Page 6

BIRDIE

Easy peasy my ass. After a terrible night’s sleep I’m cranky as all hell, and it’s making it difficult to concentrate on what I’m doing. Daniel throws me a look, but I ignore it, and quickly place the next batch of mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups cheesecakes on a tray. I’ve melted two bags of peanut butter cups and burned them because my mind is not in my overcrowded café today. Letting out a breath, I step back from my workstation and look up. “Please take these out to the display case,” I ask Daniel. “And look what needs to be restocked, please.” The expression on his face tells me he wants to say something, but I deny him the opportunity by turning my back, and getting started on something else. If I thought we were busy yesterday, today is a whole new level of busy, and I’m completely flustered and overwhelmed. My waitress, Megan, bustles into the kitchen with some dishes, and also looks rushed off her feet. “Did you put an ad out or somethin’, Miss Birdie?” she asks in her Georgia twang. After dumping the dishes in the sink, she turns, and reties her blonde curls atop her head. “At this rate, you’ll need a bigger store. We have the UberEats guys waitin’ outside on the sidewalk.”

The thought of getting a bigger store has crossed my mind, but I have yet to muster up the courage to talk to Harlan about it. Getting a bigger store with a kitchen in this area is hard, and the only maybe-available space is boarded up. I don’t even know who owns it, but Harlan might. “What’s with the UberEats guys? We don’t usually have so many.”

Megan huffs a breath, hands on her hips. “The UberTREATS idea you had last week has taken off, we’ve had over a hundred orders today.”

My eyes would bug out if I weren’t so tired, but I do see the issue. We only have a certain capacity in the café, and that applies to staff as well. Megan is on her own in the front, manning customers who are seated and customers who order to-go. Then it’s just me and Daniel in the kitchen, and while I can make things easier by having a set menu, I don’t want to. I rub my eyes, and exhale. “Okay, can you manage for today? I’ll start looking for someone to help you so you can take over the cash register.” I’m a little hesitant to get someone new in my kitchen, but if Megan is right then I might not have a choice. More staff and a bigger space for the café. I’m going to have to speak to Harlan. But not right now.

“I can manage just fine, Miss Birdie.” Megan smiles. Just then Daniel comes back into the kitchen, also looking flustered. “Jesus,” he mutters. “I think half of Manhattan is here today.” To Megan he says, “Better get back out there, before we have customers fighting over food.”

“Right.” Megan nods once, and I notice the blush in her cheeks. Daniel gives her a crooked smile, and watches her walk out, his eyes lingering a little too long on her butt. I clear my throat, a smile threatening to break free for the first time today. “You know, I don’t have a non-fraternization policy. As long as you don’t bang in my kitchen, there’s nothing stopping you.” Objectively, Daniel is cute, and well-built. Tall, muscular. His dark hair offset by his green eyes makes it easy to understand why someone like Megan would like him, she’s the soft to his hard, the sunshine to his grumpy. Like Liv is to Harlan.

Daniel snorts, and shakes his head. “Let’s get back to work, Boss. We have a lot of customers to feed, and I suspect you’re going to have to dig into your emergency stash if you don’t want to turn anyone away.” And just like that, my mind is reverted back to work mode. Tapping into my ‘emergency stash’ of pre-prepared and frozen treats, both sweet and savory, isn’t an option. Not one I like anyway. The hustle and grind of another work day is a temporary reprieve from everything else taking up residence in my head, but I take it and it’s only when we’re cleaning up, and closing for the day that I allow those thoughts to filter back in. I’m momentarily distracted when I watch Daniel and Megan talking while they change out of their work ‘uniforms’. For Megan its a Robin egg blue apron with the café logo on the front pocket, and for Daniel it’s a white chef’s jacket withe the café logo on the breast pocket.

“You, uh, wanna grab dinner with me?” Daniel asks, rubbing the back of his neck. Poor guy is nervous, and I don’t know why. It’s obvious Megan has a crush on him, she’s just too shy to initiate anything. Megan throws me a quick glance, and I nod furiously, mouthing, say yes. She blushes, grins and tells Daniel, “I’d love to, but I must warn you, where I’m from girls like to eat.” That makes me snicker, but I hear Daniel say, “I like that.” Once they’re done, I usher them out the back. “Okay, lovebirds, get out. Don’t come to work tomorrow hungover, please, and remember, don’t tap it before you wrap it.” I wink, and the look on their faces is so worth my teasing. I might have been hurt in the past but I’m not one to stamp out the growing embers of young love. And I like Daniel and Megan together now that I think about it, it works. And as long as there’s no screwing around in my café or my kitchen, I’m not opposed to them dating. And I trust that if things don’t work out, they’ll be professional about it at work and leave the personal stuff away from their place of employment. Megan giggles, sliding her arm through Daniel’s and waves before they’re swallowed by the sea of people on the sidewalk. I lock up, and start taking off my own uniform when I hear the doorbell out in front. “Shit,” I whisper. I forgot to lock that after we officially closed for the day, and Harlan is always on my case about that, constantly reminding me it’s not safe. Especially if I’m alone. Nerves have me stalling, and I grab the closest weapon. It just so happens to be a… spatula. Talk about a cosmic joke.

“We’re closed!” I yell, and then add, “I’m not alone!” As if that will stop a potential intruder from finding me. At least the cash in the register is already in the safe. When there’s no response, I take two steps and try and peep around the corner, but I still can’t see whoever just came in. My phone is in my bag, and it’ll be too late by the time I grab it. With a deep breath, I weald my spatula like it’s a forged throwing axe I’ve seen on Vikings and The Last Kingdom. If push comes to shove, I’ll scream and tackle whoever it is. Maybe the noise will attract some attention, and I’ll be saved. Shoving my nerves down, I round the corner until my unexpected visitor comes into view. Sadly, I don’t scream, or use the spatula to defend myself. One moment, it’s in my hand, mid-air, and the next it’s falling to the floor with a loud clank.

“Hey, Bird.” That voice.

I blink, blink, blink, and while, logically, I know my heart is still very much in my body, it sure as hell feels like it’s trying to climb up and out my throat. I take his features in, noting how manly is now compared to the boyish features he sported years ago. Brown hair that curls if he doesn’t cut it regularly, blue eyes that remind me of a Nordic fjord frozen over in winter, and a body that’s definitely filled out in all the right ways. Dressed in jeans, an Under Armor v-neck thermal, a black patched pocket trench coat and a bright red soft-knit scarf with a hood that’s…mine.

“E-ethan.” His name falls from my lips as a tremor, and what follows is a whole body shudder. “W-what—” I stop, hating how weak my voice sounds. So I try again, and this time I sound stronger when I ask, “What are you doing here?”

He stares at me for a beat, and wrings his hands together before dropping them to his side. It was always a nervous habit, like when he was worried a new recipe wouldn’t work or taste good. “I, uh, I’m back from France.” He doesn’t smile when he says it, something I take note of. And it reminds me that he left because what we had wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t enough, period. That niggles, stoking the long-ago buried anger, rejection and hurt he caused.

I straighten, attempting nonchalance. Like his being here isn’t a big deal. “I heard.”

His response is to remain silent, stoic even, and rather than wait for him to explain what the hell he’s doing in my café, I bend down, retrieve my spatula from the floor, and walk back into my kitchen. Heart racing, sweaty palms. Hell, even my neck is damp, and I’m fucking flustered. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me, giving me a moment to gather my wits. It’s not exactly the first encounter I’d imagined, which irritates me to some extent because who does he think he is? Showing up here unannounced like he’s the second coming of Jesus. And what did he expect exactly? That I would open my arms, and give him a soldier’s welcome? Uh, no. As much as he may have grown up since we last saw each other, so have I. I take my time getting changed, aware that Ethan hasn’t left. The doorbell didn’t ring, which means he’s waiting. And outside of waiting for me, what else could he be waiting for? When I’m sure I can behave as if my first love and ex-boyfriend didn’t just show up in my café, I gather my bag, shrug into my coat, and walk back out. “I’m closing up,” I tell him, passing him en-route to the door. “I suggest you leave. Harlan has an uncanny ability to show up unexpected, and if he sees you you’ll be on a missing person’s poster tomorrow morning.” His presence behind me is palpable, and he’s still not saying a whole lot. Once I’ve set my alarm, and locked the café, I start walking without paying much attention to where I’m going. It’s the opposite direction I usually walk to go home, that much I know, but I figure he’ll somehow catch the hint, and just leave me alone.

“Bird, slow down.”

So much for that theory. And is it just me, or is his voice deeper? It’s certainly huskier than I remember but then again, it could have always been that way and I just blocked it out, sure I would never see him again.

I spin, and he catches me before I knock anyone over. “Easy there, graceful,” he mutters, his brows furrowed. So much brooding.

“Fuck you,” I snap. “Why are you here, Ethan?” I don’t have time to be surprised by my outburst because my body quickly cottons on to the fact that his hands are on me, and there’s only a sliver of space between us. Which means I can smell him, and hear his breathing. Quite a feat considering I can also hear my heart beating in my ears. Still frowning, he replies, “Rowland told me about the café, and I wanted to…” His mouth stops moving, void of more words, and I realize I’m staring at his lips. He’s always had beautiful lips, lips that not only gave pleasure, but caused immense damage when used to form sentences like I feel trapped here and I think it’s best we go our separate ways before I leave if you don’t want to come with me and long-distance isn’t my thing, I don’t think it’ll work. And that’s an abbreviated list of things he said to me. Some of the tamer sentiments, too.

“Wanted to what? Make sure I knew you were back? Because Björn already did that, and if you thought you’d get sympathy from me because you’re now divorced, you came to the wrong place, bud.” Ethan winces, and then slowly drops his hands from my arms.

“I had to see you,” he says, quiet but firm. “And I wanted to see the café for myself, I guess. You always wanted—”

I lift my hand to cut him off. “No. We are not doing the whole you made your dream come true spiel, and quite honestly, you could have gone without seeing me. This city is big enough, you could have easily just avoided me and saved me the displeasure of seeing you again.” The words coming from my mouth certainly don’t match how I feel, but this man doesn’t get to waltz back into my life like we were never a we, like we never had plans of our own to have a restaurant with a bakery. Like we never spoke about getting married one day, and having babies that looked like the perfect mix of him and me. No. Not happening. “You could have just stayed gone, Ethan. You made it so clear that you hated this city, that you hated being stuck here and you might not have you said you hated me, but getting on a fucking plane to France to find something better sure as hell said it for you.” My breath leaves in a rush, and while there’s some kind of relief in getting most of what I feel off my chest, my eyes start to burn, and well with tears anyway.

“I didn’t hate you, Birdie,” he replies. “I don’t hate you.” His expression is fraught with what I can only surmise is anger and hurt. Whether that’s my doing or not, I don’t know, but it also doesn’t matter. He sighs, looks around, and then his glacial blue eyes are on me. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“No,” I swallow, and shake my head. “No. I have nothing else to say to you, and if you even try and apologize for the hell you put me through, I will punch you. Leave me alone, okay?” I step back and spin on my heels before he can beg me to stay or convince me to hear him out. Belatedly, I remember the recipe book, and without much forethought, I step into the street and hail a taxi. Once I’m inside, I tell the driver, “Union Square, please,” and check my watch. I have more than enough time before the bookstore closes. I’m probably going to regret it, but I have just enough time in the taxi to convince myself there’s little harm in buying a copy of The Naked Patisserie. Unfortunately, Lady Luck isn’t with me. The Barnes & Noble in Union Square is teeming with people, and when I see why, it takes everything in me not to puke. There’s a giant poster in the foyer with Ethan’s face on it — in fact, he’s in his blue apron and nothing else. Arms crossed over his broad chest, a smirk tilting one side of mouth. The expression is too familiar, too Ethan. The queue is almost out the door, and every person in line is holding a copy of The Naked Patisserie. Whispers of “where’s the author” are all around me, and it’s only when I see Rowland standing beside a table, talking on the phone, that I realize it’s a signing. Rowland must be talking to Ethan because he was with me minutes ago when he should have been here. Which doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. I can’t leave fast enough, and when Rowland spots me, and frowns, I pivot, not caring about the people I bump into, and run out the store.

“So, he just showed up?” Björn asks, sipping his wine. I called him as soon as I got back to my apartment. It’s late, but I needed to talk to him and wasn’t doing it over the phone. I also might have asked him to grab me a copy of Ethan’s recipe book, even if it was out of his way. Being the friend he is, he dropped what he was doing, left his bar manager in charge, and did as I asked before coming to my place.

Crossing my legs on the couch, I reply, “Out of nowhere. And I thought I’d be okay seeing him, you know? But I completely lost my shit, especially when he had the nerve to follow me, and tell me he had to see me.” I shake my head, and down what’s left in my own wine glass. Placing the empty glass on my coffee table, I reach for the recipe book but don’t open it. Not yet. “Why do you think he was so intent on seeing me?”

Björn shrugs. “No clue, Bird. Maybe he thought you’d fall at his feet if he just showed up. He’s arrogant enough to think you were waiting for him to come back. Dickhead.” He scowls. “I wish Rowland hadn’t contacted me, I’ve been trying to figure out why he did that but nothing I come up with is plausible.”

Very little makes sense to me at the moment, but the image of Ethan in my café is at the forefront of my mind. “He looks good,” I admit, flicking my gaze up to Björn. “I mean he was always good-looking, but now he’s like a man, you know? When we were together he was still boy-ish in some ways, in his looks and how he behaved, but he’s different. Looks aside, there was a hardness to his features, his demeanor…” I trail off, aware that Björn is scrutinizing me. He lets out a breath and tells me, “This is what I feared, Bird. That you’d see him, and actually like what you see, even after what he did.”

My brows furrow. “I didn’t say I liked what I saw, I’m just saying he’s different.” Do I sound defensive? I must because Björn lifts a brow and replies, “Girl, your cheeks are red, and I know what you look like when you find someone attractive. That someone in particular.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m just…warm. I don’t like Ethan, I already made that mistake once and I don’t plan on making it a second time. Fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice shame on me.” I think that’s the saying. Either way, I’m trying to believe what I’m saying, trying to make it true. But outside of Harlan, Björn is the only other person I can’t really lie to.

“Look,” Björn places his empty wine glass next to mine, and scoots closer to me, “I understand that he was your first love, but I can’t, I won’t, watch you destroy yourself over him again. You deserve better.” He leans over, and kisses my forehead. “I have to get back to the bar, but lunch tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Thanks for coming.”

He cups my cheek. “Anytime, babe. You know that.”

I walk him out, and after cleaning up, I flop back on the couch, and only then do I open Ethan’s recipe book. But I don’t make it past the ‘dedication’, if I can call it that, which reads:

Pastry isn’t my first love, but my first love inspired me to be better. This book is as much hers as it is mine.

And I know, in my soul, he’s not referring to his wife.

Well, ex-wife.