyn says.
The slightest smile pulls at Reef’s lips. “And we’ll take two summer berry tarts to go, Evelyn,” he says.
I watch him pay for the tarts before I can approach with my wallet. It’s like he’s ignoring me. Never mind that he didn’t ask what I wanted, but the berry tarts are my favorite at Four and Twenty Bakery.
Reef balances the white pastry box carefully in his hands as we step out into the warm evening air. I hold the door open and follow him around the building into the small alleyway. The party lights strung between the buildings are not yet on as the sun begins to set behind the ridge.
By the time we reach the weathered bench by the mural wall, the bustle of the street seems distant. Reef sets the tarts between us.
We eat our berry tarts in awkward silence at first. At least it’s awkward for me, as I watch the sun set over the western ridge. The sky is flooded with pink and purple hues.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say.
“This is dessert,” he says.
“Speak for yourself,” I say through a mouthful of lemon custard and berries.
Reef shakes his head. “Do you need a proper meal?”
“I’m too used to shoving food in my face and moving on with whatever I need to do next. Besides, it gets me out of having to monitor the school cafeteria if I make sure my schedule is packed full.”
He laughs appreciatively, then says, “What else do you need for this party?”
Am I crazy, or is this man coming around to my way of thinking? That may be too much to hope for.
I tell Reef that I was planning to hit Robin’s Supermarket for party decorations and sparklers after this.
“You weren’t planning on spending your own money on all of that?” Reef’s brow furrows in concern, and it’s so cute I want to touch those deep grooves.
“Yes.” Who else’s money would I be spending?
“I have an expense account for parties and such. I’ve never even touched it. I’m surprised you didn’t ask.”
“Why?”
“Well, you have a way of getting what you want,” he says.
So he noticed.
“I’m also a teacher,’ I explain. “And I’m used to people above me saying no. Spending my own money for work stuff is pretty much the way it goes.”
And now he’s just blinking at me, and I don’t know where to look.
I thank heaven for the buzzing of the horny cicadas in the trees, so loud it chases away extraneous thoughts. Thoughts like who may be seeing me eating tarts with my boss at 7 p.m., or what my hair must look like after being tied up in a sweaty bun all day at work.
I’m definitely not thinking about how I look eating a fruit tart with my hands.
My only thought is that I’m hungry, and that watching Reef eat a blackberry and raspberry tart is the single most filthy thing I’ve ever seen. He makes pornographic, appreciative noises when he eats. Again, I’m clenching my thighs together.
I sneak a peek over at him. A single line of juice runs down his chin.
Here I am, just mindlessly staring, and thinking about leaning over and cleaning his chin with my mouth.
If I’d had my head on straight, I’d know that it’s a very bad idea to bite into anything with a graham cracker crust when not in possession of a plate and a fork. When I take a big bite into the tart, the crust cracks catastrophically.
“Oh god,” I mumble, forlornly watching berries and custard tumble down my front.
“Here,” Reef says, handing me a bunch of napkins. He takes what’s left of my tart so that I can clean myself up. My face feels hot in embarrassment as I wipe up, leaving streaks all over my white shirt.
“I can’t go into Robin’s looking like this.
I always see at least three current or former students every time I go in there.
Or their parents,” I say, though I was secretly looking forward to a little grocery shopping alongside Reef.
Just to spend a little time trying to figure this man out.
“I really don’t want to have to make small talk looking like this. ”
“Give me a shopping list, and I’ll take care of it, if you don’t want to go in there,” he says, gesturing with his chin across the street to the supermarket. “But I swear, it’s not that bad.”
I have to remind my hardening nipples that Reef isn’t staring at my breasts for any other reason than the fact that I’ve made a mess of myself.
When I meet his dark gaze, though, something in them makes me go all tight and nervous inside.
“You know what, it’s fine. My students have seen me looking much worse,” I say. “Let’s go.”
At the grocery store, we walk the aisles together, with Reef pushing a buggy and me going down the list and putting things in the basket. For the cake ingredients, Reef seems to know what he’s doing. Box mix, pint of strawberries, pint of blueberries, butter, vanilla, powdered sugar.
“I didn’t know you were a baker,” I comment as we wheel around a small group of moms I recognize from the booster club.
I try not to get distracted by the way they all stop talking about plans for their vacations, or lake gatherings and whatnot, to stare at Reef and me together.
Or maybe they’re noticing how disheveled I am with my stained shirt and all the odors that come with working at the marina.
“Not a baker. My grandma had a wedding cake business, so I picked up a few things, since I practically lived with her in the summers when my dad was working on charters in the Outer Banks, and Mom worked two jobs to tide us over until the charter money kicked in at the end of each season. Grandma Barb let me help her sometimes in the kitchen. She would be horrified that I’m using a mix. ”
Look at Reef, opening up to me. I try not to gloat about it, but I can’t prevent my beaming smile. “Little Reefy, standing on a chair, sifting flour and sugar. That’s adorable.”
“Stop,” he growls, but can’t hide the smile.
“Did you have a tiny kid-sized apron? Please say yes.”
Reef rounds the corner by the onions and potatoes and makes a low, growly noise of consternation that’s starting to feel like his signature sound whenever I tease him.
If I had any scruples whatsoever, I would not enjoy getting Reef to make that sound.
But I’m having too much fun. And I’m enjoying this…
whatever this feeling is that I’m having while we shop together.
It’s like we’re playing pretend at being a couple, shopping for groceries together.
“Where are we baking this flag cake?” I ask.
“Assuming you have a normal size fridge, I suggest your house. Do you have eggs? Oil?”
I pause and stare at him. “What do you mean, normal size fridge?”
He shrugs. “I just…my house is very small, and I don’t have space for it.”
I have so many questions. Does he live in a camper? A tent? A studio apartment with no kitchen? Not that I hate the idea of him coming over to my house—as long as he gives me five minutes to clean up before he comes inside.
I think Reef takes my staring at him as judgment rather than what it is—me trying to decide whether to pry or not. His eyes dart away from me, and I feel it.
Oh. That’s… not good. I shouldn’t be feeling that little sting of sadness just because my boss—my boss—broke eye contact first.
“Ms. Travers! I need you to settle a bet.”
The teacher in me is suddenly activated. I spin around to find Hannah Partridge and her gaggle of booster moms staring at me. So much perfect hair.
“Bet?”
Hannah sips from her “baseball mom” water tumbler and says, “Patricia said she saw you working at the marina, but Renee said no, you were hanging around the boats because you got yourself a new beau.”
I stare at her as my stomach drops into my butt. I wish for the floor at Robin’s Supermarket to crack up and for the underworld to swallow me whole.
I should be used to this. Schools are a breeding ground for gossip. Mainly I feel bad that Reef is being subjected to the gossip mill that is Songbird Ridge.
“I see,” is all I can say.
I glance at the other moms. Patricia wears a purple shirt that reads “Wine O'Clock” and looks like she’s furiously texting someone.
Renee stares straight at me and looks like she just came off the links, with a collared shirt tucked into her pressed, belted shorts.
They are far too interested in my love life.
I thought by deleting the friend requests on social media from my students’ parents, I could keep my private life private.
Turns out, there’s no such thing as privacy in Songbird Ridge.
The assumption by some that Reef and I are dating, and that I’m hanging around the marina because I can’t be three feet away from my boyfriend, is somewhat insulting to me as a woman. As if I don’t have a million other priorities.
“It’s my summer job,” I say tightly. That is all I’m going to give them.
“Oh,” Hannah says. “See, ladies? I told you it was nothing more than that.”
“You seemed really bonded together when I saw you at the dock earlier today, when you almost fell into the water,” Renee says.
Oh god. Who else saw that?
Breezy. Just be breezy. I laugh, “Oh, that’s just my hands-on supervisor. He loves to hang around and fix all my many, many mistakes. I’m still getting the hang of things.”
He’s standing right behind you, dummy. He can hear you.
“That’s so cute,” Hannah says, sipping from the striped straw attached to her baseball tumbler.
I stare at her, wondering what she means by cute. Scratch that. I know exactly what she means. It’s funny and adorable that I have a second job.
“If you’re not too busy, you should come to our Fourth of July cookout tomorrow,” Renee blurts, getting the side eye from everyone else.
I get the feeling that Renee is the one in the group who is slightly nicer than the others, and the pleaser who feels compelled to fill an uncomfortable moment with silence.
“That’s very kind of you to offer. But I have to work tomorrow,” I say to Renee, giving her a genuinely grateful smile. I always did like her kids who were in my class.
“Some other time, then.”
The way that Hannah and Patricia glance over at each other, I am starting to get the feeling that they keep Renee around because she’s the one with the lake house.
“So hands-on, he supervises your groceries too?” Patricia asks with a hint of a sneer. A very classy, subtle type of sneer.
I look back at Reef, only meaning to glance, and to gauge whether he’d like to be formally introduced. Or maybe I’m looking at him for support. Or just an anchor. Someone to hold on to in this strange social storm that has kicked up.
He puts down the prickly passion fruit he’s been examining and says the absolute perfect thing.