Page 38 of Sweet and Salty

I didn’t mean to say it, but her gaze snaps to mine, and despite all of my reservations, I hold it. I want one moment like this, with her. I am a horrible, selfish bastard. “You’re a strange man, Jesse Vanek.”

“You have no idea.” I lean back against the kitchen counter, grounding myself with the feeling of Formica through my T-shirt. “So why didn’t you apply to those cooking shows when you were younger? More misplaced feelings of inferiority? I don’t know you that well, but there’s nothing inferior about you.”

At this, she blushes bright red and fiddles with the still-unopened bakery box. “It wasn’t a good time.”

“Why not?”

Around us, curling wisps of cooking hot dish perfume the air, wrapping us in a cozy sort of intimacy.

She sighs with one long exhale. “I was going to. It was after college, and I had a job at this restaurant, apprenticing with a pastry chef. Mostly washing dishes, honestly, but I liked it. It was challenging, and creative, and I was learning so much. Then Ma got really sick. And I needed to come home. I needed to help while she was dying.”

She says it so simply, but I hear all sorts of story behind that sentence. She needed to come home to help her family. She gave up her dreams for theirs, buried herself in caring for others to push the grief further and further away until it’s a depthless pit at the edge of memory. A pit with fourteen warning signs taped over it.Here be dragons.

It’s relatable. Lately, my mental Pit of Dangerous Memories grows about six inches every week.

She shakes her head and forces a smile. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came to ask a favor. That’s why I brought pie.”

“You are letting me stay in your apartment and eat your food, and have refused every single offer to pay you. So, I’m pretty sure whatever you ask, I’ll still be in your debt.”

“Careful, there. It’s a big ask.”

“Yes.” And I mean it. Whatever she asks. Take her to Thailand. Fuck her senseless. Buy her a minivan and fill it with rescue puppies. Lasso the moon.

Laura Marshall deserves every single yes I have to give.

Again, she catches my gaze, startled. I probably should have toned it down, but I’m hungry, and Laura Marshall is simultaneously everything I shouldn’t crave and everything I can’t live without.

“Okay.” She takes a small step back. “There’s this wedding tomorrow. I have to go, because I made the cake and the bride wants to be sure all the animals get packed up properly afterward. Anyway, my ex, Chris, is going to be there because life is unfair. I could go with Frannie, but I really don’t want to show up with my sister.”

I process several things at once, although I still can’t quite figure out what she means about packing up animals after a wedding. Not the point. “So you’d like me to go.”

“Yes.” Her cheeks pink, accentuating her freckles.

“As…” I’m fishing, and I know it, but I can’t help myself. I’ve heard all the innuendo at the hardware store over the last two weeks, about me and her. She hasn’t brought it up, so neither have I.

“Friends.” The pink deepens into a pale red. “Or like a fake date?”

“A friendly fake date.” It sounds even more absurd aloud, but what else do I have the right to expect?

A line appears between her eyebrows, a second before her face lifts into a smile. “Right. Exactly. I mean, half the town already thinks we’re sleeping together, so it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to dance with me or anything. Just, if you come, then it might be more fun.”

Half the town thinks we’re sleeping together? I’ve assumed it’s more like eighty percent. “And you can stick it to your ex?” He is an asshole, whoever he is.

She blushes again. “Yes. Not that you care, but he deserves it.”

Of course he does. He never should have let Laura go. I already hate him, and the thought of torturing her ex sounds like a much better use of my time than binging home renovation videos while I devour whatever pie she’s brought.

“I’d love to go. I’ll be your fake date.” The fake part sounds less exciting, but if it means a night with her, I’ll take it. “I mean it. I owe you and your family everything. This is a small repayment.”

“Not to me.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’d better get going. Your hot dish is about to burn.”

“Stay.” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Time to backtrack like a champ. “Sorry. I just mean, there’s plenty of food. If you are hungry. Or haven’t eaten, or anything.”

“Oh.” The line appears between her eyebrows again. “If I’m not imposing—”

“It’s your food. You should taste it.”

“Okay.” Her posture softens, as though a barrier has fallen between us. “I am hungry. Thank you. And hey, there’s pie for dessert.”

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