Page 35

CHAPTER 35

Billie

H e knocks on my door.

I don’t answer it.

He knocks again the following day.

I still don’t answer.

I know it’s him. He’s the only person who would knock and not call my name.

So when Monday comes along, and I open the door, I don’t expect to find him standing there. But here he is, coffee in hand, dark gaze locked on me.

“It’s my birthday,” he says, offering me the coffee.

“I’m late,” I tell him, not accepting it. “Happy birthday,” I add just as he holds the cup out to me again. I ignore the coffee, shut, and lock the door, and walk past him. He follows. Because of course he does.

“Will you come over tonight?” he asks.

“No,” I reply without hesitation.

“Tomorrow night?”

“No,” I repeat.

We step out onto the street, and I pass his parked car. He keeps following me.

“The day after?” He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.

Sucking in a breath, I turn to face him.

“Stop,” I tell him. “Stop and go home.”

He smiles at me as he steps closer. “I lied. My birthday is next week. But I was hoping it would work.”

Huffing, I continue walking. This time, he doesn’t follow.

I manage to get to work on time, his words playing on my mind the whole time.

Tuesday, I once again find him waiting in the hallway. I close and lock the door behind me and don’t accept the coffee.

Wednesday is the same thing. He doesn’t speak, and I’m thankful for that. I feel like I might give in if he does. I can only take so much of this back and forth. And whenever I try to push him out of my mind, he’s there.

Thursday, he isn’t there, though.

Friday, he isn’t either.

By Saturday, I’ve checked my phone multiple times, expecting a text, even though that’s never really been our style, but there’s nothing.

I bake. I bake so fucking much that my apartment is overflowing with food.

And then I cry.

I wipe at the tears, not able to stop them. Why won’t they stop?

Fuck my life.

My phone rings, and I ignore it.

How did it even get to this point?

I pushed back so much. So why do I feel so fucking miserable with everything, even when I’m sticking to my guns and not buying into his games? I want to romanticize it. I want to think he’s trying because he wants me. But I don’t think Ford is capable of that. Even when he lets me in a little, it just doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

Or maybe it’s my own reservations about giving my heart fully to a man I think is incapable of handling it with the love and care it deserves, which is ridiculous. I have so many people who love and care about me, but this feels entirely different. I’m coming to realize that love is a shitty thing. I begged, kicked, and screamed for my brother to get out of my way and let me date, and now I’m not sure why.

I got lost in a secret relationship that was only sex.

I’m not that girl. I’ve always wanted commitment. I want a man to want me for me —every part of me, not just my body. And don’t want him to look at another woman the same way he looks at me.

I want what my parents have.

Yet, here I am, single, alone, and baking in my kitchen. Crying over a man who tells me sweet nothings but can’t back them up. And I know it’s an excuse because I’m somewhat the same. What a mindfuck.

Glancing around, I decide I need to get rid of all of this food. There’s no way Ivy and I can eat all this. And I know someone who would, but I don’t want to see him.

Picking up my phone, I see two missed calls from Jewel. I like her a lot. She’s a total badass who knows what she wants. But I can’t say we’re particularly close. Calling her back, I wipe at my face, knowing I probably have cake batter over it. I lick my lips and can taste the buttercream icing I put on the cupcakes.

“Oh, hey. I know it’s late, but I desperately need help,” she says, sounding frustrated.

“Yeah?”

“Well, Eli said you can bake?”

“Yes…?” I hedge, looking at the counter and all the shit I baked today. I did way too much, but like my mother, I find it soothing.

“Eli took on a big job, and well, I tried to bake him something to celebrate. And let’s just say, I can’t bake,” she admits, defeated.

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. I don’t necessarily think my cousin would care for baked goods, but I know for a fact if it comes from Jewel, he’ll fucking freeze it for life, not letting anyone touch the treasure that his wife made. And I think it’s cute that she’s trying. It’s nice to see they have these types of moments. Like a normal relationship would.

I didn’t plan on leaving the apartment today but considering Ivy’s away in Ibiza for a week and all I’ve been doing is baking, I might as well do it constructively.

“I’m coming right over.”

“Oh my God, really?”

I need to get out of here. Stop thinking about him.

“I can pay you. I mean, I know you have a job, but I can pay you for it. You’re saving my ass right now.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to pay me. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up and start putting everything into containers. At least now, my efforts won’t go to waste.

They might be sad baked goods, but the sugar will always override any inner turmoil.