“Not even a little?” He steeples his fingers and studies me over them, doing his best impression of Dad giving me a lecture.
I hesitate. I told myself I was just ignoring her and hoping she went away, but maybe part of me knew ignoring her would just make her want to be in my life more.
“Maybe a little. Not on purpose.”
“Sure, not on purpose.” Marc raises a knowing eyebrow. “Maybe, just maybe, Sora was a little bit right in thinking there was something between you, after all.”
“No. We’re done.” I mean it this time.
“Then prove it. Stop letting Mal twist in the wind. Cut the line.” Marc leans forward, his big leather chair groaning from the shift of his weight. “Reallytalk to her. Make her see it’s over. For good. Punishment time, playtime, it’s all over.”
Mal needs very little persuasion to meet me at the coffeehouse down the street from my bakery. I tell her we need to talk. She implies she’d rather get naked in my bed. I tell her, “No, talk, with clothes on, in public.” The coffeehouse is a small, walk-in joint with a barista in one corner and a line of stools and a small counter across both windows. During work hours it gets pretty tight with all the folks with laptops vying for the four outlets, but now, a half hour before the place closes, it’s nearly empty.
The sun sinks below the horizon, turning the sidewalk pink. A mild March day means the snow piles at the corners of intersections have nearly melted, leaving giant lakes of muddy puddles. For the first time since November, I can see patches of dormant grass in the medians at the center of the road. Spring is coming. I take a seat at the counter facing the street, blowing on my too-hot latte. Could it be as easy as Marc says? Is it really about just telling Mal a firm no?
Just then, Mal sweeps into the coffeehouse dressed in form-fitting leggings and a crop top, her Canada Goose jacket open, long blond hair flowing into her coyote-fur-lined hood, herfeet clad in furry ankle boots. She’s got on a ton of makeup just to make her look fresh-faced. So much expensive highlighting powder and contouring makeup. When she sees me, she bounds up and tries to give me a hug. I stop her with a strong arm.
“Mal. Sit,” I say, nodding to the chair.
“What’s this?” She glances at the coffee cup sitting at the center of the table. Mine. “Is this my fave? Half-caf, double shot, soy milk, extra hot, super skinny? Like I like it?”
“No.” I frown. “It’s a latte.” My latte, actually.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay.” She sits down and takes my latte. Not what I’d planned, but oh well. She can have the coffee. Best to get this over with.
“I’m here to ask you to sell the bakery.”
“What? Why? Don’t you want to be business partners?” She grabs my hands. I pull them back.
“No, I don’t. We’re done, Mal. For real this time.”
She opens her pink lips to argue, but then stops. Something in my voice, maybe my face, I don’t know, finally hits a chord with her.
“You didn’t think we were done last month.”
“That was a mistake. We’re over. We’re never going to work.”
Mal’s bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears threaten to spill. I hate it when she cries, and she knows it. But it’s not going to work on me. Not this time. I hand her a napkin from the dispenser on the table.
“We’re done. For good. You need to sell the bakery.”
“No.”
“You can sell the bakery. Or…” I weigh my options. “I can call your mother.”
Mal goes white, and I know why. Her mother, Melody Starr, controls the purse strings. Also, Melody Starr hates me. Never really felt I was good enough for her daughter, but on this, she’d agree. That Mal needs to stay out of the bakery business.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” I stare at her until she blinks first. “Sell the bakery,” I tell her.
She dabs at her eyes. She sniffs, loudly. I don’t care if she cries in public. I don’t care if people stare. I just want her out of my life. And telling her to go,reallytelling her to go, is the only way to do it.
I pick up my phone and pull up her contact. “I’m blocking you.” I show her and hit “block.” “We’re not going to be friends. We’re not going to talk.”
She goes pale. “So we’re done. For good.” She blinks at me.
I meet her gaze. “Yes.”
