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SOPHIE
Every morning, I could count on Mark to appear when I was opening up the shop. It made me feel protected and safe. I’d even started sleeping better.
I wasn’t naïve enough to think the burglar had moved on, but I felt more secure about the situation.
We’d settled into a nice routine. Mark timed his run to end when it was time for me to bake. After I let him in, he’d grab a water bottle, drop cash next to the register over my protests, and sit on his stool in the kitchen to watch me. He never offered to gather ingredients, baking utensils, or help. It was almost as if he understood there was a cadence to my routine, one that settled and soothed me.
What he didn’t know was that his very presence interrupted my calming routine and set every nerve ending on fire. I could feel him watching as I moved around the room.
I enjoyed his company in the morning and didn’t know how I’d ever go back to baking by myself when it was something I used to crave.
“Are you sure you don’t mind giving Kendall lessons?” Mark asked one morning when I’d gotten a good start to my routine.
I shot him a look over the large mixing bowl. “Of course not.”
He’d never understand that I got more out of the arrangement than Kendall probably did. Sharing my love and passion for baking with another person was deeply satisfying. And there was something about her being Mark’s child that made it even more meaningful. Even if she wasn’t mine, she was an extension of him, and I’d cared about him for so long. It was only natural I care for her, too. He’d helped me with my sisters, and I was helping him with his daughter. It had a nice order to it.
He was quiet for a few more minutes, but I was hyperaware of the way his fingers picked at the label of his mostly empty water bottle. “My mom was jealous that Kendall was coming here.”
“What are you talking about?” I paused to look over at him.
He sat on the stool, one foot braced on the floor, the other perched on the bottom rung. His legs spread wide, and his forearms hung loosely between his thighs where he cradled the water bottle. He was sexy without even trying.
“I think she was jealous that Kendall has something in common with you,” Mark said thoughtfully.
“If your mom wants to teach her, I don’t mind.” I’d miss our afternoons together, but I didn’t want to step on any toes. I was sure his parents were happy to finally have her living so close.
No matter what their issues were with Mark, surely that didn’t extend to their granddaughter.
Mark’s lips curled up. “Trust me, she was never a baker. I can’t remember her making as much as a batch of chocolate chip cookies. She always bought store-brand baked goods.”
I pointed my spatula at Mark. “Store-bought is not the same.”
Grocery stores employed bakers, but their recipes weren’t as inventive or as tasty as mine. Plus, I used quality ingredients whenever I could afford them to improve the taste.
“Easy, tiger,” Mark said, reminding me of how he’d talk to me when we were dating. He’d always made me feel special, cherished even.
He was the only one who prompted me to take a break, to remember I was a teenager first.
“I’m just saying.” I turned my attention back to the recipe, uncomfortable reminiscing on our past. I couldn’t forget that he’d walked away like our history meant nothing.
“Then she suggested Kendall stop by once a week and clean her house.”
I slowly lowered the spatula, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“It was in response to my suggestion there might be some other activity they could do together to bond.”
“By cleaning her house?” My eyebrows raised to my hairline.
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know what she was thinking. Sometimes I think my parents lack an empathy gene.”
This was something we’d analyzed often when I was lying against his chest in the back of his truck, staring at the stars. It was during those whispered conversations that I thought I knew him down to his soul. “How did Kendall feel about that?”
Something passed over Mark’s face. “She asked to be excused from the table.”
“I don’t blame her.”
Mark continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Then afterward, she thanked me for stepping in.”
