Page 105 of Someone Like You

Despite Mom’s concern about my sleeping arrangements, I deliberately dodged any plans to rearrange them, laying low for the rest of the evening and letting Issy take the lion’s share of parental attention.

After dinner, in the kitchen, I overheard Mom filling in Dad in about Douchebag’s phone call. A few minutes later, back in the living room, as Issy was listening to Monica tell the gory story of Aunt Christine’s bridal shop meltdown, he leant down and silently pressed a kiss to the top of Issy’s head. She grabbed his hand, and they exchanged a father–daughter look so steeped in meaning, it brought tears to my eyes.

So many tears tonight –andso much laughter. Raff has certainly been exposed to the full spectrum of Rivera Family madness.

But in the darkness, as I stare at the wall across from me where snapshots from high school and college surround the mirror above my old dresser, I debate whether to answer Raff or pretend to be asleep.

Sleep – hah! Impossible when Mom’s words keep rolling through my mind on repeat.

What if he’s secretly been in love with you all this time…?

Curiosity wins. ‘Hmm?’ I moan, pretending I’ve been yanked from the brink of sleep.

‘Sorry – I didn’t mean to wake you.’

I roll over and face him, scootching backwards so we’re not nose to nose. ‘It’s okay. Can’t sleep?’

‘No. Monkey brain – can’t stop thinking.’

I prop myself up on my elbow, assuming the role of best friend. ‘What’s on your mind?’ It could any number of things, but if he says, ‘Julia,’ then it’s going to be very difficult not to abandon him and go sleep on the sofa.

‘It’s… Am I doing the right thing?’

That doesn’t clarify matters. ‘About?’ I ask, my voice strained.

He expels a long breath and flops onto his back. ‘This is going to sound terrible.’

‘Raff –what?’

‘It’s just… Can I preface by saying I reallyamhappy for you – and you totally deserve the promotion…’

Ah, right. I get it now.

‘But it’s made you question whether leaving to work with CiCi is the right thing.’

‘Yes.’ He turns to me again, and in the dim light of the electronics charging either side of the bed, I can see his eyes are filled with doubt.

‘Hey…’ Instinctually, I reach for him, grasping his arm and sliding my hand down until it holds his, and he grips it as though his life depends on it. ‘It’s okay, Raff. But this is your dream, remember? You’re going to do amazing at Baked to Perfection. Think of all the joy you’ll bring to cake lovers everywhere. And you’re going to getpaidto bake cakes – epic, out-there cakes,’ I say, a lilt of laughter in my voice. ‘How many people can say that?’

His brows raise momentarily, his expression shifting to one of consideration. ‘True.’

‘You also get to hire a team, mentor up-and-coming bakers, build out a division – from scratch. And eventually, it will go national. You live for that shit,’ I say.

He chuckles softly. ‘You’re right. I do – as you say – live for that shit.’

‘And you’re great at it.’

‘Thanks.’

We share a smile.

‘I suppose it’s natural to have doubts,’ he says. ‘It’s a big change.’

‘Absolutely. I’d be worried about you if you weren’t having doubts. Doubts mean you understand the stakes. And this decision ishighstakes, so it makes sense that you’re scrutinising it from every angle.’

‘Really?’

I don’t know, Raff. I’m just making this shit up in the moment, I think.

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