Page 19 of You Cake My Breath Away

Happiness is what I want to feel, but betrayal crowds my chest, pressing against my ribs as I struggle to breathe through the tears. I stare at my wedding ring, lifting it to my first knuckle as if I’m ready to take it off then slamming it back into the webbed part between my fingers.

My phone dings beside me, and thinking it’s a text message from Shantel, I grab it and swipe the screen. My social media app opens to thememoriespage. Pictures of me from a decade ago, covered in flour as I baked cookies for a school bake sale with my mom, flood the screen, bringing a smile to my face.

She always believed I had what it took to become a baker, always urged me to chase after my dreams even if someone told me I’d never measure up. It’s her voice in my head that reminds me this bakery is a blessing. I just need to get out of my feelings about it being kept a secret.

I continue scrolling and my breath catches in my chest when a picture of me and Archer slides onto the screen. We’re sitting beside each other in the library, books spread across the wooden table, laughing about something. The knot in my chest loosens as I think about how easy things used to be between us, how comfortable we were in each other’s presence.

We were baby-faced college students hopped up on caffeine and delirious with exhaustion during finals. We spent every waking moment together, and I remember being enraptured by him and his good looks, like every other girl in our graduating class. He was charismatic, funny, and nice to me. He didn’t ostracize me for memorizing the periodic table or for my funky clothes, he made it a point to include me in everything he and Jessie did.

The reminder of Jessie barrels through me and I’m right back where I started, wallowing in my grief. On a whim, I delete all the dating apps from my phone. Right now, the only thing I should be focused on is the bakery my husband left me.

Shantel told me before she left that if I want the bakery, it has to be opened by the end of the year or else the city council is going to petition to have me evicted from the spot. I doubt they can actually do that, though I wouldn’t put it past them to try.

I remind myself of all the positive things that can come from this: the freedom to make the desserts I want, a store I can decorate however I please, and the chance to make my mom and Jessie proud. It’ll all be worth it once I see the open sign in front of my bakery.

My phone chimes with messages from Nora telling me to come over. I force myself to get out of bed and dressed. She doesn’t live far, so at least the driveis short.

Nora’s house smells of apples and cinnamon—her favorite fall scents—when she opens the door with a wide smile. Inside the foyer, a cascade of white pumpkins are stacked on and around two vintage suitcases, and by the splash of maroon and burnt orange décor across the fireplace mantle in the living room, it’s apparent Nora is ready for Autumn—even though temperatures don’t get below sixty until at least January in San Antonio.

“Thanks for stopping by.” Nora ambles toward the hallway, waving me over with a weathered hand. “Shantel said you might want to check through some of these boxes.”

“Boxes?” I set my keys on the hook and follow her.

She ignores my question, continuing to Jessie’s old room. A loud thump in the garage startles me. I glance at the closed door, worried her pipes may be about to burst when the clonk sounds off again above me.

“Is something wro—”

“Here you go, pumpkin.” She opens Jessie’s door, and my mouth pops open at the boxes stacked neatly against the wall.

His entire childhood fits in ten boxes.

“You inspired me to go through his stuff to donate to the local shelter.” She stares at the room with a forlorn look, as if the now bare walls are an exact replica of her heart after losing her son. She blinks away a tear, and the corners of her mouth lift as she inhales a cleansing breath. “I’ve needed to do that for a while now.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at the light in her eyes. It wasn’t only me that was living with the past, shackled down by the weight of loss, unable to move forward in a life where half of my heart was missing.

Another thump from the ceiling startles me. “What is that?”

Nora huffs. “A leak in the ceiling. Found it the other day when it rained all over my car…inside the garage. Had to call the best handyman in town.” She stops outside the doorway and turns back, placing a box of tissues on the long dresser. “If you need anything, let me know.”

I watch her walk into the garage, curious as to what handyman she called. Normally, Archer would’ve been the one summoned, but seeing as his car wasn’t in the driveway when I pulled up, she must’ve hired someone else.

Before I have a chance to get grumpy about everything that happened, I let my gaze fall to Jessie’s belongings. My fingers twitch, and heat prickles my skin as I step toward the first box. Last time I went through his stuff, I found paperwork that led to the discovery of the bakery.

What secrets will I find this time?

With a deep breath, I open the first box. Sketch after sketch of characters from Jessie’s favorite anime show are piled inside, the orange and yellow colors still vibrant years later. Imagining him lying on his bed watching the cartoon, trying to get the exact curve of Goku’s hair correct, makes me smile. I lay a few of my favorites to the side and move on to the next box. Business certificates, licenses, and employee records are inside, and I grab it to drop off to his old business partner who bought his portion of the company after he passed.

Between his retro console collection—a Sega Genesis, an Atari, a Super Nintendo, an N64, an Xbox, and two different Playstations—and his baseball card collection, some kids will be very happy to receive these items. I spend the next hour filtering through his favorite band t-shirts, his educational awards, sports memorabilia, and more trinkets like the box he kept at our house. My husband was very good at organization for his business, but apparently not so much when it came to getting rid of things he didn’t need anymore.

A small box in hand, I take one last look at what was my husband’s teenage room. It feels different than I expected. There isn’t a weight onmy shoulders, nor did I need to reach for the tissues the entire time I was rifling through the boxes. A sense of peace overwhelms me, as if he’s up in Heaven, cheering me on for keeping my promise to restart my life.

I step out into the hall, closing the door behind me. I don’t look back but forward, heading away from the past and toward the future.

A clang inside the garage stops my feet outside the door. Nora’s laugh chimes loudly, and I can’t help but look inside to see what’s going on. She stands at the foot of a ladder with her head tilted toward the ceiling where half of a body disappears into the attic access. The man stretches, and the black tee beneath his flannel shirt rises enough to reveal smooth tan skin covering a ripped abdomen and a deep V disappearing into his pants. Tight Wrangler jeans showcase muscular legs and a round butt, and places I thought long dormant awaken in the pit of my belly.

I’m too busy salivating over the bottom half and how the denim strains against his muscles to realize the handyman is moving down the ladder.

The box slips from my hands, clattering to the ground when my gaze lands on the face attached to the physique I was just admiring. A pair of luminous green eyes ensnare mine, and vomit shoots up my throat as I’m frozen in place.

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