Did I do that, though? No. And now, I pay for it. I got so used to Ruby and Will as my recipe tasters, I forgot that I’m doing a job this time, and that job isfor them. I can’t just hand them whatever comes out of my kitchen and ask them to rate it. This is theirwedding cake, for goodness’ sake. They need the best of the best options to choose from. Recipes that have been perfected,not experimental drudge I whip up on a whim.
“This is a disaster,” I mumble. “What was I thinking?”
Elodie pokes my cheek. “Hey,” she says. “You were thinking you’re the best chef in the city and, likely, the state, and you were thinking you wanted your loved ones to have as many options as you could possibly give them so that they’d getexactlywhat they want on wedding day.”
I turn my head, narrowing my eyes at her furrowed brow. Her lower lip juts out, plush under her reddening cheeks.
“You defending me to myself, Sweet?”
She huffs. “And if I am?”
My heart lifts along with my hand, pulling at my chest as I tug a piece of her golden mane. “Thank you,” I murmur. “But I don’t need defending. Professionally, I made a mistake.”
“Professionally, your clients are happy, which is all that matters.”
On a surface level, I know she’s right. On a professionally perfectionist level, though…
She sighs. “Consider this a lesson in letting things go? Per your character development curriculum.”
Hmm. I turn my attention to Will and Ruby, who are shockingly not foaming at the mouth, keeling over in disgust at my offering. How curious.
When I look at Elodie again, she’s scooted her chair closer to me and is leaning so far in my direction that her hair tickles my forearm, soft as a butterfly’s wing and tempting as a white truffle. Vanilla and cactus flower and something distinctly Jolly Rancher have me tilting toward her, sliding a hand into her curls and resting it there in the hopes that the scent of her will linger on my fingertips. My heart stops when she leans into the touch, inviting more instead of merely tolerating it, then thunders in my head when it restarts at double speed.
“Imperfections are what make lifelife,” she says low, paleblue eyes locked on mine. Her hands land on my thigh as she gets even closer, shooting shocks of electricity through my every nerve. “I’m not saying we have to love them, but we don’t have to hate them either. They’re a mark of our humanity, of the things that make us unique. They’re a benchmark for growth, showing our milestones as we learn and get better. And, usually, they’re a thing of beauty to the people who love us, who don’t see them as flaws at all, but as pieces of us to be cherished.” She pauses, hesitates, bites her lip as her eyes slide from mine. My grip on her hair tightens, demanding the attention she’s stealing away from me.
“What is it?”
Her eyes flash to mine, and a blush creeps over her cheeks, reddening her ears. “I know that I’ve never been quiet about my feelings when it comes to your mess ups and imperfections,” she all but whispers. “I know that I… have not been kind. And I… I’m feeling pretty ashamed of myself, looking at them from a perspective where I’m not blinded by self-centered frustration and anger. I wish that I had taken time earlier toreallylook at you. I would have seen all the beauty in your mess ups and misspeaks. I would have… I would have gotten to how I feel now a lot quicker if I had justtried.”
“How you feel now?” I ask, matching her tone, keeping us in this bubble of just us, quiet among the chaos.
“Appreciative,” she clarifies. “Grateful that you care, even if it’s not always in line with how I’d prefer to be cared for. But I’m seeing now that it’s not just you being bossy and thinking you know best. It’s like with the cakes. You want the very best for everyone you love, and you take it on yourself to make it happen. You spend your time and your energy trying to perfect the smallest parts of our lives so that we can live happy, knowing we’ve got the best of the best. It’s… well, it’s beautiful, Roman.You’rebeautiful for it. The amount of thought, care, and love youpour out into everything you do, even if imperfectly—because ofits imperfection—is beautiful. It’s not just that the cake is fine how it is; it’s that even what you deem flawed about you is a treasure, sweet and worth loving.”
My throat constricts, and so does my hand. “I wish we weren’t surrounded by our friends right now,” I whisper, rough. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me, and I’d like to answer it with a kiss, but the kind of kiss I want to give you can’t happen with my brother and sister in the room.”
Her eyes widen, and her lips part, inviting where she does not mean to. “Stop tempting me,” I order. “Or I’ll stop caring about my siblings and our friends completely.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she breathes, licking her lips. I huff, kiss her cheek in an incredible feat of self-control, then push her away, scraping her chair back into its place several inches in the opposite direction from me. “Make your bouquet, Sweet. We can finish this later.” I stand, catch Will’s eye, and immediately release it, not giving his waggling eyebrows a time to shine. “I’m getting the chocolate option now,” I announce.
Across the table, Frank’s glee presents itself with an evil chuckle, and I smirk on my way to the kitchen for the next batch of samples.Dairy free, vegansamples—not that Frank knows that. She thinks I forgot. She thinks she’s pulling one over on us all.
Silly, silly Frank. As if my perfectly imperfect drive for perfection would ever allow such a thing.
My eyes wander, find Elodie’s soft on me, and stick. Perfectly imperfect, and appreciated for it. Maybe even, someday,lovedfor it.
Until then, I’ll enjoy the warmth that mere appreciation brings. I’ll let it settle into my bones, making a cozy place for love to land when it, hopefully, follows.
Until then, I’ll bask in Elodie’s soft looks, soul soaring as sheembraces our friendship… andme.
Chapter Thirty-One
Group chats are an extrovert’s best case scenario.
Elodie
My phone beeps. Then beeps again. Then, for good measure, it beeps a third time.
Having people care about me isexhausting. Not to mention distracting.
