Page 85 of The Accidental Honeymoon

"I don’t know," I say, turning back to her. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

She studies me. I wonder what she sees. A man torn between his friends and his wife? Between what’s real and what’s pretend?

"Come on," I say, gently steering her down the sidewalk. "Let’s go home."

twenty-nine

CALLA

Outside my shop window,the snow that’s falling gently on the town square looks like powdered sugar, the kind I dust over our scones. It’s piling up on the windowsill and creeping in when customers come through the front door. I can almost taste its cold sweetness.

Erica and I have been working like maniacs to finish all the bakery orders. Fruit-flavored macarons, chocolate and vanilla cupcakes, and the chocolate éclairs all need to be finished today.

My favorite, though, are the mini king cakes. It’s Mardi Gras next week, so I’ve made individually-sized pastry wreaths, stuffed them with a sumptuous cream cheese filling, drizzled the tops with royal icing, and decorated them in purple, green, and gold sugar.

Yum. I put the finished trays of decorated king cakes aside. These are definitely going in the display window at the front of the shop.

“Calla, do you want me to start on the eclairs?” Erica asks. She’s got a streak of pink frosting in her blonde hair.I’m not saying it makes her look like a human cupcake, but I wouldn’t want her around if I had a craving for sweets.

I glance at the clock. “You can take off. The roads are getting bad.”

She hesitates. “Are you sure? We still have a ton to do.”

“I’ll finish the eclairs. Go on. I don’t want your mom yelling at me again.”

Erica shrugs, but I can see the relief in her eyes. She’s a good kid. But she’s also new to the driving game. I don’t want her to hit a patch of Atlanta’s infamous black ice and drive her car straight off the road.

“Thanks, Calla. See you Monday!”

I watch her bundle up and trot out into the storm with gritted teeth. She’s going to slip, I just know it, and then her mom will really yell at me. But she somehow makes it to her car intact.Whew!I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The bakery is quiet now. Only the hum of the refrigerators and the occasional pop from the old radiator break the silence. I like it this way. Peaceful. I’m definitely in my happy place, creating sweet desserts that will make other people feel loved.

Humming, I pick up a piping bag and finish decorating the last donut. It’s gaudier than the rest, a true testament to my love of tacky holiday sweets.

Why am I in such a good mood? I should be exhausted and stressed.

Maybe it’s all the hot sex I’ve been having, I giggle to myself. Who even am I right now? This isn’t me. At least, not the me I thought I was. I don’t do giddy, romantic moods. But here I am, smiling like an idiot because of a guy.

A guy who’s turning out to be way more than I ever expected.

I set the donuts aside and start on the eclairs. The dough is tricky and requires concentration. But I like the challenge. It keeps my hands busy.

Once I get the dough wrangled, I can let my mind wander. It’s been wandering a lot lately, usually in the direction of Jay.

I used to think his life was perfect, the kind of perfection you see in beautiful lifestyle TikToks. Curated and catalog-friendly. But now that I’ve seen behind the curtain, I realize his life is just as messy as mine. Maybe messier.

But he has a way nicer house than anyone I know. So there’s that.

The eclairs are finally in the oven and I start cleaning up. Flour and sugar coat the countertops like the snow on the ground in the town square. I swipe at it with a dishrag and watch it billow into the air.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jay: “Made it home safe. Where are you?”

I bite my lip. I type: “Glad you’re safe. I should be home in half an hour.”

He replies with a winking emoji, and I can almost see his smirk. A little flutter rises in my chest. It’s like he knows exactly how to get past my defenses without even trying. I don’t know whether to be comforted or terrified.

I’m having the best time faking this marriage. That’s the problem. When it’s time to call it quits, I’ll be more than sad.

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