Never Let You Go: A Small Town Single Dad Romance, page 38
I need to pass. No choice.
I concentrate. Think one last time about my purpose. And understand Christopher’s focus, on screen: this needs to get done.
I try to channel his strength.
My assignments are easier than I anticipated, and I don’t encounter any problems. I’m asked to do brioches, croissants, a baguette, and a specialty bread.
I take a moment to plan on paper the order in which I’ll prepare each bread, so I’m done in the allotted time, demonstrating my organizational skills in the bakeshop. I also write down the proportions from memory, so I don’t mess up at the last minute. No more overflowing dough for me.
I finish with fifteen minutes left for the cleanup. It might be the last time I ever do anything related to baking, so I tackle it like a personal cleanse. A clean slate before I begin a new chapter in my life.
“You have been taught well,” the examiner tells me. He speaks with a French accent. “Who iz your master?” he asks, looking down his list.
Master?
“Ah yes,” he says. “Monsieur Wright.”
He harumphs. Cocks an eyebrow. Jots down his notes. “He will receive your results by electronic mail,” he says, straightening, then walking away, hands behind his back.
“Did I pass?” I ask, forcing him to turn around.
“Mais oui, bien sûr,” he shrugs with a frown.
Torn, I deflate. Then I remember why I did this.
It doesn’t make me feel better.
fifty-three
Alexandra
Two weeks later
The last biting sun rays duck behind the mountain. “One more hour,” Sarah says, “and that should do it.”
Now that it’s cooling down, I feel like I could go on for hours. I don’t feel my legs anymore, and the blisters on my feet are healing.
When Sarah picked me up from the exam, I asked her if I could join her on her backpacking trip. I needed to get away. And I needed a buffer between my time in Emerald Creek and my move back to New York. Between my scorching love story with Christopher and the next slice of my life, at Red Barn Baking.
Something to ease the pain. To make the transition less brutal.
While I was in Montpelier taking the exam, Sarah grabbed all my stuff from my room, dumped it in Grace’s garage, even my phone—especially my phone—except whatever gear I needed for backpacking. She arranged for everything to be picked up and shipped to New York. She told Grace I’d come back soon to say a proper goodbye, once the dust settled.
I also wanted Skye to know I hadn’t abandoned her. That I would still be in her life, even if I knew that was probably not going to happen long term. But I can see myself coming back to Emerald Creek for a visit, staying at Grace’s, and seeing Skye there.
For the first two days of the hike, when I wasn’t breaking down sobbing against a tree, I’d focus on the searing pain of the blisters on my feet to get out of my head.
“Breathe into it,” Sarah, who believes yoga cures everything, kept saying. I could have killed her. Until, one day, I tried it. And maybe it was the dehydration—water is freaking heavy to carry on a trail—but it worked. Breathing into your pain makes it go away. “It’s because you’re telling your body it’s all right, so it stops acting up and sending you pain signals.”
“So, I’m tricking my body.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do to make the pain go away.”
And that’s been the theme of this trip. I’ve been trying to work through my pain without ruining Sarah’s hiking trip. Which means, she’s done most of the talking.
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she says that evening, while we’re both on our backs, staring at the stars. We’re at a camping ground along the Appalachian Trail, and surprisingly, there’s only one other couple, on the opposite end. “You’re allowed to grieve, no matter what I think of him.” Sarah thinks that Christopher feels differently about me because of who my grandmother is. She’s totally missing the point. He feels differently about me because I lied to him, effectively rejecting him by not being open about who I was and why I really was here. That rejection revived some old wounds. I should have known better than to do that to him.
“What about tricking my pain?”
“That’s for your body, boo. Your emotional pain? You need to acknowledge it. Express it. Meaning, push it out of you.”
I groan. “Hanging up your therapist plate anytime soon?”
She chuckles. “Come on, tell me one good thing and three bad things about him.”
“What’s that? A campfire game?”
“Ha ha. I’m listening. Start with the good thing. Only one.”
“He’s the ultimate caretaker,” I whisper. The memory of his hands holding my hair back when I was puking after I got drunk at Justin’s sticks in my head. We hadn’t even kissed yet, and he’d picked me up, carried me in the glacial night, held me over the porcelain bowl, tucked me in bed, left water and aspirin and the best coffee ever on my nightstand.
“M’kay. Three bad things now.”
I sigh. There isn’t one bad thing about him.
“Boo. I’m waiting. Nobody’s perfect. He’s only human. Show me his ugly side. Come on.”
“He’s a stickler for rules. Baking rules.” Although I’d messed up more than once in the kitchen, the ultimate disaster I created when I confused yeast and flour was probably the worst. He’d been upset and broody, but he hadn’t let anyone other than him take care of me. He’d applied ointment on my elbow, ensured nothing was broken, and took me off baking duty.
“Rules, barf,” Sarah says. “Now I really don’t like him. Okay, second bad thing about him.”
After a beat, I answer, “He can’t shoot a video to save his life.” He was so cute that morning in the bakehouse, when I showed him how to do a selfie to sell product. He ended up telling people to go grab his stuff for free at Justin’s. Later, he got into it on his own, but his shoots were always off focus, tilted, and jumpy. It was so amateurish it was actually good, in an avant-garde kind of way.
“Whaaat? You can’t be with a guy who doesn’t understand how to make a decent video. Come on, Alex, I’m disappointed in you. What were you thinking?” She’s playing with me, and she knows I know it, but it’s good to be talking about Christopher with my best friend without it being dramatic.
It’s gotta be a stage of grief.
“Alright, last one, and it better be good.”
Good? He was good in so many ways. I wrack my brain to come up with something bad about Christopher.
Images of him flow to me in response. Gently blow-drying my hair. Giving me advice when I was overwhelmed. Patiently teaching me his craft. Admiring my photography. Bragging about my social media skills.
I let out a heartbroken sigh.
“He let you go, Alex,” Sarah says. “That’s a fucking bad thing in my book. His loss, but I’ll never forgive him for the pain you’re going through. There. We got three. Time to move on.”
I take a deep breath. “I’ll be okay, boo. I come from a strong line of women.” The truth is, I see where Rita was coming from. I don’t need a man for my life to be complete. “It’s going to be good to focus on Red Barn Baking.”
“Work will help you get through this,” Sarah says, surprising me. “But don’t you let it become the end goal.”
I take my best friend’s hand and squeeze it tight.
fifty-four
Christopher
It’s Justin’s community dinner at Lazy’s tonight, so I haul my ass out there. Sophie posted on Echoes that I’d be dragged there by force if I didn’t show, and I know she means it.
Since Alexandra left, I’m a mess. I can’t even bring myself to reopen the bakery. My staff is on paid leave, courtesy of too much financial security that I honestly hate right now. Just as much as I hate myself.
Skye is still in Maine with Mom, but not for much longer. I need to pull myself together before she’s back. So I shower, shave, find some clean clothes, and cross The Green.
When I walk in, Colton is giving Justin a hard time for his attitude. “You been in a shit mood since we came back from Boston. I thought you always got some when you’re out of town.”
Kiara slides onto the stool next to Colton. “What’s up with that, by the way? What’s wrong with the women around here?”
“I don’t shit where I eat,” Justin snaps.
“Lovely,” Haley says. “Mom and Dad would be proud of you,” she adds sarcastically. “Good thing they’re late.”
“As usual,” Justin growls.
Fuck. He’s in as bad a mood as I am. “What’s up, man?” It’s time I get my head out of my ass and actually give a damn about my friends’ problems. “You worried what’s gonna happen next door?” The owner of the fine dining restaurant adjacent to Lazy’s had a heart attack. There was no love lost between the two, but their businesses are linked somehow, and the guy’s passing is going to shake things up for Justin. I’m not sure how, but I bet that’s what eating at him. Word has it he had an epic argument with their new manager.
He wipes the squeaky clean counter, says nothing.
“Come on, man. What’s up? Colton’s right—”
“Just drop it. Nothing’s up. You been moping around for weeks now, your business is still closed, but when you finally get out of your cave, you think you can give me lessons or somethin’?” His anger is palpable, hitting me in the stomach. Fuck.
“Hey, cousin,” Grace says, wrapping her arms around my middle and squeezing me. “You okay?” she whispers.
I shut my eyes and hug her back. “I don’t know,” I admit. I’ve been trying to reach out to Alexandra, but I still haven’t heard back from her.
“She’ll be back,” Cassandra says. I open my eyes and see a group of women assembled around me. I let go of Grace and shuffle my feet.
“She just needs time,” Wendy says.
“Space,” Kiara adds.
“Just keep trying,” Autumn says.
Emma huffs. “Seriously, you guys aren’t helping him. You need to leave it be, Chris. Honestly, I could never understand what the hype about her was anyway. You’ll see diff—”
“Do yourself a favor, Emma, don’t trash talk Alex,” Grace says. A couple of the women look embarrassed.
Emma quiets and shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Alex is the kindest, most generous person I know. What’s wrong with you?” Autumn says, and Emma blushes, catching onto the vibe coming from the women.
I know Emma is only looking out for me, offering me a clumsy way to cope. She means well, but she clearly doesn’t know where this barrage is coming from. “Told you you should have tried to get to know her better, Ems,” I tell her. “Your loss.”
“Oh, Emma was close to Alexandra. Weren’t you, honey?” Wendy says.
Emma turns a deep shade of red. “No, not really. Not at all.” She looks a little panicked.
“Welllll,” Wendy draws out. “I wouldn’t say that.” She glances at me, then her eyes narrow back on Emma. “Or else why would you pay her a long visit in the middle of the night after Christopher broke things off? You told me you came to offer support. That’s what friends do.”
Emma offered support to Alexandra after I broke things off? What is Wendy talking about?
“Dee Dee!” Kiara interjects. “What the hell? Everybody knows Emma couldn’t stand Bambi.”
Wendy turns to Kiara. “Remember the night of the party for Christopher?”
“What about it?” I ask.
“Alex came to stay with her friend at the hotel.”
I close my fists, remembering what a selfish asshole I’d been. I’ve been going over that night a million times. I can live with myself for being angry at her after I heard from Emma that she was inheriting Red Barn. It was impulsive of me, but I’m not perfect, and I had my reasons.
But I can’t live with myself after I had a few days to calm down, after I won the competition, after Alexandra threw me a party and was still waiting for me, sweet and forgiving and fucking way more than I ever deserve. I’ll never forgive myself for pushing her away. There was no reason other than my stubbornness. I hurt her, I lost her, and even if by some miracle I win her back, I’ll never forgive myself for that.
Honest to god, I don’t give a shit what family she’s from, how much or how little money she has. I love her, the core of who she is, and I let my past, my demons, fuck with me and get the better of me. I let my fear of being hurt again jeopardize my future. Alexandra was not like that. I should have known better.
“Anywho,” Wendy is saying, “Emma came to the inn late at night, rang the doorbell seeing as it was past midnight. Remember?” she says, turning to Emma. “You said you absolutely had to talk to Alexandra. I remember telling Todd after letting you in, and I slipped back in bed, ‘Well, that’s what friends do. They show up when the going gets rough.’”
Emma’s face goes from deep red to ashen, and blood coils in my veins. Did she really do that? “What the fuck did you tell her?” I groan, knowing the answer.
She bites her lip and says nothing.
“I told you!” I boom. Grace’s hand on my arm reminds me we’re in a public space, and I bring my voice down. “I told you you had no right to share that information with her. I told you what would happen if you did.”
“Chris. I was looking out for you,” Emma says, then straightens her shoulders. “End of the day, I was looking out for her as well, seeing as—”
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare say you were looking out for her.”
Cassandra protectively wraps an arm around Emma, who’s shaking now.
“I should drive you out of business, like I said I would,” I continue.
“Now, now. No one is driving anyone out of business,” Cassandra says. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s talk about all this somewhere else,” she says, thankfully walking Emma out of my sight.
Wendy narrows her eyes on Emma as she walks away, then turns to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. Might have saved you and Alexandra a lot of trouble.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Don’t be sorry. Bottom line, it’s all my fault. I should have known.” I should have known Alexandra would have been true to her word. I can’t believe I was angry and bitter when I received her results via email. Selfish bastard. She did it for me. She sacrificed herself so Skye and I would have financial security. Why did I not see earlier that Emma played her dirty card?
I blamed Alexandra for not trusting me with her secret, and meanwhile I couldn’t even trust her love.
How do I fix this?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Stupidly hoping it’s Alexandra, I look at the screen.
It’s not her. Of course it’s not. I still have her phone.
But it’s Barbara, and she’s been leaving me messages to call her back.
Maybe it’s time I do just that. Maybe she can help me.
I leave Lazy’s to take her call.
fifty-five
Alexandra
The next day, we say goodbye to the Appalachian Trail in Bear Mountain, New York. We check ourselves into an inn that offers hearty dinner options. It’s a little on the pricey side, but after more than two weeks on the trail, we need the indulgence. We’ll spend the night, then make our way back into the city by bus tomorrow morning. Then onto the subway to haul ourselves all the way back to Brooklyn.
After dinner, I plop on the bed while Sarah is in the shower. Such luxury. When it’s my turn to clean up, I take extra time shaving, wash my hair three times, and finish their outrageously good-smelling conditioner. I loved my time away from civilization, but I’m ready to go back, now. And even if I have a pinch of apprehension at the idea of running Red Barn Baking, I’m looking forward to having so many things on my plate there’s nothing—no one—else I can think about.
The next morning, I dig out a summer dress and sandals Sarah somehow threw in the backpack. I give the dress a quick iron and slip it on, relishing feeling feminine again. I’ve lost weight over the last couple of weeks, and my legs and tummy are toned from the hiking, but my breasts still fill the low-cut dress in a sexy way. I tie my hair in a French braid and finish my look with a clean cotton hat and sunglasses.
As we check out, the front desk clerk narrows her eyes on us. “What’s wrong with her?” Sarah whispers as we leave.
I shrug.
The bus stop is a short walk away, and we’re early for the ride to New York City. There’s a diner nearby with outdoor seating and a sign that says Ice Cream All Day.
“That qualifies as breakfast, right?” Sarah asks.
“It’s dairy,” I confirm.
We sit under an umbrella, bask in the sun, and relish the cool taste of ice cream cones on our tongues.
Once I’m done eating the last crunchy part of the cone, I pull my hat down and close my eyes behind my sunglasses, enjoying the quiet. From here, we’ll hear the bus pull up. Sarah goes to the bathroom, and for a moment, it feels like it’s only me out here.
“Holy effing shit,” Sarah whisper-screams as she comes back.
I open one eye at her. She’s holding a bag of candy and a gossip magazine. The kind with paparazzi photos of celebrity close-ups.
I close my eyes, again. It can’t be the candy, so I wonder what the Kardashians might have done again to rile Sarah up.
“’Sup?” I mumble, wanting to know what the rest of the world has been up to while we totally checked out.
“Hello?” she says.
I open my eyes, again. She shoves the magazine in my face, so close I have to push it away to actually look at it.
When I do, I’m staring at myself.
There’s a full front-page photograph of me with the words, Where is she?
I sit up and gasp. “What the actual f—?”
The diesel engine of the bus rumbles as it comes to a stop. There’s no time to figure this out now. I roll the magazine up, with my photo on the inside, tuck my hat lower over my sunglasses, and tiptoe behind Sarah as if that will make me less visible.
