“You okay in there?”
“Oh yeah, fine.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fan away the color. I can’t leave anytime soon with this display of treats. He had to make multiple stops for these.
Collecting myself the best I can before wandering back out, I attempt to balance the yogurt, coffee, and treats within my trembling grasp and slowly approach the long maple dining room table.
Liam drags his highlighter across the paper, his other hand still mussing up his hair, and my grasp wobbles.
“I—you know, that island in the kitchen had a stool, and it looked nice and comfortable.” I continue hovering awkwardly over the table. Papers are scattered everywhere, there’s a growing pressure between my legs that needs relieving, and it looks like I’ll be in the way. “And you’re clearly busy—so I’m going to wander back into the kitchen and use it—”
He shifts some papers. “Sit and eat, Peaches,” he says gently and makes another stroke with his highlighter on the document.
I plop into the chair.
Without looking, he reaches for his yogurt and spoon. A crease furrows between his eyebrows.
I can’t see a hint of the carefree, lazy facade anywhere—the one that used to annoy me to no end, the one I hated. I search for it, desperately needing something to cling onto that will cool me down.
“Is this for work?” I ask, eyes roaming over the scattering of papers on the table.
“Kind of. It’s my final thesis for my master’s.” He flashes a puzzled look at the paper in front of him. “Or it will be. Once I figure out what I’m doing.”
My attention falls back to the pain au chocolat. Honeycomb flakes grace the inside of the pastry, and I vibrate with excitement. Finding a perfectly laminated pastry is such a rush.
Baking is my preferred art form, for the simple reason that it requires all the senses to be enjoyed. Monet is impressive and all, but have you ever licked a Monet? I imagine it’d be musty. And licking Monets is generally frowned upon. But a pastry. You can feel the buttery flakes coat your fingertips. Smell the flour and butter melding to their euphoric thin-layer final state. Hear the crunch of the top layer as you rip a piece off. And finally, taste the rich dark hunk of chocolate dancing on your tongue as the buttery flakes melt away on your tastebuds.
I roll the piece of pastry over in my mouth, savoring the moment, eyes closed, lips curled up. A soft hum rattles the back of my throat.
Swallowing, I open my eyes for a sip of coffee and catch Liam watching me with curiosity.
My cheeks burn under his assessing gaze, and I shift in my seat. “What are you getting your master’s for?”
“Business analytics,” he says dryly, returning to his work.
“Ah, I was looking at some of those classes when I was thinking about opening my shop, but that plan’s cooked now.”
He picks his head up. “That’s not the plan anymore?”
I shrug, plopping another piece of pastry into my mouth. “I’ve kind of given up planning anything, to be honest. I don’t know. Every time I have a goal, stuff just gets in the way. It’s better not to get my hopes up and be disappointed at this point. Keep my dreams . . .dreams.” I blush, meeting his eyes trained on me with a gentle intensity. “I know, I know, doesn’t sound like the Evie you used to know.”
“We all change.” He offers a crooked smile and closes his highlighter. “Are you looking for another job at a pâtisserie then?”
“Oh. No.” I lower my attention to my plate. “I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly. Working full-time for someone else feels impossible when I’m not sure how my body will be every day. That’s why I had to leave my last job, and my body hasn’t really gotten better since. I just got better at managing some of it.” I don’t know why I’m opening up about this to Liam when I haven’t talked about this with Maria. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown too tired of carrying this heaviness alone or maybe I figure if I disclose this bit, I can keep the far more dangerous truth buried down a little longer. Either way, there’s something about this alternate dynamic we’ve fallen into the past few days that’s almost inviting me to be vulnerable.
“With my last boss, explaining how I could be seemingly fine one minute and in excruciating pain with no warning a second later was hard. Like this one time, I was piping macarons and a bad flare gripped everything.”
I shift, feeling the phantom talons now. “I remember needing to lean on the counter to stay upright, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. People are always weird about pain, so I never really told anyone. I asked to go on my break, but my boss said no and called me lazy. I pushed through the rest of the piping, and when it was time for them to rest, I went into the bathroom. Vomited. Brushed my teeth. Popped some ibuprofen and got back to work. He yelled at me for being delicate and unreliable for the rest of the shift because I could have used that time to get ahead instead.
“When my shift ended, I folded up my apron and barely made it back to my apartment before I blacked out. Anyway—” I awkwardly laugh. That was way too much unloading this early in the morning. “Do you like doing this stuff?” I pick up a sheet lying on the table, trying to make sense of the slashes and marks on the paper. I may speak a second language, but it’s definitely not this one.
“Oh, yeah, it’s fine.” He blinks, opening his mouth as if to say something, but he closes it, offering a tight-lipped smile.
A loud vibration rattles the table, and I jump as papers rustle to my right.
“I charged your phone.” Liam nods toward the commotion.
“Oh, thank you, that was clutch. Maria probably thinks I’m in a ditch.” I reach for it, frowning at my receipts.
Caroline.
