Page 67 of Pin-up Girl

Sylvie spared me half a second of withering look, then went to grab two folding chairs. “The job wasn’t what I really wanted,” she said over her shoulder. ”I want a family. Kids. An awesome husband. To stay at home and raise them and make them happy and see them succeed.”

Did she sound like she was reading from a script, or was I imagining it? I joined her, setting up chairs around a second, smaller table that was already standing. When she moved to walk away, I blocked her path. “Look me in the eye and promise me that’s true.”

“Of course it’s fucking true.” Sylvie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t give up an incredible, lucrative career that I lov— worked super hard to earn for more than a decade— It’s true. I wanted more than work was giving me.”

This time I distinctly heard anger and bitterness, and I was going to call her on it.

“Hello.” Neva’s voice carried to us.

Sylvie pasted on the biggest, brightest smile in the history of fake smiles. “We’re here.” She waved. “So happy you made it.”

I adopted my own smile and faced the new arrivals. “Hey. Welcome.”

Neva introduced us to Risa, the baker, who assured us this space was perfect. The four of us headed toward one of the parking spots in front of my shop, to bring in cake samples.

As Neva and Risa walked out, Sylvie stopped me. “I’m fine,” she said in a low voice. “This is what I want. I want this, with Peter. It’s sweet of you to worry, but this is what I want for me.”

“Okay.”

The repeated variations of what I want didn’t reassure me, but if Sylvie wasn’t willing to talk to me, the only thing I could do was be here if it all fell apart. I wanted desperately to protect her from that, but I was going to have to wait it out.

We arranged everything the way Risa asked us to.

Neva glanced at me when we were done, then took a longer look.

I didn’t know if it was the low cut of the button-down blouse that drew her eye, or the short cap sleeves that left both arms of tattoos on display, but the displeasure she radiated didn’t surprise me.

She shook her head and turned away. “At least if you spill, it’ll be hard to tell on top of all that ink.”

I swallowed a retort. “At least.”

A short while later, my friends arrived. Ravyn first, offering to help, and looking disappointed that we were done. Then Evie and Alys, and Elaina last.

“I’m so sorry. Night shift guy showed up late, both for me and Rohde.”

Rohde was her brother. Elaina lost her husband just a few years ago. Her son, Kurt, was Dee’s age, and all of us helped watch him when she needed, but he spent the most time with Rohde. And these days, Sawyer, one of Evie’s boyfriends.

I didn’t know how Evie and Alys each managed being with two men. I was only pretending, and it was hard to keep track of. Then again, each of my friends wanted to be in their relationships, and their guys got along—loved each other even.

I could only take so much of Clint and Brodie fighting over me. And I definitely couldn’t see myself with either of them long term, let alone both.

Nope. Not even for a second. I had what I wanted out of life. I didn’t need anything else.

Sylvie and I introduced everyone who didn’t know each other, and my friends sat around the smaller table, with Sylvie and me.

Risa pulled the first box from her stack, and she and Neva started dishing small slices onto paper plates. “We see two issues again and again,” Risa said. “People tend to remember their first or last piece the most distinctly. So at the end, when we ask people to pick their favorite cake slice, the flavors in the middle were rarely being picked, and there were always arguments.”

As she talked, Neva placed a slice of pale cake with a yellow gel on it in front of each of us, along with an index card that had a series of checkboxes.

“Ooh, a test.” Evie sounded pleased.

Ravyn huffed. “I didn’t study. I thought tonight was the cramming.”

A few of us snickered, and she looked around, eyes wide. “What? Like cramming the cake in our faces.”

“Sure. That’s what you meant,” Elaina teased.

Ravyn’s innocent look stayed fixed. “What else would it mean?”

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