Page 72 of Beautiful Mess

“Ow, shit!” I hiss, dropping the piping hot round cake pan onto the cooling table.Fuck, that hurt.

“What happened?” Sara Beth asks, coming around the corner.

It doesn’t take but a second of examining the oven mitt covering my hand to realize the issue. “Oh, there’s a hole so I just burned the hell out of my finger. Love that for me.”

“Ouch. Girl, I’m sorry. Come over here.” Walking over to the sink, she switches on the faucet. “Run it under the water for a bit, and I’ll go grab the first-aid kit.”

Standing at the sink, I avert my gaze to the ceiling, willing the tears to go away. I’ve been burned dozens of times, many way worse than this, which is basically a paper cut of a burn, and I’ve rarely cried. I need to pull it together. Sara Beth comes back with one of the white and red boxes we keep in a few places around the bakery, and she makes quick work of applying burn cream and a bandage. The whole time, she doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t ask me anything that would require much of an answer, which I appreciate. I’m sure she can sense that something is up with me, but she also must sense that I don’t want to talk about it.

Once she’s finished, we both get back to work while I pray like hell the second half of my day is better than the first.

Today has been a day from hell. From the minute I woke up this morning, I knew it was going to be trash, and I was right. My hot water tank is on its last leg and seems to be declining rapidly. As somebody who enjoys her showers damn near scalding,especiallyfirst thing in the morning, I wasn’t happy about starting my day standing under a stream of lukewarm water at best. Honestly, after that, I should’ve taken my cold, unhappy ass back to bed and stayed there, but of course I didn’t do that. If there’s ever a day to play hooky, it’s today, and I’m currently cussing out past Grace for not listening to her gut. I can count on one hand the number of personal days I’ve taken for myself since opening the bakery that didn’t involve a severely ill child.

Work-life balance? Don’t know her.

Then on my way to the bakery, after I dropped my kids off at school, the check engine light came on in my car. The car Ijustbought last year. Who knows what the hell caused that, but it’s probably going to cost a fortune with how things seem to be going for me, on top of the new water heater I’m going to have to buy a whole lot sooner than I was planning. My horrible morning continued as soon as I got to work, because why wouldn’t it? First, the employee toilet somehow overflowed, flooding the bathroom and part of the hall with at least an inch of water. I spent the first several hours of my morning cleaning up disgusting toilet water off the floors and sanitizing the hell out of everything, only to realize the issue must’ve been from a pipe bursting in the wall sometime overnight.

The kicker? It’s the wall that the bathroom shares with my office.

It wasn’t until I finished mopping and was finally able to put my stuff away in my office that I realized the extent of the issue. The entire wall and the bookshelves lining it are all water damaged. Thankfully, the plumber was able to get here quickly, but since it happened sometime in the middle of the night when nobody was here, the damage was already done. Most likely, I’m going to have to tear down that wall and replace it, and I don’t even want to think about whatthat’sgoing to cost me. Not to mention, hiring somebody to do it who isn’t going to rip me off.

The only company that comes to mind, who I know to be fair and trustworthy, is Conway’s, but I don’t think that’s going to be an option I explore any time soon. It’s been a few days since Cole walked in on me and Conway, but I’m no less embarrassed than I was that day. Not only because he caught us having sex—which yes, thatisa big, humiliating part of it because, no matter how hot theideaof getting caught is in the moment, the reality of it is much more sobering, especially when the one catching us is my ex-boyfriend who also happens to be the son of the man penetrating me—but also because of the fact that I let myself get into another position where I’m inevitably going to get hurt.

As soon as Cole walked in on us, reality hit me in the face, and I couldn’t get out of that laundry room or Conway’s house fast enough. In the back of my mind, I’ve always been at least acutely aware of the fact that Conway and I could never work. Sure, I wore rose-colored glasses at all times, making myself believe I was okay with that or like we’d never have to face it. But coming face to face with my ex-boyfriend as his dad just finished coming inside of me put everything into perspective. It ripped those glasses right off my face and made that voice in my head, saying it could never work, louder and harder to ignore. Like, I couldn’t be blissfully ignorant to it all anymore. There’s no way this is going to end with me getting Conway. That’s hisson.

How fucking stupid of me. I bitch and whine and feel sorry for myself because every guy I’ve ever cared deeply about has left me and broken my heart, and what do I do, jump into bed with a man who could never pick me. And not even because he wouldn’t want to, because I do believe that Conway cares about me, that it’s not just about the sex for him, but it doesn’t change anything. It may have been years since me and Cole broke up, but I doubt that makes it any less weird for him, seeing somebody he used to be in a relationship with be with his dad. In no universe do I see him being okay with this, and I would never make Conway choose between me and his own child.

I’ve purposely been avoiding Conway since that day, but certainly not for lack of effort on his part. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up at my house unannounced with how much I’ve been putting off talking to him. But I know what’s going to happen when I do finally answer one of his calls, and I don’t want to face it yet. I care about him a whole heck of a lot more than I thought I would, and hearing him end this is going to hurt like hell. Hearing him say what I already know—that Cole’s his son and he can’t do that to him—is going to cut deep, and I guess avoiding him is postponing that pain, even if only temporarily, having yet another man I care aboutnotchoose me in the end.

But in the same breath, it’s also not fair to Conway to ignore him and shut him out. I need to grow up and just do it already. Rip the Band-Aid off.

Deciding to make that a task I handleafterwork, I go through the motions in the kitchen, attempting to get back on track for the day despite the late start we had. Luckily, there were orders that needed to be picked up, so it’s only the items we keep stocked up front every day that I have to focus on. With my phone connected to the speaker I keep in the kitchen, I turn on my favorite baking playlist—80s and 90s hits, of course—and clear my mind while I focus on my work. Baking is my career, yes, but it’s also always been so therapeutic for me. It’s calming and comforting, and an excellent source to direct my energy to when I need to stop overthinking or need to get out of my own head for a while.

“Grace.”

My name cuts through the music and my concentration as I’m wiping down the counter sometime later, and when I glance over in the direction it came from, Daya, one of my afternoon cashiers, is looking at me with a puzzled look on her face, and I’m wondering if that’s not the first time she’s tried to get my attention.

“Sorry, guess I was in the zone.” I breathe out a small laugh, brushing the strands of hair that have fallen from my messy bun out of my face with the back of my hand. “What’s up?”

“There’s someone here for you,” she offers.

“Oh, uh, do you know who it is?”

My pulse races, knowing I’m not expecting anybody, and if it were one of my siblings or my parents popping by to say hi, Daya would’ve already clarified that.

“It’s Mr. Levine,” Daya says cheerfully.

Despite having a feeling that’s who it was, it still makes my heart sink into my stomach anyway.So much for handling this after work.Realizing my time’s up, I clear my throat and set the wash rag down on the counter, forcing a smile on my face. “Thanks, Daya. Let him know I’ll be right out.”

Fuck, I don’t want to do this.

My palms are already shaky and sweating, and I haven’t even seen him yet.

Giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts and calm my racing heart—or attempt to—I make my way toward the front of the bakery. Chatter reaches my ears before the lobby comes into view, but despite how busy it is right now, my gaze still somehow finds Conway immediately. My throat tightens as our eyes meet. Looking like he came straight from the job site, Conway stands with his shoulder rested against the wall near the front entrance. A navy-blue baseball cap sits atop his head, with his sunglasses resting on the bill.

This is going to hurt.

Pressure builds behind my eyes as I walk over to where he’s standing, my heart a giant lump in my throat the entire time. “Hey,” I murmur softly, hating how awkward this is.

---