Page 82 of Sweet Surrender

“They definitely are.” I pause. “So tell me about yours. Why a bakery? Why cookies? Why that instead of, I don’t know, becoming some famous pastry chef or whatever?”

“I like the quiet.”

I snort. “Cookie, I hate to break it to you, but I think you married the wrong guy then.”

Her body shakes with a soft laugh.

“Clearly.” She exhales slowly. “I liked being by myself as a kid. My mom and her husband at the time fought a lot. He was fond of the bottom of the bottle and that led to some pretty horrific fights. Going into the kitchen, putting music on and creating something was my way of shutting out the noise until he sobered up. I also wasn’t his, and I always felt like I didn’t belong anywhere, but in the kitchen, I was in charge. I could create and get mad at my imaginary helpers.” She chuckles. “And then when I walked into the family room with whatever design I had made at the time, it forced them to abandon their bickering and praise me instead. Kind of self-absorbing and prolonging the inevitable divorce when it all came down to it, but when you’re younger, you’re only thinking about the here and now.”

“So they ended up divorcing?”

She nods. “It was for the best. They split. My mom was finally happy again and the fighting stopped. He moved on to a new wife, a new life, and while I wasn’t exactly a big fan of his, I was jealous that I didn’t have a ‘real’ family. One I could bring home friends to after school without having to explain why I didn’t have a dad. That kind of thing.”

Her words hit me squarely in the gut. A silent reflection of my own life, my own situation, and it takes everything I have to not press the heel of my hand to my breastbone. The last thing I need or want is to bare my scars to the world. That would be a telltale sign her words just picked a scab off one of them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, so am I, but being sorry doesn’t change shit so I’ve moved on.”

“Divorce cookies,” I murmur to which she laughs.

“That’s about right.”

“So you baked as a distraction.” I smile.

“I did. As I got older, I became known for it. At first it was for friends’ birthday parties. Then it was for teachers wanting this or that. I worked at a bank during the day and then baked from my apartment at night. It was a lot.”

“And how did Cookie Cutter start?”

“Mmm,” she says and then falls quiet. I have a feeling Paul is about to enter the picture. The fucker. “A bakery was always the dream. A successful one. Paul was sick of me working at both jobs and not being able to give him the quality time he deserved.”

“I’m reserving judgment here, Hendrix, but if you love someone, you support them even when their dreams overshadow you for a while.”

She angles her head up to look at me. Her expression tells me she doesn’t understand how someone like me could say that. I’m not even quite sure that I understand it if I’m honest.

“For as much of a prick as he turned out to be, he did encourage me to officially start the bakery. Find the location with the loft above it and get friends who were mechanical to help me repair some of the mixing vats I have when I bought used ones. And when the banks wouldn’t approve me for a small business loan, he stepped up and used some of his own money.”

“Hmm.”

She laughs. “I know that sound. I feel that sound. I’m grateful for the help he gave me but that doesn’t erase what he did.”

“Fucking someone in your bed?”

“That and the draining of our bank accounts before he left.” The fuck? He took her money? Even my dad, despite his complete assholery, didn’t steal from Mom when he left us.

I blow out a long, low whistle. No wonder she is, was, in dire straits. How the fuck did her ex think she could run a business with no capital? Did she sign a contract with him? Was it illegal for him to do that?

Nathaniel would have a field day with this but it’s out of my wheelhouse.

“You know that’s completely fucked, right, Cookie?”

“Hmm.” It’s her turn to make the sound.

“Did he get back all of the money he put into the company?”

“Nowhere close.”

“And he hasn’t asked for the remainder?”