Page 119 of Bake the Town Red

“The witch pattern on top. How’d you make it?”

“It’s a secret, but…” When I lean closer, as if to share a secret, the blonde does the same. “I mixed zinc powder into my frosting. Swiped it across the witch-shaped stencil. It’s tasteless, though. Just pretty.”

“Very.” The blonde’s smile widens, her cheeks flushing. “Was it inspired by your dress? It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you, but no, they weren’t inspired by my dress.” My new favorite customer doesn’t flinch when I expose mytoo-sharp canines in appreciation. She giggles again like she really likes me. “My mom used to bake carrot cakes when I was a kid. I hated it back then. Now, I use her recipe because I think it’sthatgood.”

“She must be so proud that you’ve taken after her.”

Mom. I miss her. The gentlest, kindest, most loving mother I could’ve asked for.

Telling my customer she’s dead won’t do either of us any good. Besides, the line is getting longer.

“Of course.”

“Pay For Your Cins next.” The customer can’t see the sadness in my eyes, and thank fuck for that. She points at the cinnamon toast cupcake, keeping her finger from touching my display window. “You must have so much patience, positioning the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal to look like it’s a knife cutting through the cupcake…” Her thumb and index finger pinch together and she brings them to her lips, doing a chef’s kiss gesture.

Grateful for the distraction, I fish that one for her and arrange it in the cardboard container next to its sister.

“Night of the Living Dead,” she singsongs, snapping my attention back to her. “That’ll be all.”

I wrap my fingers around the butterscotch cupcake.

“Hmph.” A frown tugs at my lips. The gray gravestone I put on top is crooked. It bugs me to no end, so I fix that before closing the lid on the three cupcakes and ring in the order.

Tapping on the register is less of a hardship today. The cuts on my fingers have healed. Tyler made sure of that. He kissed them better the last two nights we slept together.

Last night, when I was a little more awake, we talked. About everyday stuff. I’ve been craving it for years, and last night, while we were looking into each other’s eyes, we did just that.

We talked about his job. The code and endless meetings. He asked about the stray neighborhood dogs, and I told him I’m the one who feeds them. Didn’t say with what, though. Tyler didn’t ask.

When I changed the subject, he let me. We reminisced about the good moments we had together, in those first years after we became his neighbors. How Ian and I liked him that first day.

Well, I did. It took Ian some getting used to our new neighbor. My then-seven-year-old brother punched the seventeen-year-old Tyler for coming anywhere near me. He’d always been my defender.

Until he couldn’t be anymore. Then it was Tyler. And me. But that topic, like the stray dogs, was meant for another day.

Our conversation ended there. In the safe zone.

We didn’t discuss Ty’s ink. NoI know you know I know.

We will tonight.

“Next.” I motion for the pimpled teenage guy to come forward.

Bzz.

“Eep!” At the vibration in my apron, I stop everything I’m doing. Tyler. He promised he’d text me at noon, and he did yesterday.

It’s noon now. This has to be him.

“Did I do something wrong?” The lanky guy’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry for taking forever, I—”

“You’re good,” I assure him. No need to scare someone…for no reason.

While the teenager studies the display, I check my message.

Tyler:He better not be looking down at the cleavage of the dressIbought you. Your tits are mine.

---