“It’s still your place,” says Tara. “Come on in, make yourself at home. Roman’s at his friend’s house playing right now.”
My plans to stay civil had started to erode on my long walk over here from my new place, but as usual, Tara’s sweetness is making me forgive her already.
“It’s Sunday, right? Where’s Roman?”
“He’s over at a friend’s house.”
“Oh, Is Mark around?” I ask, sweeping my eyes around, taking in the way she has arranged furniture and set the place up.
“He’s out of town, actually. He’s doing something with the mayor.” There’s a slight hint of pride in her voice.
“Wow, so he’s pretty connected?” I ask, helping myself to a seat on the couch.
“Yeah. I’ve met so many people since he and I started seeing each other. I never thought an architectural planner would have so many connections, but he really does. It’s wild. The politicians he works with treat him like a superstar.”
“Huh,” I say a little distractedly. “Must be nice.” They probably treat him so well because his projects could bring tons of money to their districts and cities. I’m sure they are all bending over backwards to offer him the right to uproot businesses and people if that’s what it takes to get his development company looking their way.
“Uh, you okay?” asks Tara.
I let my head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as I try to resist saying something. Just let it rest, Sandra. Don’t make a big deal out of this. “I’m fine,” I say.
She moves to sit beside me, leaning forward. “You’re not fine. Is this about the bakery?”
I straighten, feeling my heartbeat quicken. “You knew?”
She looks down at her hands, clasping them in her lap. “Mark told me. I tried to talk him out of it.”
I breathe out, frowning in disbelief. A cold, sharp pain seeps into my chest. “And you let me find out with a letter on the door of the bakery? You didn’t think to call me?”
Tara reaches to hug me, but I push back off the couch, standing. “Don’t touch me,” I say, voice shaking with anger. It’s all rising up now. The feelings of betrayal I felt. Not just from this, but from the way she brought Mark into her life and let him become her priority, blowing me off to spend time with him. It’s far from the first time, too.
“Sandra,” she says, pleading. “Mark said he was going to offer a fair price for your bakery. I thought it’d be okay.”
“Wow,” I say, backing away and grabbing my bag by the door. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?”
“Sandra… Don’t say that. Come on, I’ve got ice cream in the freezer. Let’s put on a movie and--”
“No,” I say. “Save the ice cream for your slimebag of a boyfriend.” I step outside, hand still on the doorknob when a thought occurs to me. It’s a dark, black thought I’ve never let reach the surface of my mind before, but now in the heat of my anger it rises up, too strong to push down or control. Too strong to stop. “Reid deserved better than you,” I say over my shoulder.
I slam the door and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing heavy. God. Everything is falling apart. Everything I’ve spent so long building and worked so hard for. It’s all falling away and I can’t see how I’m going to stop it.
I stop by the bakery on my way home because I don’t know what else to do. The girls are happy to see me. I spend close to thirty minutes listening to Julia go on about how she handled an unhappy customer and try my best to sound like the properly proud boss I should be. I help the girls roll out dough for croissants and spread the butter on them. I top some cakes. It’s all work that normally brings me more joy than I can describe and yet it feels empty and meaningless today. It feels like I’m just going through the motions.
I never started this business for the money. My only goal was to create something worthwhile. I wanted a business that people enjoyed coming to and I wanted to be doing something I enjoy. I found all that here. Knowing the end is inevitable strips all the satisfaction from that. So what if I do a good job? So what if I make the recipe just that much better by experimenting? It’s all going away.
I decide to leave early. I apologize to Lauren and Jennifer, but other than a few sarcastic remarks from Lauren, they seem to understand. It’s only on my walk home that a shameful thought starts to coalesce in my mind.
I could hook up with Reid to get back at Tara for letting this happen. Even though she cheated on him and complained all the time, I know for a fact she’s still not over him. She told me as much. Tara thought she deserved to have the most gorgeous guy in town. It was part of the fantasy she built up around herself, and she ended up making it a reality. But when the most gorgeous guy in town didn’t fulfill all her desire to be rich, she went and slept around, hoping to scare him into submission. Instead he got a lawyer and divorced her ass.
The thought makes me grin. Reid doesn’t play around.
I shake my head in disbelief at how low my thoughts have turned. Did I really just consider hooking up with a guy to get back at my best friend? Even if Reid was interested in me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I thought that’s why I was doing it. As much as I’ve tried to tell myself he’s not the one for me, I still keep coming back to the idea of him. The memory of his touch and how it felt. The scent of him, manly, strong, and sexual. More than that, I recall the look in his eye when he gazed out over the hills. I saw for the first time the depth of Reid Riggins. He’s more than just a beautiful face and body, he’s thoughtful, even if he goes out of his way to hide that from the world.
7
Reid
“Daddy, please?” asks Roman. I just picked him up from his mom’s and he’s been trying to convince me to take him to the Fourth of July festival tomorrow.
I look down into his little face and feel my resolve thaw. He’s the only one who ever seems to get me to change my mind, and damn is the little guy good at it. I don’t want to let him off too easy though, so I make a show of resisting. I want my little man to grow up strong and decisive. I want him to learn he has to fight for what he wants, that the only way to get anything worth having is through work.
“Can’t do it, bud. Remember that F-150 Jerry Hill brought in?”
Roman’s little face scrunches as he thinks. “Broken axle?”
I beam, pulling him in and giving him a rough hug. “Damn, son. You may be the only four-year-old in the world who knows as much about cars as you do.”
“I’m almost five,” he says testily.
I smirk. “Yeah. Don’t go growing up too fast on me, Roman. Don’t go changing,” I add a little more solemnly, my thoughts drifting to Mark. As odd as it is, raising Roman feels like raising my second child. I spent so much of my youth mentoring and taking care of my brother that none of this has really felt new for me. Unfortunately, that also means I constantly struggle with the thought that Roman is going to turn on me some day too. Maybe I’m a shit father and he’s just too young to know it yet.
“So can we go?” he asks.