Page 5 of You Cake My Breath Away

I inwardly chastise myself. Jessie asked me to handle the construction aspect of Tilly’s bakery, but I’ve let it go to shambles—similar to mine and Tilly’s friendship.

My nostrils flare, and my nails bite into my palms. I have four months to keep my word to my best friend and get this place up and running, and I’ll be damned if I go back on that promise.

***

Hot water sluices down my body, warming my aching muscles and tinging the water pink from my blood-caked knuckles. After clearing all the cobwebs and dust, I pulled up the eyesore that was the puke-green linoleum flooring from the previous owner. I have a crick in my neck, but working with my hands helped me ignore the voice in my mind insisting I need to tell Tilly about this.

Jessie was supposed to do that.

These days I can barely get more than twenty words out of my mouth around her without finding a way to drive the wedge between us evenfurther. It’s my own fault. I’m a coward who managed to turn one of my best friends into an enemy because I couldn’t handle my own feelings. But the fact remains that I want to see Tilly happy and thriving—as I always have—and right now the only way I can do that is to make good on my word and get her shop ready to open.

I just need to find the courage to tell her about it.

I will…after I finish some work.

Shutting off the water, I towel dry and run a comb through my hair and beard. I grab my journal from the dresser and write a quick note to my brother about the day before dressing and heading outside to my workshop. My cell rings the second I flip on the lights, illuminating the various tools in disarray on the countertop and Mr. Johnson’s car propped up on the ramps, ready for an oil change.

“What’s up, Shanti?” I ask Jessie’s sister, putting her on speaker as I organize the tools.

“Tilly knows about the bakery,” she blurts out without a hello. Ice pours into my veins, and I curse the council for causing a stink. That’s got to be the reason she found out about it. Before I have a chance to ask, Shantel continues rambling. “I didn’t know what it was when she opened it, and I didn’t see it when we were going through the clothes to donate. I’m sorry, Arch. I should’ve found it first.”

“Whoa, Shanti. Calm down.” I lounge against the table, propping myself up on my elbows. “Take a breath and repeat what you said but slower.”

Her gulp of breath is audible, and I find myself seeking the same calming breath I’m coaching her to take.

“I was helping Tilly sort Jessie’s clothes for donation when she found a black box that had a bunch of legal paperwork with yours and Jessie’snames on it. I didn’t tell her what it was for, but she said she was going to call the firm to find out.”

“Fuck,” I exhale. I thought for sure it would’ve been Brahm and his cohort that ruined the surprise.

A surprise Jessie should be giving her.

I slide a hand along my beard, tugging at the stray strands. This bakery was his gift to her for their anniversary, but he didn’t make it. It was my responsibility to make sure what needed to be finished was completed.

I failed him.

I’m no stranger to being a failure—at least in my parents’ eyes—but knowing I let down my brother, and also my best friend, stings in a way I can’t describe.

“Arch?” Shantel’s wavering voice grabs my attention. “What are you gonna do?”

“What I have to,” I reply, pulling a large sheet of draft paper down to start a blueprint for Tilly’s bakery.

“How can I help?” she asks just as the network’s entertainment agent’s number flashes across the screen. Goosebumps raise the hair on my arms. What could they possibly be calling about? Did I mess up something on the application for the carpentry show?

I snap from my daze, sweat forming on my brow. “You can’t, but hey—”

“There’s gotta be something I can do.”

The vibrations in my hand continue.

“Listen, Shanti. I gotta run. Love you”

“No, Ar—”

I swap to the other line, hoping and praying I didn’t miss the call. “Hello?” My heart thunders in my chest, and a few beats pass whereI hear nothing but silence. I hold my breath, cursing myself for not hanging up on Shantel sooner.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson?”

A rush of air releases from my lungs. “Yes, I’m here.”

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