Page 133

“What do you think?” he prompts when I just gape.

“I… I don’t know what to think.”

He steps into my line of sight and looks me in the eyes. “I want to apologize for how I reacted when you told me you were pregnant. It wasn’t my best hour.”

I scrape myself together and find words. “Yeah. I noticed.” Then I admit, “It wasn’t mine, either.”

“I want to make things right,” he says seriously.

I sigh, feeling exhausted by his mood swings, and the hormonal changes that are already affecting my body.

“Honestly… I don’t even know what that would look like, Harlan. I’ve been upset that you’ve been distant. But the truth is, I can hardly blame you. We barely know each other. And this was supposed to be casual.” I take a deep breath and forge on. “I’ve had more time to think about it, and I meant what I said. I don’t expect anything from you. And I really have no vision of the future right now. I’m just trying to get by, day by day. It’s all I can manage.”

Every word I just said is true.

But fuck, I crave his support like I crave his attention.

I’d rather try to handle this together than apart. I just don’t know if he wants that, if he could ever want that, or if it would work, anyway.

“That’s all understandable,” he says calmly. “It’s been a shock, to both of us. But I thought maybe you’d reconsider leaving the waitressing job if you had some security in your business. I can help with that.”

I take this in.

I know he said he’s supported start-ups before. And maybe this is a simple solution to my problems, in his eyes. It’s generous.

But it’s also easy for him to buy me a bakery. He bought Crave on a whim, because I worked there. I still don’t understand to what end.

I really don’t understand this man at all.

He keeps telling me he wants just a sexual relationship. But then he wants me to quit my job. He wants to help with my business.

It’s like what he really wants, as always, is control.

He wants ownership of me, but without giving me any real part of himself, is that it?

“I hope you know that I’m serious,” he says, like he’s struggling to understand me, too. “I haven’t bought it yet, but it’s ours if you want it.”

I can tell he’s serious.

“Could you see yourself here, running your bakery?” he asks me.

Honestly, I don’t know. It’s so hard to even wrap my head around the idea that my dream, which always felt so out of reach, could suddenly come true.

But as I gradually get past the shock that he’s actually offering to buy a bakery for me…

I try to take a more serious look around.

It’s definitely not what I would’ve chosen. Parts of the walls are drywalled, while others are stark concrete. Exposed metal beams crisscross the ceiling. The only window is on the front wall. It feels like it would be perfect for a hipster coffee house with an industrial vibe. Which is really suitable to Vancouver.

But not so suitable to me.

However.

It’s a bakery. Of my own. In a fairly prime location.

Not the location of my dreams. But a cool, bustling neighborhood.

I could never afford the location of my dreams, anyway. Because a storefront with a view of the water would be not only rare to find in Vancouver, it would be astronomically expensive.