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Rose laughed. “Are you trying to tell me you think Martin Brock has a thing for me?” The idea was insane, Rose thought.
“Maybe, why not?”
“Well, because of our past. I mean…” Rose stopped to think about it, and the idea made her stomach flutter briefly. “No.” She shook her head and sat up quickly from the couch. “I mean, even if it weren’t a joke, I could never trust him, and he’s with someone about to have his baby. How does this keep getting forgotten?” Rose laughed.
“Hey, I don’t recall seeing a ring,” Sarah suggested to Rose with another laugh. Did it matter if he was married or not? He was still the man who made her life hell. He was still the man who was having a baby.
“I swear, I’m cursed,” Rose sighed.
“I would never wish harm on anyone, you know that. But, how does someone who went out of their way, most of their life, to be cruel to the less beautiful get everything? The family. The job. The looks.”
“So, you do think he’s handsome?” Sarah teased Rose with a blush on her cheeks.
“I’ve always thought he was handsome, but that doesn’t change anything.” Rose and Sarah ended their conversation hours later, and though Sarah attempted to keep her friend on the topic of Martin, it was one Rose had no more interest in speaking about. She wanted him out of her life, gone. She would finish her obligated order and then wish him well, or so she planned.
That night, Rose sat in the corner of her bedroom, a glass of red wine next to her as she flipped through her high school yearbook pages. So many memories flooded her mind, even a few happier ones. Her favorite teacher, Mr. Turner, dressed as Uncle Fester from the Adams Family. The only pep rally she attended. The drama club performing Romeo and Juliet. Rose had auditioned for Juliet but had lost the role to Marin’s girlfriend, head cheerleader, and Prom Queen. The smile graced Rose’s features slowly faded when she came to her picture.
She remembered the names he called her, the taunts he gave over how poor her picture looked.
Tears built in her eyes, and for a second, she felt her heart break again. If he knew she had an illness that kept her from losing weight, would he have been so cruel? If he knew she worked out in her room daily, to the point of passing out, yet nothing changed, would he have been so mean? If he knew she feared makeup and feared no makeup no matter the choice, it only revealed she had a tad more facial hair than other girls. Would he have given her hurtful nicknames? Rose closed her eyes; tears fell down her cheek before her gaze fell to his picture on the next page.
Suddenly, the sadness was replaced by anger. He needed to know how he made her feel. He needed to understand half of the things he made fun of her were out of her control. She wasn’t perfect; she would be the first to admit this, but he was further from it than she was.
He needed to know it wasn’t okay; even after all these years, his actions toward her lasted and caused a ripple effect. Slamming the book closed, Rose tossed it to the wooden floor before she sat back in her chair, bringing the wine glass to her lips. The next time she saw him, she assured herself.
* * *
A week had passed since Rose last saw Martin, yet she still glanced up at the door with each bell ring. She had rehearsed what she would say to him in the mirror over a dozen times, though as each hour passed, she grew more nervous she would lose her nerve. Sure, she talked a good game to Sarah, but Rose wondered if she could do it. Though as the days turned to a week, she was sure she had seen the last of Martin Brock, shockingly enough, that didn’t cause the excitement she had thought it would. A small part of her relished the idea Sarah had been right, and he did like her in some small way.
As she unlocked the front door and flipped over the opened sign, Rose started toward the counter when that bell rang, and she turned. The smile on her face faded as she saw Martin walk in. She swallowed, a nervous knot formed in her throat, with her steps safely behind the counter. He looked so handsome, she thought. He was dressed in a black tee, his light blue jeans, and his hair gelled to a slight spike in the front. No! She screamed at herself with a shake of her head. What the hell was she thinking? With an exhale, Rose placed her hand on her hip and waited for him to stop just opposite her.
“Rose.” His voice caused a flutter. What was happening, she thought to herself.
“Mr. Brock.” He chuckled at her greeting.
“Mr. Brock.” He repeated. “I didn't think I’d hear that out of work. But I’ll take whatever you want to call me.” His tone is flirtatious.
Rose scoffed. Was he serious? How could he stand as though he hadn’t been her most enormous monster? Did he think nothing he did was that bad? Rose couldn’t understand being cruel to anyone, not even someone she hated. But he did it without even knowing anything about her. She would be substantial, she thought. He would not charm her, keep her from taking the path she had sworn she would follow the next time she saw him. She would be substantial, she would be brave, she would be decisive. She pumped herself up with each thought; her gaze shifted to the one of annoyance when he spoke to her.
“I’d imagine so since I did for years.” She blurted out. There it was, she thought. That fire had returned, and she was no longer distracted by his grin, those hazel eyes, or the scent of his cologne as it lingered in the room.
“I deserve that.” He admitted.
“You deserve that? You deserve way more than that, Mr. Brock.” She snapped.
“But as much as I’d enjoy watching you squirm, I’m a lady.” She added. “Though, I gotta know, what the hell is your deal?”
“My deal?” he asked with a furrow of his brows.
“Why are you here? Because this bakery is the only thing, I have that I consider safe, all mine. But, with you here, popping in every other day…well, you’re making it not so safe for me anymore.” She paused. “I mean, what? You saw me again and realized, hey, I haven’t tortured Rose Denton in years. Why not get back into the swing of things?” Rose rattled on. “Yes, I’m still a bigger girl. Yes, I’ve still got it. What did you call it? A girlstache?” Sarah walked from the backroom.
“Rose.” Rose glanced at her friend before her attention returned to Martin, who remained silent.
“You need to tell me what you want, and let’s get this over with because I can’t handle another round of your sharp tongue. Or your jokes and pokes at your…”
“Rose, shut up!” Rose jumped with his raised voice. Had he just yelled at her in her store? He told her to shut up like he still had control over her.
“Excuse me?”
