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Chapter thirty-three

Naomi

The car comes to a stop as I shift the gear into park. Without Robbie’s presence, nerves threaten to bubble below the surface of my skin as I take a minute to collect myself. I’m fully aware that I’m not nearly as confident as I would be if he were here with me.

But I asked him not to come. This is something I need to do alone. I know I can do this.

I replay a few mantras in my head to hold tight to the conviction I’ve been feeling ever since opening night.

To say I’m proud of myself would be an understatement.

Despite my long pattern of doing the exact opposite, I finally stood up for myself and what’s best for me and my dreams—and I did it all by myself.

Now I just need to get through this next hurdle of facing my dad and figuring out what direction we go from here.

Grabbing my phone off the center console, I make note of two new baking orders that came through on the drive over here and the red check mark that means Robbie has already marked them as entered into the calendar. Then I open the new message from him.

Robbie: I would say good luck, but you don’t need it.

The faintest of smiles tugs at my lips as his words succeed at further putting me at ease.

I slip the phone into my purse and climb out of the car, ready to get this over with.

Each step I take toward the front door brings a new flutter of nerves that threatens to take over, but I manage to put force behind each movement and maintain a confident posture.

Mom answers the door shortly after I knock, and the sight of her proves to be a welcome sight.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She smiles, exuding a warmth that comforts me in the way only a mother can.

“Hi, Mom.” I smile back but brace myself as I step inside. No other words are spoken between us, but she squeezes my arm in a silent show of support as I pass by. I follow her to the living room where Dad is sitting on the edge of the couch, his reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, keeping my voice light. I might as well try for the sweetness angle to see how he’ll respond. In one fell swoop, he rips the glasses off his face and hits me with a menacing glare.

“Mind explaining what in the world that was?” he asks, his voice rising with each word.

Okay, we’re jumping right in, then. I heave a sigh, sinking down onto the couch across from him, bracing myself.

“You didn’t ask me if I wanted the position, Dad,” I say softly.

“That’s irrelevant,” he huffs, tossing his glasses onto the coffee table.

“Actually, it is relevant, Dad. Very much so. This is my life. Don’t you think I should have a say in my own career?” My voice wobbles slightly at the edges, matching how uneasy my stomach feels, but somehow it still holds firm.

“You’re not going to make me feel bad about offering you a promotion, Naomi,” he admonishes.

That’s all he thinks this is. In his mind he sees it as giving me a reward—a career advancement—instead of seeing it for exactly what it is…a manipulation tactic to keep me under his thumb.

“What about bribing my customers to cancel their baking orders? Do you feel bad about that?” I bark out the accusation, anger starting its slow simmer in my stomach.

“Curt!” Mom blanches, clearly not aware of his recent antics.

He huffs defensively, yet clearly not denying it. “Trust me, it’s for your own good—just like this new position is.”

He holds strong, erasing my hope that he might see my side of things. Fighting with him is absolutely useless—not to mention something I have no desire to do.

I lower my voice to a near whisper, not defeated but resigned, “No, it’s not, Dad.”

My calm response seems to fuel his irritation, and he slams a fist on the coffee table. “You can’t tell me making desserts for people is a lucrative business.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Dad, but this is my passion.”

“What am I supposed to tell your colleagues on Monday, huh? Do you know how irresponsible this makes you look?”

“You don’t have to worry about that…because I quit,” I say decisively, as if I didn’t just make the decision mere seconds ago.

It feels right—quitting my IT job. Not because I’m worried about what my coworkers will say, but because I’m ready to take complete charge of my life, to say goodbye to a job that no longer serves me.

He and Mom both flinch at my declaration, and I see the flash of fear in Mom’s eyes, no doubt worrying about what this means for us as a family.

I stand, crossing the room confidently before sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of him.

“I love you, Dad. But I need to live my own life. I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry about that. I’m not mad at you…but I do need some space right now.”

He doesn’t say a word, just stares at me with the look of a man who’s desperate to regain some semblance of control. Outrage and disbelief linger right behind that.

I give him a kiss on the forehead and walk directly out of the house without another word, feeling oddly okay about everything that transpired.

As soon as I pull the door shut, it opens behind me.

“Naomi, wait,” Mom calls, coming to a halt on the top step when I turn around. I hold my breath, not sure if she’s here to console or admonish me. Neither of us are used to standing up to him.

“I’m so sorry.” Her face twists together with clear anguish. “I had no idea he was doing that.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I say with a soft smile…I don’t hold her responsible for any of this.

“He just… He doesn’t mean to be so harsh.

You know he loves you.” I see the struggle in her eyes, of agreeing with my stance but not quite knowing how to support me.

After all, having my back in front of him would mean fighting years of complacency of her own, creating cracks in their dynamic that she might not be ready for.

“You don’t have to make excuses for him,” I say softly. “I love you both. I just need a little bit of space right now from him. It’s time I live on my own terms.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again with a nod, struggling to find words. “I wish it was different.”

After a moment, I say, “It can be. For you too, you know.”

At that, I return her somber smile and walk away.

“Happy unemployment,” Robbie says, extending a bouquet of flowers to me as I roll dough out onto my counter.

“Aw, how sweet.” I grin at him before pointing out the obvious. “Although, I’m technically not unemployed.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He grimaces. “You’re basically running your own business, which is the exact opposite. Never mind. That sounded better in my head.”

I laugh, leaning over to give him a kiss, my floured hands still on the rolling pin in front of me. “Thank you anyway. They’re beautiful.”

When I pull back, I notice the shirt he has on.

“What in the world are you wearing?” I immediately clamp my mouth shut to stifle a laugh that threatens to burst out. He looks down at his chest and grins back.

“Do you like it?”

He’s wearing a forest-green Welcome to Pine Falls T-shirt that has a row of six smiling cows across the front of it—the kind of design we usually only see on tourists or children around here. Not on locals, and certainly not on rockstars like him.

“I really do,” I say with heavy sarcasm. He sets the bouquet on the counter while he goes in search of a vase. “Care to explain?”

“So, I wanted to try going into town while you were at your parents’—you know, getting myself comfortable being out in the open by myself. Anyway, I was at the flower stand, and Opal came running out of the gift shop with this shirt in hand. She insisted I needed to have it, that it suited me.”

“Is that right?” I don’t even try to hold back the perma-grin on my face.

“She told me I would look ten times more handsome—and who am I to argue with that?”

“You do look very handsome.” I set the dough aside to start making the cinnamon mixture for the cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, I’m proud of you for going into town,” I tell him quietly. He starts clipping flower stems but flicks his gaze over to meet mine.

“I’m trying.” He pulls the corner of his mouth up in a meek smile. “How’s baking going?”

“Great.” I immediately dove into orders as soon as I got back from my parents’ house.

It turns out that word got around about what happened at the dealership, and orders have been flooding in with people wanting to support me.

It’s a tangible showing of support for me from the town, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of these nosy people.

“Oh, and look what Gabby dropped off on her way out of town.” I point to a piece of paper next to my purse.

“What is it?” He picks it up.

“It’s a flyer about the space for lease on Main Street—where the old bakery was. And guess what? They lowered the price,” I say giddily.

“No way,” he breathes, his eyes going wide.

“I mean, things would definitely be tight for me—especially given I’m losing an entire salary now—but I’m close to being able to make it work, Robbie. Really close.”

“Should I call to set up a time when we can go look at the space?”

“Sure! Or I can do it too,” I offer.

“Hey, I’m basically your office manager anyway. Let me help.” He sets the flyer down and comes behind me.

“If you insist.”

“I do. I’ll call tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss the space where my neck meets my shoulder, and a soft hum comes from my throat in response. It feels good to have him back in my kitchen with me…it feels natural. “I know what else I can help with.”

“No, sir.” I lightly shrug him off, laughing, despite my flushed body clearly begging me to indulge him. “I know what happens when you try to help. Go sit across the room, please, so I can get this done. Then I’m all yours.”

He laughs, reluctantly trudging to a chair. “Fine. But I call being your official taste-tester.”

He grabs a magazine to flip through while I focus on the cinnamon rolls.

“Deal.”