Page 74 of Desserts for Stressed People

Oh. My heart throbs at the thought I might have opened some old scar. “Has he been cheated on?”

She shakes her head, the chirpiness in her brown eyes dampening. “No, nothing like that. It’s...our parents.”

Of course. He said something about it to Nevaeh. That he has a horrible relationship with his father because he wasn’t good to his mom. And that she didn’t leave him, which is why things between them took a turn for the worst.

“The point is”—she bends over to whisper—“break up with that idiot of a boyfriend, and I promise you, you’ll see a whole new side of Shane.”

I wonder if she’s talking about his Shane-the-baker side or chat-Shane. Or whatever I’m calling it. I know that sweet, fun, caring part of him. And I miss it. “Yeah, I think I got a glimpse.”

Her whole face brightens, a contagious smile appearing on her lips. “And?” When I don’t understand what she’s asking, she grasps onto my shoulders. “Do you like him?”

“Oh...” My cheeks thrum with heat as I stare at the ground. “I—I’d rather not...”

She shakes my arm, hopping up and down as her long hair whips in front of her face. “Oh, come on!”

With a chuckle, I look away. I can’t tell her, can I? She’ll tell Shane as soon as they’re alone. And then...wait. And then what? I want him to know I like him. I need him to know that I want to go on that date he asked me on.

After a deep inhale, I whisper, “I like him too much.”

She shrieks, loudly and joyfully, just as Shane comes out of the bar, his head twisting left and right until he finds us. Drawing in a deep breath, he mumbles something, then he walks to us.

“You’ll be happy to know we have our band for the event,” he says as our eyes meet. “Did you talk about anything interesting?” he continues to his sister.

“You know women. Bags, shoes,boys.”

I’m a million percent sure Riley will tell Shane what I said, but I can’t begin to care. I miss him so much. I miss his pastries, his smiles, his suits, and I am tired of pretending I hate him. He angers me, yes. Especially when he acts like a controlling asshole in front of our colleagues. But I don’t hate him. I opposite-of-hate him.

Just this once, maybe, I could let him win.

“Great,” he says sarcastically, stealing a look at me, then focusing back on the parking lot. “What now?”

Now, I’m supposed to lie and say that someone is coming to pick me up. He’ll leave and I won’t have to admit defeat. But Alex didn’t answer my text—God knows he ever will—and I’m done playing games. I’d rather spend forty minutes dodging Shane’s glares than returning Alex’s smiles.

“Can I have a ride back home?”

I expect Shane to gloat, or ask me to say the words, “I admit defeat.” Instead, he silently observes me for a few instants, then gestures at the car. “We have to drop my sister off five minutes from here first.”

Oh, thank God. Maybe we’re done with this—these horrible, excruciating six days I want to delete from my mind. Maybe we can go back to flirting and emailing and talking about desserts. I’ve dreamed of nothing else every night this week.

So I smile.

He smiles back.

Riley’s own smile is so wide I think I can see all of her thirty-two teeth by the time we reach the car, but she remains silent. Only a couple of minutes into driving, she asks, “So, Heaven, how old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, just me.”

“And what do you usually work on? My brother said you’re only on his team for a couple of months.”

Shane’s lips purse in annoyance as I choke down a laugh. “Web campaigns. Marketing and such.”

“Are you from around here?”

“Riley, quit interviewing her,” Shane barks, glaring at her from the rear-view mirror.