Page 11 of You Cake My Breath Away

In all honesty, the smaller table makes me grit my teeth because I have to be more aware of my body so as not to touch anyone. But there are no more empty seats. No seat beside me to remind me that I shouldn’t be at this table alone.

“Can you say the prayer, Archer?” Nora asks.

“Sure.” Archer nods and lays his poker chip on the table. He carries that token with him everywhere, like he’s holding onto a souvenir from a wild night gambling with a woman. I’d bet he never got her name, and that the chip is the only thing he has left to remember her by. But Archerisn’t the sentimental type. He doesn’t look back at situations and wish they could be different.

“Amen.” My momentary lapse is snapped by Archer’s voice.

“How was your week, Tilly?” Nora spoons fragrant collard greens onto her plate before passing the bowl my way.

“It was fine.” I shrug, surprised that she didn’t immediately bring up the loan discussion. I had planned on telling them more about the process, but with Archer here I don’t need to hear his negative comments on my business prowess. I’ll wait until the end of the night to corner him and ask him about the paperwork I found. “I dropped some of my new lemon bars off at the restaurant.”

“I’m glad you’re baking new items again,” she says. “I bet they’re fantastic.”

Getting back to my passion took a lot longer than I expected after Jessie died, but therapy is helping me climb out of that hole of grief, reminding me it’s okay to still enjoy things from my old life.

Jessie loved when I baked, pretended he was eating at Laduree in Paris any time I set a new recipe in front of him. After he passed, I spent months in a haze of grief, missing him and sick to my stomach any time I tried to bake.

“What did everyone think of your new bars?” Shantel asks around a mouthful of salad.

“They loved them.”

“They probably have no taste buds,” Archer teases.

“Archibald Wilson,” Nora chides just as Shantel mutters, “Ass.”

I grip my fork, willing it to stay in the juicy piece of ham I’ve skewered rather than lodging it into his eye. As best friends, me, Archer, and Jessie would playfully gibe each other, but that was the past and thecamaraderie to carry a remark like that hasn’t existed between us in a few years.

“Not everyone has a child’s palate like you do.” I meet his stare and hold it. I haven’t taken the time to truly look at him since he scared me on the doorstep. My lips snap together when I take in the beard he’s grown, the soft wrinkles at the corner of his green eyes, and the splotches of paint covering his flannel shirt.

He looks a wreck.

The little voice in my head reminds me that I’m not the only one who might still get smacked by the waves of grief, sometimes unable to take care of myself.

“I have a very sophisticated palate,” he replies, then adds, “For good food.”

“Be nice, you two,” Nora chides.

Archer holds his hands up in surrender like he’s doing me a favor when he’s the one slinging insults. I roll my eyes and shove a forkful of potatoes into my mouth just as a notification from a dating app—one of the three Shantel downloaded—dings on my phone.

“Someone’s got a match,” Shantel singsongs.

My face heats as Archer and Nora’s wide eyes land on me. With a swipe, I mute the sound and look down at my plate as if the mashed potatoes are a piece of artwork.

“A match?” Archer asks.

“It’s noth—”

“Dating app match,” Shantel interjects unhelpfully.

Flames lick at my cheeks and I inhale a sharp breath. Archer’s bunched eyebrows and pinched lips cause my throat to dry. Does he—like me—feel like I’m betraying Jessie by considering dating so soon afterhe passed?

I ignore the obvious tension in the air and focus my attention on Shantel. “Did you get that meeting you were working for?”

“Of course.” She sets her fork down and tells an animated story about the high-profile hair stylist she’s been trying to get to come work at the salon that fills the awkward silence.

The side of my face is hot, and I know Archer, with his perpetual frown, is staring at me.

After dinner, I focus on tidying the dining area while everyone else cleans the kitchen. My mind floats back to the mysterious paperwork and the loan. If I can’t get it, what will I do? What location should I pick since my dream one is already leased?

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