Page 89 of Sweet Somethings

"What are you trying to prove, Juliette?"

"What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"You're not superhuman. You can't bake everything everyone wants you to make."

"I'm building a business, Roman. I have to put myself out there. I have to push right now."

"Is it really just about building the bakery up?"

She didn't like the challenge in his voice or the way he was looking at her, as if he knew something about her she didn't know—or didn't want to know. "What does that mean?"

"Forget it."

She sat up straighter. "No, I'm not going to forget it. You want to say something, say it."

"Fine. I think your reasons for taking on so much work, not to mention solving other people's problems, are more about keeping yourself too busy to think. You're running away from yourself."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. You came back here to recapture your childhood, but I'm guessing that the memories aren't as sharp as you thought they would be, that you don't feel your parents' presence, you don't hear their laughter, you can't remember what their favorite foods were or what flowers your mom planted in the spring every year. As long as you're fixing other people's lives and working at a breakneck pace, you don't have to acknowledge that."

She stared back at him. She'd once thought he was a man of few words, but he certainly seemed to have plenty to say now.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Roman added, regret in his eyes. "But you have to slow your pace down, or you'll burn out or drop from exhaustion. I don't want to see that happen. And I have seen it happen."

"Are you talking about yourself now?"

"Yes. I was guilty of a similar obsession when I first got into the Corps. I had to be the best at everything. I had to prove I was not the irresponsible kid everyone thought I was. I was relentless in my ambition to be better than I used to be."

"There's nothing wrong with ambition, with wanting to be the best."

"As long as you're honest about it. I thought if I could be someone else, someone better, that would change everything. I could say I'm a soldier and nothing else would matter. I would suddenly be transformed. But that's not the way it worked. I was a good soldier, but I was also a kid who grew up with an addict for a mother. I had to learn how to trust in the people next to me, not just myself."

It was the most revealing thing he'd ever said about himself, and she was touched that he trusted her enough to share his story. "How did you learn how to stop running away from yourself, how to trust?" she asked.

"My staff sergeant locked me up for twenty-four hours one day. He told me when I was done fighting myself, then I could fight for others. Only then could I be the soldier he needed me to be. I was nineteen at the time and mad as hell about it, but all those hours with nothing else to do did finally make me stop and think about everything. He was right. I was a better soldier after that." He paused. "And you'd be a better baker if you didn't take on such a ridiculous amount of work, if you acknowledged that you can be happy even if you don't remember or relive every moment of the past."

"You're not exactly…wrong," she said slowly. "I did think that coming home would feel more like home than it has. Don't get me wrong; I love Fairhope. But it's not the same. And I don't see my parents around every corner the way I thought I would." She paused. "I feel better when I bake. I can control my kitchen. Everything turns out beautiful. Outside, it's not always that way."

"No, it's not."

"But I mostly take on too much work, because I hate disappointing people. I don't like to say no. I don't want to be seen as weak or unable to manage my business. It's my dream job, and I have to be successful. There's nothing else I want to do. This is it."

He nodded. "I get it. But you can say no and still be successful."

"I'm going to have to work on that."

"I'm sorry if I came on too strong," he said.

"I guess I should be grateful you didn't try to lock me up somewhere for twenty-four hours," she said dryly. "Did that really happen, or were you embellishing?"

"It really happened," he said with a smile. "I was a hardhead. He wanted to knock some sense into me. It worked."

"Do you…" She hesitated over her next question, then decided since they were being so honest, she would ask it. "Do you forgive your mother for the way she treated you?"

He thought about her question. "Yes," he said finally. "It's taken a long time, and sometimes I still feel some anger, but I know that her addictions were always about her, not about me. She loved me, but she wasn't meant to be a mother."

"That seems like a very healthy perspective."

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