Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
There had to be some way I could ease into the conversation, maybe over drinks or on a long walk in the forest. I climbed out of bed and poured myself a cup of coffee, sitting on the porch to drink. I curled up in my favorite rocking chair, toes peeking out from my comfy pajama bottoms. The coffee was warm and sweet and got me thinking. What if I baked him a cake? Cooking for each other was kind of our thing, and everybody loved cake.
I made my decision, finished my coffee, and changed into jeans and a sweater. I drove to the grocery store as soon as it opened and climbed out into the parking lot. The first time I had ever seen Jason was in this very grocery store. This time I would stay away from the produce aisle and any stray men I might find.
I didn’t want anything as cheap as a box cake. No, for this occasion, I wanted a from scratch, made-with-love confection. I brought one of my mother’s recipe cards and went through the store collecting what I needed. Flour, check. Eggs, check. Milk, check. Vegetable oil I already had at home. I was in the baking department, looking for baking powder, when a strange woman approached me.
She was thin and blonde, wearing a power suit that was out of place in our small town. I had never seen her before, which automatically meant she wasn’t local. Her voice was definitely Southern when she spoke, but there was something “off” about her energy. She kept looking around, as if she expected someone to jump out of the shadows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I blinked. “Oh, I’m just looking for ingredients to bake a cake,” I said, all Southern charm, even though her question was intrusive.
“For who?” she persisted.
“For a friend…” I reached around her and grabbed the tin of baking powder, slipping it into my basket. I attempted to turn, but she moved with me.
“A man?” she snapped.
“Yes.” I stepped back into the shelves.
“Don’t bake a cake for a man—they never appreciate that shit,” the woman said.
I couldn’t stop staring. She was so weird, her eyes intense and boring into me, her massive purse swinging menacingly on one arm. I didn’t know what to say. I was saved by Bella, one of my customers, who turned down the aisle at that exact moment.
“Bella!” I said eagerly, reaching out for the other woman.
“Hi, Lindsey,” Bella sang.
I extracted myself from the shelf, edging away from the crazy lady. “How are the cookies coming?” I made small talk as I followed Bella to the cash register.
As soon as I had paid for my purchases, I looked back to see how best to avoid her, but she was gone. Shaking my head, I got back in the car and drove home. I got to work baking the cake, thrilled when it came out light and fluffy. I used a tub of chocolate icing to decorate it and set it prominently on the counter. I figured I’d better make something more substantial to go with it, so I cooked up a quick omelet.
When Jason came home a few minutes later, I was sitting on the couch, as if I had been there all day. I got up to greet him, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Is that all?” he joked, sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me in for a deeper kiss.
“I made you a cake,” I said shyly.
His face brightened. “Thank you.”
I took him by the hand and led him to the kitchen island. “There’s an omelet if you’d rather have dinner first,” I said.
“No, I’ll dig right in,” he said with a smile, grabbing two plates from the cabinet. “You’re joining me, right?”
“Of course.”
He cut two slices and laid them out on plates. I picked up mine and licked icing off the fork. Now was my chance to tell him how I was feeling. Now was when I should lay all my cards on the table, open myself up, and be vulnerable. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I was in love with him, that I wanted a future with him, but what if he didn’t feel the same way? Suddenly, my heart was in knots. The cake tasted wonderful, but the anxiety didn’t sit well. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, so we just ate in silence.
He leaned across the island and kissed me, his tongue heavy with chocolate icing. I laughed. Why did talking have to be so hard?
“I have work to do if you’ll excuse me,” he said, grabbing a spatula and sliding half of the omelet onto his plate. He disappeared into the office with the omelet and a beer, and I was left alone with most of my cake, disappointed in myself.