Page 2 of You Cake My Breath Away

She thankfully doesn’t push me on my distant relationship with my father and snags the last scone as I pull the first box toward me. A rubber duck, an Astros bobblehead, a few old action figures and some random tchotchkes from Jessie’s childhood fill the cardboard box.

“That butthead.” Shantel snatches a rabbit’s foot keychain from my hand, holding it up to the light with drawn eyebrows and tight lips. “I knew he stole my lucky charm, but he would never fess up to it.”

I scoff. “A lot of luck it gave him.” Wishing I could shove the words back inside, I cover my mouth, hopeful Shantel didn’t hear my crass comment over her chewing. My cheeks immediately flame when I look up and find her jaw unhinged. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.” As if shame is exuding from my being, I cover my face.

Grief is a weird thing. One day life is going along as planned—you go to work, grab groceries, cook out over the holiday—and the next you’re sitting in the shower crying so your sobs are muffled by the spray of water on the tile. Since Jessie died, I’ve cried, I’ve screamed until my throat was raw, and I’ve thrown more items than I can count. What I haven’t done is laugh.

“Don’t apologize.” Shantel reaches out as if to comfort me, but I pull back, still unable to withstand her touch.

Shantel shrugs with a wry smile on her face. “If you can’t joke with your dead husband’s sister, then who can you joke with? Amiright?”

“There’s something very wrong with us.” I sigh and close up the box with the trinkets. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

“What are sisters for?”

I try to smile at her, but I’m bone tired, my energy zapped from the roller coaster of emotion I’ve been riding this morning. I’m about to call it a day when a sleek black box tucked behind the fire extinguisher on the floor catches my eye. It’s no wider than a standard notebook with gold embossed letters.

“Malacko, Zook, & Pierce?” I muse aloud, running my hand along the raised writing.

“What’s that?” Shantel sidles up next to me on the floor, and her forehead crinkles as she reads over my shoulder. “A law firm?”

I bristle at her closeness, and she backs off, moving to sit in front of me with her legs crossed. Sliding a sweaty palm down my jeans, I try to ignore the nausea now wreaking havoc in my stomach. My mind spins with a thousand reasons why he could’ve needed to consult a law firm—and why he hid the paperwork.

“Are you gonna open it?” she asks just before I allow myself to spiral. With clammy hands and a pounding heart, I lift the lid. As if she’s not staring at the same pad of papers on my lap, she adds, “What is it?”

I sigh heavily, ignoring her question as I flip through the stack, scanning each line for some idea of what I’m looking at. The papers are all out of order, as if Jessie dropped them and scrambled to put them back together. A memory from a few weeks before he passed slides to the front of my mind.

Shantel and I watched cheesy rom coms, making it into a drinking game any time the love interests stared longingly at the other, while Jessie hung out in his mancave with his best friend, Archer. It’d been a long time since we all hung out as a group, something that seemed to occurless and less since Jessie and I started dating. After our third movie, I was ready to climb into bed. Jessie followed not long after that, creeping into the dark room, trying not to wake me. I slid out of bed to check on him when he was in the bathroom too long and found him on his knees in the attached closet. He startled, but when I asked him what he was doing, he told me he tripped over his shoes. In my drunken state, I didn’t question it.

Maybe I should’ve.

“Looks like a contract for something.” I organize the papers by number, hoping that reading them in order will enlighten me to the content. My heart thrums in my ears, bringing heat to my chest as I thumb through the pages on the closet floor. I touch the base of my neck, shaking my head as my gaze lands on words that make no sense.

Asset: Property. Establishment. Purchase price.

There was no mention in Jessie’s will about any other businesses or estates. Our house was paid off thanks to his sales commissions, and my scholarships took care of most of my student loans from culinary school. Outside of those expenses, we had nothing.

Jessie wouldn’t have bought something without talking to me beforehand, or at least I don’t think he would’ve. My gut churns, worried there’s an outstanding bill I’ve missed payments on.

I flip the page and my gaze lands on the familiar swoop of the letter ‘J’ in Jessie’s signature, right beside the ‘buyer’ line. I flinch back, blinking when I read the name next to the seller.

Archibald Wilson.

My husband’s best friend.

Chapter two

Tilly

“Can I see it?” Without waiting for an answer, Shantel tugs the paperwork out of my hands.

Glancing around the closet, I search for answers I know aren’t there. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.Did we?Doubt creeps in the longer Shantel reads, and I scrutinize her face for any hint of understanding. Slowly, her lips pull in, crinkling at the corners as she purses them.

“What?” I ask.

“I dunno.” I catch what I think is a flutter in her jaw, but she shakes her head and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “You’ll have to ask Archer.”

I roll my eyes, blowing out air through my nose. That’s the last thing I want to do. Where there used to be camaraderie and mutual respect between us, it dwindled to grunts and scarce eye contact once Jessie and I started dating. I thought Jessie’s passing would’ve brought us closer, maybe evened out the terrain where our friendship hit rough patches, but it’s done nothing except increase the distance.

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