Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
And um…
Yeah.
I was definitely getting ticked.
“Right, Gabe,” I snapped. “How about you put yourself in my shoes and tell me how you’d play this.” I leaned back, threw my arms out and went on snidely, “Oh, I forgot, you’re a man. Stiff upper lip, fuck her for being a bitch and onward. Right? I’m just being a girl by giving a shit how this affects me and everyone I love. Right?”
“You think I haven’t been played?”
I blinked, shocked at this knowledge.
Hurt at this knowledge.
Hurt…for him.
And I’d missed something else.
I’d taken it too far.
Way too far.
I knew that by the stiff way he was prowling to the door, like he was holding himself in check, like if he let loose…
What?
He’d tear into me?
He’d share with me?
He’d expose his emotions to me?
God, I wanted to know what he was holding back like I wanted to unlock the secret to keeping a cake fresh and moist for more than a few days.
But I wasn’t going to get that.
Because I’d squandered it.
He yanked open the door, but turned to me, and landed the hammer.
“Go ahead, Willow. Bury yourself in his shit. That’s weak and cowardly and stupid as all fuck. But it’s safe. Maybe one day you’ll open yourself up enough to find a man who does not come close to doing it for you. But he won’t challenge you, he’ll bore the absolute piss out of you. And you’ll be so mired in your spinelessness, you’ll convince yourself it’s all good when it’s shit. And you’ll know, deep down, where you’ll never have the courage to go, you fucked up. You lost your shot. You blew it. And you’ll blame Kevin and all those other guys, but it’s all you, babe. It’s all fuckin’ you.”
With that, he slammed the door.
And he was gone.
But I stood in my living room with my cheap furniture mixed with the thrifted stuff, staring at the door, my guts on the floor, my heart shredded.
Eviscerated.
And Gabe may have said the words.
But I’d handed him the scalpel and invited him to cut me open.
TWO
LUCK
Present day…
Seriously, I was tired.
But I had to get this cake done and delivered.
It was for a five-year-old’s birthday party. It was Encanto themed: bright and cheerful with lots of flowers coiling along the sides with two chocolate straws poking out the top. Swagging between them were colorful, fluttering pendants made from fondant, and of course, a cute Mirabel stuck in the middle under the streamer. It even had bows on the sides that lit up.
That five-year-old was going to be thrilled.
And once that cake was delivered, and I was paid in full, I was finally, after years of on-again, off-again covering Kevin, going to be getting ahead.
I had a decent, if not healthy, amount of savings. I had enough money in the bank to pay my bills for a couple of months. And to me, this was the absolute minimum of what I had to have on hand to live my life and be able to roll with the punches it inevitably landed on you.
Damn, I might be able to buy myself a new dress, the first treat yo’self moment in at least a year.
Man, with that guy, there were a lot of things I felt like a complete moron about, but covering him financially flashed blazing at the top of the list.
You see, I was a baker, cake decorator and pastry chef (that last one was a stretch, but I had the training) by trade.
So, not exactly a billionaire.
I didn’t have a professional kitchen. No way could I afford that. I made my cakes in the tiny kitchen in my tiny one-bedroom apartment at the Oasis Square complex, where me and all my besties—Shanti, Raye, Luna, Jessie and Harlow—lived.
I made the cookies, muffins and cupcakes that were sold in the case of the coffee cubby at the front of The Surf Club in the fabulous kitchen at SC.
I was also a server at SC, and when asked to come on as a full-time employee, I’d jumped at the chance.
I needed the money, for one. It was a fabulous place to work with good bennies, for two. Tito, the owner, was eccentric (to say the least), but quiet and a great boss, for three. The semi-recent addition of Tex buying into the place was a shocker, and even if he was loud and grumpy, he was also a very good guy (he just hid it well) and his loud and grumpy was pretty hilarious, so that was four. All my besties worked there, which was a big, fat five. Last, tips were decent, and that was six.
Sure, this meant I had to get up at four in the morning so I could get ready to look presentable for my shift and go into work to bake stuff for the case, after which, I waited tables. And then when my shift was done, I had to hightail it home to keep baking whatever orders I’d agreed to do (hence me being so danged tired all the time).