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VIKING VICTOR
My stomach is yet to settle after that farce of a date last night. Or more accurately, theintrusionon my date by the man who would lead to the end of my relationship with Thomas-the-finance-guy.
He likes me. He thinks I’m cute. Butnoooope.Nice, boring, CrossFit guys don’t spend time and energy on women with enough baggage to fill a restaurant booth with firefighters and sprinkler water.
So I’m back to the drawing board.
Most importantly, I’m back to work, my arms laden with a heavy pastry tray as I load it into the display cabinet and fulfill the duties of myactualjob inside Juniper’s Bakery: pushing pies and cakes like they’re made of cocaine.
The bell above the door creates an almost constant melody as customers come and go, and their smiles work to refill the empty space inside my heart that’s usually shored up with love and happiness.
I’m pouting, and the worst part is I can’t be sure if it’s about Thomas’ abrupt exit from my life, or because Axel is back.
Both situations suck.
Both situations make my hands shake.
“We need more rainbow.” Operating on autopilot, I count cakes and shout back to Nicole, who’ll jot down the deficits with barely a hiccup in her brain space as she works at her prep table in the rear of the shop. “Bishop twins keep buying us out.”
“Okay.” Scribble her notes. Get back to designing a wedding cake for a bridezilla who demands perfection.
“And the caramel swirl,” I add. “Those were popular this morning. And the croissants. I know we were only trialing those to see if they’d sell, but…” I shove the tray into the cabinet and close the glass doors to seal in freshness. “They sell. So we might consider making them a permanent offering.”
Scribbling. Designing. “‘Kay. Got it.”
“I’ll give Preston a call soon to finalize your party catering, by the way.” Brushing my hands on my apron and turning toward the back of the store, I pause in the entryway and watch Nicole as she slumps over her notebook. “He wants the bulk of this party to be a surprise, so I’ll take that call in private.”
“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t even look up. She only keeps drawing, tearing pages, and starting again. “Make the call whenever you want. I don’t care.”
Frowning, I take a step closer and wring my hands. “Is everything okay, Nic? I know the bridezilla thing is stressing you out, but…” Another step. “Ya know. Is everything fine?”
She slams her pencil down and looks up to meet my eyes. Before she even speaks, nerves flutter painfully in my chest. “How many times did you and my brother sleep together?”
My hands fly to my stomach, and nausea rolls into my throat. Threatening. Taunting. “What?”
“So you don’t deny it?” Nodding, like that’s all she needs to know, she shoves off her stool and storms to the mini fridge we keep under the counter for soda. Grabbing a can of red fizzy, she slams the door shut and cocks her hip against the counter. “You and my brother. Sleeping together. And you didn’t stoponce,” she snaps loud enough to make me jump, “in seven lonely months, to tell me why he left town?”
“Nicole, I…”
“You were so sad! So angry. You lost weight. You gained weight. You worked yourself sick, and created an entire fricken company, fueled by bitterness and heartbreak. You came on as my business partner, Han! And you didn’t even consider that I should know about your relationship with mybrother?”
“I don’t…” My voice crackles. “I’m not—”
“Hannah Sullivan!”
“He was gone!” Fuck him, and her, and especially the stupid tear that dribbles onto my cheek. “He left, Nic. He left meandyou. What was the point of telling you about something that was no longer a thing?”
“It might’ve helped me understand,” she snarls. “It might’ve explained why he was so adamant on leaving, and why you were so driven and broken.”
“I wasn’t broken.” My brows pull tight in offense. “I was just… angry.”
“You wereshattered! You went into a full-blown abandonment issue,call my mommy and daddy every second dayfreakout that issonot you. I’m not hating on a girl for wanting to talk to her parents,” she clarifies before I can argue, “but you deserve better than what they give you. And I know for a damn fact the frequency is abnormal. You’re the strongest, most independent, non-needy person I know. He broke you! And you broke him.”
“No, I—”
“And neither of you were brave enough to talk about it.” Her jaw trembles, which only makes the tears itching the backs of my eyes sting worse. “Neither of you told me.”
“What did you want me to say?” I cry out. “That for more than a year before he left, we shared a bed when we needed the connection?”
