Page 54 of Bake the Town Red

Tyler has had minutes and hours and months to realize fate isn’t an entity. That it’s not a hanger, waiting for us around the corner. He should’ve realized already that being with me isn’t dangerous. I won’t die of it. He won’t, either.

Then again—ugh. My eyes aren’t even open yet and I already roll them. Maybe the fact that I’m alive and well and have been for four years convinced him otherwise. Proved his point to himself.

Oh, man. I’ll have to up my game if that’s the case. Will need to bait him better than I already have.

He’ll give in, eventually. Right?

Right?

Or he won’t.

Angry tears well behind my closed eyes. They tickle the corners, itching to get out.

Focus, Dahlia. Think of your cupcakes.

Trick or Cheese. The first Halloween cupcake I ever baked. A take on the basic cookies and cream cheesecake withmy own unique twist. I crush the cookies and use the crumbs to spellBOO!on top.

The idea came to me while I was still Tyler’s ward. During those days, I loved Halloween out of spite to the dead Al. He wouldn’t get to win. I would.

When I told Tyler, my nerdy, beautiful, and strong guardian about my idea, he loved it. He loved that I wanted to have Halloween specials once I opened my shop. Encouraged me to come up with a whole collection of those.

He didn’t spell it out for me—didn’t have to—but I could tell why. He wanted the old memories of Al gone, same as I have. Wanted new ones to be written in the pages of my history instead.

Thinking of him doesn’t make the incessant need go away. It only makes it worse. My hand is dying to sneak beneath the covers. But if I do that, Tyler will be all I think of. Then I’ll cry because he’s not here.

Some mornings are just like that. Painful.

Ingredients. Focus on the ingredients.

Sandwich cookies. Vanilla extract. Powdered sugar. Heavy cream. Unsalted butter. Sugar. Cream cheese. Eggs, can’t forget about those. And the large delivery that’s due later this morning.

So many cupcakes are due as well.

No time for wallowing.

No time for anything other than getting out of bed.

“A Post-it?” I scrunch my nose. Tear the piece of paper off the pillow.

For the tiniest moment, my heart swells. Tyler was here. We—well, I—had pressed lots of Post-its to the furniture at his old place when I was his ward. His grandma thought it was cute that I pointed out he snored. Tyler would smile or tell me that I was lying.

I was.

The man sleeps like… not like the dead. Like a statue. Peaceful. Brow furrowed sometimes. Never snores.

But that was my way of letting him know I snuck into his place at night.

Just like he did last night. He was here and I was asleep.

He was here and he left me an empty note.

What the fuck is this?

I hate this stupid mood. Hate that I can’t control my wallowing.

And I refuse to be upset. I refuse to allow this other feeling to come over me. This no-Tyler pain that attacked me on Halloween four years ago. I can do it without Tyler in the meantime.

Because Al’s not here. Al’s not here. Al’s not here.

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