Page 5 of Sweet Surrender

“Because being an adult means you sometimes have to do things you don’t want to. For me? That’s talking to you and your—”

“The point of this call is . . . what? That you miss me? That you want to reconcile?” His chuckle is pure condescension. “I’m sorry, babe—”

“No. It’s that you drained the accounts. That you—”

“Guess you should be a little wiser with who you trust, huh? Your money issues aren’t my problem anymore, Hendrix. Really.”

“Well, if you hadn’t been so busy sticking your dick in your mistress and fucking me over, then I wouldn’t be having any problems now, would I?”

With my blood boiling, I end the call with fervor and look up. The man in front of me is coughing into his hand. The woman in front of him is peering back at me with huge eyes. And the man sitting a few tables over, a hoodie up and sunglasses on despite being inside, is grinning without shame.

Shit. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?

I put my head down and grimace, but then I figure I didn’t do shit wrong—have no shame other than telling the truth.

The line moves forward and as I do, I have the unmistakable feeling of someone staring at me. I glance up and meet the palest blue eyes. Hoodie guy took his sunglasses off and whoa, those eyes pack quite a punch. Not just the light color and how they’re framed with an abundance of dark lashes, but the curiosity with which they regard me.

I avert my eyes quickly, grateful when the line moves and I place my order. “Is Josie here?” I ask about the owner to the newly hired clerk behind the counter after I pay.

“Um, yeah. Somewhere.” She glances over her shoulder to the back, but I can tell by the shake of her hands and the darting of her eyes that she’s overwhelmed.

Or just had way too much coffee.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll chat with her later,” I say and wave a hand as I move for the next in line to order. Josie’s Java has been here for longer than I can remember. Whereas my bakery down the street is bright pastels and stripes, her aesthetic is more warm tones and dark browns to match the coffee beans that have been placed in various glass jars across the wall from me.

It’s busy today—when is it not—so I take the first available table I can find.

Of course, when I sit down and look up, those pale blue eyes are still studying me. He doesn’t avert his gaze, just holds mine long enough to make me uncomfortable. Then a group of girls at his back snicker and squeal as they stare at him.

He glances back at them and lifts his chin, clearly basking in their attention. I sigh and look away. It’s Los Angeles. Everyone here thinks they’re someone even when they aren’t. No doubt this guy’s the same. Or if he is someone—which I highly doubt—clearly, I don’t care.

And yet I look back and hold his eyes for a beat longer.

“Please tell me your day is better than mine,” Josie says as she steps into my field of vision and breaks off my staring contest. She sets my iced coffee in front of me and then wipes her hands on the dish towel that’s folded into the waistband of her apron. She’s about fifteen years older than me with cherubic curls and rosy-red cheeks. She peers at me from behind a pair of oversized, black-framed glasses and her trademark bushy eyebrows that she refuses to pluck. The woman is a legend in everyone’s mind but her own, and that’s why I’ve taken to her so fiercely.

I level her with a dubious glare for an answer that has her shaking her head.

“That bad?” she asks.

My smile is quick and sharp. “I haven’t found the right contract killer who’s willing to maim Paul’s nether regions.”

“Only his nether regions? Feeling kind today?”

“Cock. Dick. His tiny, little mushroom cap. Are those better?” I ask with a vindictiveness that’s not like me. She throws her head back and laughs. “I mean, I keep opening my fridge, hoping to find that whoever robbed that Bank of America down the street last week, stashed the sixty grand they stole there. No such luck. And then there’s the small matter of how I’m going to fulfill this gigantic order, so I’m trying to keep it all together without losing my shit.”

“So we’ve moved from the total shock to the anger portion of the getting fucked over by the boyfriend program, huh?” she deadpans.

I laugh. It’s the first time I actually have and meant it in the past few days. “Definitely wallowing in the anger portion. But thanks. I can always count on you to lighten my mood.”

Another group of girls push their way through the crowd and meet the giggling trio in the corner. I glance their way and then back to Josie. She lifts her eyebrows and shrugs. Business is business even if it is a giggling bunch of teenagers who might split one drink four ways because they’re broke.

“At least you have a thousand cookies to keep you busy. You can put on a true crime documentary and fantasize about it being Paul while you shape and mold and decorate them all.”

I hang my head and smile as I rock my head from side to side. “Nah. He’s not worth my time.” I look back up and meet the kindness in her eyes. “I think it’s being blindsided that hurts the most. Like here I was living in my own, completely perfect world—I had my bakery, my boyfriend, my future—all of it mapped out, and in one afternoon, one early arrival home, and poof, it’s all gone or in jeopardy of being gone.”

Josie reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “It doesn’t help and won’t make you feel better, but maybe in time, you’ll see it was for the best.”

I smile but fight back the tears, the ones that feel like a constant ball in my throat that I refuse to let fall, and nod.