Page 34 of You Cake My Breath Away

What did he say when she asked him? How did she know there was something wrong between us? Would me having feelings for Archer be the worst thing? In my heart I know the answer. It’s a betrayal. I was married to her brother. In love with him. How could I so easily forget all we shared just because my body and brain are confused?

“There’s nothing going on,” I say, my voice a little too high.

She laughs. “Mmhmm. So why aren’t either of you coming to dinner?”

Like the idiot that I am, I shrug like she can see me. “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask him why he’s not there, but as for me, I don’t feel up to it. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but I can’t…” My voice wavers, emotion clogging my throat. “I can’t deal with it right now.”

“Okay.” The fight leaves her as quickly as it ramped up.

“Thanks, Seester.”

Nora sighs in the background when Shantel tells her I’m not coming before the line goes dead, and I know my absence hurts her. I hate how much she’s had to go through with losing Jessie, and I know if Archer gets this job and leaves, it’ll be like another son lost too. I’ve been trying to keep my mind off his impending departure, but I can’t deny the nauseathat wracks my stomach any time I think of it. One by one everyone I care about leaves.

Instead of spiraling, I refocus my thoughts like my therapist taught me and decide to bake.

Nothing sounds good though.

I need fresh flavor profiles.

Anytime I was stuck on a new recipe, Jessie would tell me manual labor always seemed to push him into a new headspace to work through problems, something about using different parts of the brain. While I primed and painted the wainscoting, new recipe ideas popped into my head.

Music fills the kitchen as I throw my hair up into space buns, wrap an apron around my waist, and grab the flour, eggs, sugar, and baking powder for the multiple desserts I intend to bake. Even though it’s not necessarily fall weather in Texas, a cranberry, pear, and apple tart seems like a good recipe to start with.

Relaxing into the moment, I sift flour into a bowl, mixing all of the dry ingredients before adding the applesauce to keep my cakes moist. With each scrape of the bowl into a cake pan, my shoulders ease down from my neck.

Twenty minutes pass, and a knock at my door has me walking to the front window with my rolling pin in hand. I relax when Shantel’s beaded braids come into view.

“What are you doing here?”

“We figured you needed some company for your mental bakedown.”

I snort. “My what?”

“You know,” she shrugs, “like a breakdown but instead of crying you’re baking.”

Nora slams the car door shut and pops her head around the garage. “Hi, sweetie.”

Her smile brings a tear to my eye, but I blink it away. She’s the best mother-in-law a girl could have, and Shantel isn’t too bad either.

“You guys didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“We drove like six streets over,” Shantel replies, pushing through the doorway. “It wasn’t a burden, I promise.”

A part of me wants to embrace them, and it terrifies me. Having Archer’s hands on me changed something, but the fear still lingers. Will the next person I allow to touch me leave their imprint on my skin? Will my brain no longer be able to differentiate Jessie’s—and Archer’s—touch from others?

“We brought more flour and sugar.” Nora holds up a grocery bag.

“How did you know I was baking?”

Shantel laughs. “You’re stressed, and baking makes you happy. We assumed and were correct.”

“Touché,” I reply.

Crowded around the kitchen island, we each take on a dessert. I hand off the tart to Shantel while Nora gets working on a cardamom and apricot cookie. Baking specialty cakes is where my heart truly lies, but my parents’ restaurants are more laid back. They wanted the typical chocolate cake so they could pair it with vanilla ice cream, not a decadent triple layered pineapple and blueberry sponge cake with buttercream icing and a walnut dusting on the side. I’ve never been one to get excited for weddings, but I can get behind eating wedding cake any day of the week.

“Can you pass the brown sugar?” Shantel asks, gathering the ingredients for the tart’s crumble.

Like a teacher, I check over their work to make sure they’re measuring correctly and mixing in the right order. Baking is chemistry—I’m phenomenal at Chemistry. It’s the whole reason I met Jessie and Archer.

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