Page 41 of Because of Me

Shaking my head, I sidestep to the tall cupboard beside the bench. My eyes are still twinkling in Amira’s direction as I wrench the double doors open. I turn barely in time to catch the mass of containers as they begin to topple.

“Did you use every container you own?”

Amira races over to me, taking her share of the load and stacking the fallen tubs on the bench. “Actually, I had to go to the store to buy more.”

Most of the rectangle containers are clear, revealing all manner of Amira’s speciality treats. The flower-shaped cookies, pink and cream and green macarons, cupcakes waiting to be iced, square slices in what appears to be every flavour imaginable. And a container of sticky looking, log-shaped pastries.

“Is there an event at the boutique?”

She turns in a huff, and I watch her shoulders rise and fall as she plays with her hands in front of her waist. “No,” she puffs out before turning back on her heel. “If you must know, I bake when I’m stressed.”

Right.

“And you’re stressed because …”

I have a feeling I know why, but I need her to say it. It’s only been a few days but there’s an unwanted tension that fills whatever room we manage to share. I thought I made my feelings as clear as I could, but the more standoffish she becomes, the more I’m trying to figure out what else I should be doing or saying.

Leaning against the counter, Amira grabs one of the tubs and holds it to her chest. “Because of you.” Her shoulders droop as she seems to reconsider, then shakes her head. “No, because of me.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I want her to feel comfortable opening up, I want to know what’s going on inside her head so I can … I don’t know. Solve it?

“Stop being you?” Her fingers fiddle with the clip on the lid. “This is all new territory for me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or how I’m supposed to act. I don’t know how to not turn into a pathetic puddle of goop every time you look at me, and I don’t know how to be in control again. I don’t know how to trust myself not to fuck it all up.”

“I thought you liked not being in control?” My cock twitches at the memory. She didn’t just like it, she revelled in being told what to do.

Amira rolls her eyes. “In the bedroom, sure.”

“And out of it, apparently.” My eyes dart to the corner of the room, where Kitch’s new climbing tree now stands obnoxiously bright. Amira follows my gaze to the corner, her cheeks turning that delicious shade of fuchsia.

“Sometimes,” she mumbles with a shrug. “But sex is sex. And even then, I’m always in control. Tell me you wouldn’t have stopped if I told you to.”

“My dick was down your throat, Cupcake, I don’t know how you would have formed words.”

“Ugh, will you just understand the point? It was only in there because I practically begged you for it. And you would have stopped the second you knew I wasn’t enjoying myself. I know because I trust you. I’ve never really explored that side of my sexuality, because I never had that trust with anyone.” Dropping the container on a free slice of the Caesarstone bench, she unclips the lid and pulls out two biscuits. She throws one at me.

I fumble as I catch it, then look down at the odd blob of colours, trying to discern what it’s meant to be. The other biscuits she has made have been floral shapes, iced in delicate pinks and whites to match the bulk of the flowers Cassidy uses. But the one in my hand looks like it wanted to be a bow, but didn’t know how to tie the knot. Instead of intricate patterns in the icing, the colours blur together in swirls.

“I was trying new cookie cutters and I hated the shapes so I just used all the extra icing and we’ll eat these ones here. It still tastes fine.” Amira speaks with a mouthful of her own biscuit. She holds the back of her hand against her mouth to stop the food tumbling out.

Tentatively, I take a bite. The sweet dough crumbles in my mouth, mixing with the glossy icing. It may not have looked as decadent as the others, but I don’t know why I ever doubted Amira’s baking abilities.

“Can we go back?” I fear her abrupt change of topic was to signal she didn’t want to talk aboutusanymore, so when she nods my shoulders feel instantly lighter.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Trust is important. I know how you feel about relationships, and it makes a lot of sense you wouldn’t feel safe exploring when you were with other people.”

Amira hides her laugh, batting at her cheeks to hide the moisture forming in her eyes.

“Do you think pretending to be in a relationship with me is making you feel more at ease?”

Before answering, Amira finishes her biscuit and reaches in the tub for seconds. She throws another at me. “We have a lot of these to get through and I can’t sell them.”

“Are you avoiding the question?”

“A little.” She shrugs, moving past me to start stacking the containers back in the pantry. She inspects the contents of each one, choosing about half to leave out. “Could you take some of these to the winery? Not to sell but like, for staff? We won’t sell this many at the boutique and I doubt we can eat all the leftovers.”

“Show me which ones to take and I can, everyone will love it.” Taking a chance, I move closer to her, brushing my hand along the top of her arm.

Amira freezes in her tracks.

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