Page 61 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“No, I don’t. To be honest, I think your being nice to me is a giant red flag. I don’t need a savior.

“I can be.”

She scoffs. “I don’t believe in fairy tales, Ford. This isn’t a fantasy. In my story, the knight doesn’t exist. In my story, the damsel is fucked.”

“Okay, how about a friend? Everyone needs one of those.”

“I wanted friends. But your stupid friends and your high school sweetheart made sure I didn’t have any.”

She’s right. I can’t refute it. But I can change that.

“We aren’t in high school anymore, Dulce. We’re adults.”

She clenches her teeth. “Yeah, but what your friends did...”

She gets up, making the small table rattle, almost knocking over her coffee cup. I get up, ready to go after her.

“Please, Dulce. Let me make things easier for you. I swear, this isn’t about me. I want to help,” I say honestly. “Let me prove it to you. I know you won’t take my money, but there must be another way.”

“There isn’t,” she says with determination in her eyes. “Can you please take me back? I can’t be late getting home.”

Her grandmother. Sometimes I forget that she has a sick family member to provide for.

“Alright. I’ll take you back.”

The ride back into town is tense. I'm careful not to say anything that could exacerbate her existing hatred for me. After the kiss and staying with her after her panic attack episode, I thought we were getting somewhere. Not that I want to take advantage of her or anything, but I like her. I have to prove it to her, and I have to figure out a way that she can pay for all the things she needs. There has to be a way for me to help her.

After I drop Dulce off, I stare at the wall with peeling wallpaper and yellow stains on the corners, thinking of different ways I can help her.

I give up and call Derek.

“Hear me out. I need your help.”

His sigh sounds like a gust of wind. “What is it?”

“I need to help a friend promote her business here in town.”

“What kind?”

“Bakery?”

He chuckles. “The cookies? You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” I say quietly.

After a few tense seconds that made me want to reach through my cell phone and strangle him, he finally relents. "Okay, so we're discussing publicity and promotion, correct?" Increase sales. People are ordering and buying... cookies,” he says like he finds it lame to help me promote cookies. It's not the only thing she bakes and sells, but I bite my tongue.

“Yes.”

"Ford, you have a phone and an extensive social media platform with millions of followers.” He chuckles. “Post some fucking pictures of you and the owner eating fucking cookies. Take a couple more pictures and send them to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that what you pay me for?”

“Yeah.”

"Good. Send me the pictures and let me know when to send the bus with transport for your car. No more playing down memory lane if you’re not going to do shit there. Sponsors are getting anxious. Remember, you have a race coming up.”

---