Page 65 of Never Let You Go

“Nope.”

“Fair enough. I have another question for you.” She shifts in her chair, and her eyes gleam with excitement.

“Yeah?” I breathe easier.

“That baking competition.”

“What about it.” Funny, when someone else brings it up, I’m annoyed. When it’s her, I want to talk about it.

“Why don’t you want to go for it?”

“Long time ago, I did a few of those. Back in France. It wasn’t a circus on TV like it is here, but it was maybe even more serious and challenging.”

“And? You hated it?”

I shake my head. “I fucking loved it.”

“So?” she straightens on her chair, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“I dunno. Life. Skye. I’d need to be gone for a couple days.”

“Are you kidding? Skye would love you to go. She’s got a bunch of people here who can look after her.”

“Skye wants me to go?” I’m really surprised. She’s never really asked me, although all that talk about Caroline saying I wasn’t the best baker in the country…

“And see her dad on TV? Duh. But this has to be about you, Chris. Don’t do it for anyone else other than you. And let me say, anything you do for you, you do for Skye. What did you like about it back then?”

I’m brought back in time, my emotion tapping into my younger self. “The constraints and how that boosted my creativity,” I say. “The limited time. The challenge. Winning.” Yeah, those were fun times.

Her voice goes soft. “D’you feel like sometimes, you’re caught in the same routine? Baking what sells best, watching the bottom line—”

“Watching the weather and the holiday calendar to figure out my quantities so I’m not left with too much inventory but still made enough to meet demand? Fuck yeah. It’s the business, but…”

“It’s draining,” she finishes.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You haven’t lost your spark, but…”

“It’d be nice to fan the flames.” A slow smile spreads across my lips. This woman gets me.

My eyes fall to her lips. Again.

She must sense the vibe because she stands quickly from her chair, rinses her cup, and slips into the laundry room to change into her baking clothes.

“There’s a community dinner at Justin’s tonight,” I tell her when she comes back out. “You’ll come, right? Everybody goes.”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, her smile a welcome pang in my chest.

seventeen

Christopher

Justin’s monthly community dinner is packed, like it usually is. It’s the cold that’s been going on for months now, and the early nights. People get literal cabin fever. They feel the need to get out. Get together.

Tonight, it looks like the whole town showed up. The business owners, the troublemakers, the gossips.

And those in need of a free meal, wearing their best clothes. It’s one of Justin’s proudest accomplishments. That he can help people in need.

---