Page 7 of House of Desire

The whole affair is the bane of my existence because the evening attire we are expected to wear is so expensive. And the last thing I will ever do is ask my brother for money.

“The same dress I wore last year,” I say, keeping my gaze on the field, my lack of dresses and formal attire embarrassing me.

“Why don’t you come over to my house? You can go through my dresses and see if there’s anything there you like?” She claps her hands in excitement.

I grimace. “That’s a very nice offer, but there’s no way I’m going to fit into anything you own.”

While we both have black hair, that is where the similarities between us end. Even in high heels, Lorelei barely reaches my chin. She is slender, with gentle curves, and almost everything in a clothing store is made for her.

On the other hand, I’m an inch shy of six feet without shoes on and my curves are more like a road winding its way up a mountain, all thanks to my mother. We all tower over my already short father who seems to be shrinking with every passing year.

She looks at my long legs and my ample breasts and nods in agreement.

“You’re probably right. Charlie has a close friend who designs clothes and is also crazy tall with giant tits,” she says, mentioning her brother’s girlfriend. “I’ll call her for you tomorrow and we’ll get you all squared away.”

I’ve never met Charlie, but Lorelei has only had good things to say about her.

“You’re like a fairy godmother,” I tell her, clapping for the field goal we just scored.

“Don’t I know it.”

Flour dances in the air as the sun crests the horizon. The early rays break across the bakery case, bathing the various offerings in morning light. The blue and pink walls are bright, more like a toddler’s bedroom than a bakery. I have a lot of plans for the space, wanting to bring in some sophistication and expand the menu to include coffee drinks, but there’s only so much I can afford at the moment. So the pink and blue walls from the old ice cream shop that used to inhabit the space remain.

Liam, my shop boy, walks in at six on the dot, slinging his backpack on the floor behind the counter while running his hand over his tightly coiled hair.

“Anastasia! Guess what, guess what.”

Rolling my eyes, I grab the backpack and hang it from the hook Dad put up right inside the kitchen for exactly this.

I tripped over the bag one Monday morning, losing an entire tray of fresh croissants in the middle of our morning rush. And I almost broke my ankle in the process. After we got through all the customers, throbbing ankle be damned, I called my dad and he rushed over to make sure it never happened again.

“What? What?” I ask, mimicking his excited tone.

“I asked out Sophia!” he says, tying his apron around his waist.

Sophia is one of the popular girls at Liam’s high school whom he’s had a crush on since she wore a yellow polka dotted bikini to the community pool on the first day of summer over a year ago.

“And?” I ask, pointing to the sink silently reminding him to wash his hands, excited he finally worked up the nerve. If I tried to count how many hours we have talked about the various dating dynamics of teenagers during our time in the shop together, I would lose my mind.

“We are going to get ice cream on Saturday!” I try to remember the last time I went on a date as he soaps up, no closer to the answer when he turns off the water and begins drying off. “Which reminds me, is it okay if I cut out a little early? That was the only time she had available.” As he finishes drying his hands, he clasps them in front of his chest, giving me a smile full of braces and guilt. Knowing I’ll never be able to say no, I decide to tease him a little.

“Saturday is our busiest day, you know. And you’re giving me less than two days’ notice.” I cross my arms over my chest and pretend like I’m thinking.

“What if I promise to buff the floor on Sunday? We haven’t done that in a really long time and it could use it.”

I cock an eyebrow at the unexpected offer.

“You would do that? You know it can’t be done until the shop closes.”

Buffing the floor requires the chairs and tables to be moved around as well as a loud buffing machine I was able to get second hand. The intention had been to do it every Sunday before heading off to the football game since we close at ten a.m. during the season so I can watch Dom, but there was always something else needing to be done.

“My mom doesn’t need me to babysit this week.”

He hasn’t put his hands down the entire time, but now he adds on big, round eyes.

“Okay, fine. And I’m taking you up on your offer to buff the floor even though I was going to say yes without that,” I say, smiling as I move to the front of the shop, turning on the neon ‘Open’ sign.

His mouth drops open, arms fall to his sides, and my smile widens even further.

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