“That’s borderline stalking,” Jason told me one night over dinner.
“She doesn’t mean anything by it,” I said.
“Hmm.” He touched my nose, wiping sauce from the tip. “I’m obligated to tell Ryan.”
“Please don’t,” I begged. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. She didn’t stop or go inside or talk to anyone. She just drove by the house.”
“I won’t tell Ryan if you make sure she doesn’t do it again.”
I nodded. I would have to find a way to bring that up with my best friend. Ryan was a police officer, and their tryst was over. Ava needed to move on, and as her friend who wants to see her happy more than anyone, it was my job to help her do it.
There was something more important going on that morning, though. I was considering my own relationship. Jason and I were more than roommates, more than friends. We had the work thing going on, where we spent hours talking about the hair salon and everyone that came and went every day. We had date nights where we got dressed up and drove out of town to eat, drink, or dance. Jason was a passable dancer. Not brilliant, but I gave him points for trying.
We had long, loving nights wrapped up in each other’s arms and breakfast together on our days off. The whole thing was moving so quickly, I felt like I wanted to get a handle on it before it sped away. We could very easily fall into a routine, each one assuming we were on the same page. I was falling for him, hard. But was he feeling the same way? Was this relationship leading toward something else, something bigger and better? Or was it just a comfortable living arrangement that he could walk away from easily? I had to know.
Talking about my feelings hadn’t been my strong suit. After my dad died, my mom dried up. She wouldn’t talk to me very much, just going through the motions, putting dinner on the table and driving me to school. I knew she was hurting, but every time I tried to bring up the subject, she pushed it away. I guess I learned that talking about feelings was more painful than having them, and it was a difficult lesson to unlearn.
There had to be some way I could ease into the conversation, maybe over drinks or on a long walk in the forest. I climbed out of bed and poured myself a cup of coffee, sitting on the porch to drink. I curled up in my favorite rocking chair, toes peeking out from my comfy pajama bottoms. The coffee was warm and sweet and got me thinking. What if I baked him a cake? Cooking for each other was kind of our thing, and everybody loved cake.
I made my decision, finished my coffee, and changed into jeans and a sweater. I drove to the grocery store as soon as it opened and climbed out into the parking lot. The first time I had ever seen Jason was in this very grocery store. This time I would stay away from the produce aisle and any stray men I might find.
I didn’t want anything as cheap as a box cake. No, for this occasion, I wanted a from scratch, made-with-love confection. I brought one of my mother’s recipe cards and went through the store collecting what I needed. Flour, check. Eggs, check. Milk, check. Vegetable oil I already had at home. I was in the baking department, looking for baking powder, when a strange woman approached me.
She was thin and blonde, wearing a power suit that was out of place in our small town. I had never seen her before, which automatically meant she wasn’t local. Her voice was definitely Southern when she spoke, but there was something “off” about her energy. She kept looking around, as if she expected someone to jump out of the shadows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I blinked. “Oh, I’m just looking for ingredients to bake a cake,” I said, all Southern charm, even though her question was intrusive.
“For who?” she persisted.
“For a friend…” I reached around her and grabbed the tin of baking powder, slipping it into my basket. I attempted to turn, but she moved with me.
“A man?” she snapped.
“Yes.” I stepped back into the shelves.
“Don’t bake a cake for a man—they never appreciate that shit,” the woman said.
I couldn’t stop staring. She was so weird, her eyes intense and boring into me, her massive purse swinging menacingly on one arm. I didn’t know what to say. I was saved by Bella, one of my customers, who turned down the aisle at that exact moment.
“Bella!” I said eagerly, reaching out for the other woman.
“Hi, Lindsey,” Bella sang.
I extracted myself from the shelf, edging away from the crazy lady. “How are the cookies coming?” I made small talk as I followed Bella to the cash register.
As soon as I had paid for my purchases, I looked back to see how best to avoid her, but she was gone. Shaking my head, I got back in the car and drove home. I got to work baking the cake, thrilled when it came out light and fluffy. I used a tub of chocolate icing to decorate it and set it prominently on the counter. I figured I’d better make something more substantial to go with it, so I cooked up a quick omelet.
When Jason came home a few minutes later, I was sitting on the couch, as if I had been there all day. I got up to greet him, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Is that all?” he joked, sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me in for a deeper kiss.
“I made you a cake,” I said shyly.
His face brightened. “Thank you.”
I took him by the hand and led him to the kitchen island. “There’s an omelet if you’d rather have dinner first,” I said.