Page 26 of The Likelihood Of You

Much to the dismay of the little voice inside of me, that had spent the last two weeks yelling at me to stay away from Jacob and ignore how acrobatic he made my heart, we’ve spent a considerable amount of time together since he found me at the lookout.

Whether that was him spending his lunch break sitting with me, or him somehow finding me in one of the far corners of the set as I tried to hide from Wes and his pastry addiction. Somehow, he was never far away.

It was just small talk for a while, chats about the weather and whatnot. But something that I discovered over the course of our conversations, was that there was a very thin line between the weather and telling someone your life story.

The highlight, though, was our heated debate about the plot of the up-and-coming WickerManor: Part Three book. When I say heated, I mean heated. We sat for a good portion of our lunch hour arguing about this, ignoring the food in front of us, and both of us sporting mocking scowls at each other for the rest of that day. It was the first time since meeting him that I felt a slither of annoyance towards him, but I quickly got over it later when he flashed me his smile; then I was back to crush-mode Florence, the one with eternally rosy cheeks and a wannabe gymnast heart.

We may have also made a bet that when the book gets released, whoever’s theory is closest to the actual plot owes the other a hundred dollars, Pin’s coffees and complimentary pastries for life. I’m praying to God that she hears my pleas that I’m right because if not, it looks like my inheritance won’t be used for a deposit on a house. Instead,it will be spent making Jacob Emerson full of sweet carbs and fully caffeinated for the rest of his life.

Although, would that give me an excuse to call him a friend for the rest of time? If it does, this bet is a win-win situation for me. So long as I remember to put the emphasis onfriend.

I catch myself pulling at the hems of my cable knit cardigan and snatch myself away from my thoughts. This is actually the first time I’ve seen him today, and I’m glad finally I’ve spotted him… because I need a favour.

As much as I hate the way my body is threatening to curl up and shrivel away from the guilty feelings that are eating away at me for doing this, I need to.

With my savings looking like they’ll be on track for a while, the only thing I need to focus on now with the bakery plan is what I’ll actually bake. My plan is to have a pastry case stoked with traditional English cakes and pastries, something that’s not the typical cupcakes and cookies menu I’ve seen all over the city.

If I was going to succeed, the bakery needed to be unique—something with a selling point and a dozen reasons for people to come back.

But before I went in all guns blazing and started to shove apple crumble and Victoria sponge cake in the faces of everyone in New York, I needed to do test runs. I needed an American—an American who has already shown an interest in baked goods. So I make a beeline over to Jacob’s dressing room.

I reach the foot of his door, taking in the letters of his name that are stuck to it, before knocking. Not two seconds later, his eyes are gazing into mine, as he pulls the door open, revealing his cosy, casual outfit that makes the pool of nerves become a whirlpool.

“Hello, Florence.” He says, his voice all deep and annoyingly attractive. "Come to retract your bet about the Wicker Manor plot, have you?"

A hopeless sigh slips through my body, knowing how utterly fucked it was if this was how he planned to interact with me for the rest of the time I was working here.

And do you know that feeling, when your adrenaline kicks in so much that it feels hard to stand, or even breathe? How even the slightest movement would have your legs turn to ashes? That’s how I feel with Jacob smiling down at me, arms folded and leaning against the door frame, like he knows this is sending my heart over the edge, even though it has no right to.

“No, because even you know I'm right about what's going to happen. You'll admit it soon enough.” I squeak, looking down at my feet and then back to his eyes. “I…uh, I actually came to ask you something."

Before I could stagger out the question that had taken over my thoughts all day, he says, "Is it whether or not I think Wes is starting tofancyyou? Because I think if you bake him anything else he won't let you leave his line of sight again."

My head dips forward, like the weight of his stare is enough to force it down, before springing it back to him. "No!" I chuckle, "I was going to ask—"

"Whether or not you're allowed to change your plot theory? I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Flo."

I managed to ignore the velvety way those words slipped from his smirking lips before turning on my heels. "Right, I give up—"

I lift one of my handsup in defeat, but as I go to storm off from him, one of his hands grabs my wrist, tugging me back towards him gently, but not so gently that I don't accidentally stumble into his chest.

"Woah, woah, hold it." He laughs, probably from the way my face is trying so hard to be serious. When all I want to do is laugh right along with him. "I'm sorry. Ask away." He urges, those eyes switching from playful to wholesome with terrifying ease.

I take a step back from him, my hands immediately flying to the already frayed hems of my cardigan, before sucking in a breath that his touch knocked from me.

"I don’t know if you’re busy at all,” I hesitated for a second, realising I’d forgotten how stupidly helpless his stare made me feel, like my insides were melting away the more those cinnamon eyes branded me. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

His smile only grew the more I spoke, and I tried my hardest not to make it mean anything, because it likely didn’t, as his subtle dimples came out and distracted me.

“What kind of thing do you need help with?” He asked, unfolding his arms and sending a wave of leather and iris my way.

“I don’t know whether I mentioned it when you saw me at the lookout, about wanting to open a bakery here… in the city.”

“You did.”

Breath, Flo.“Oh… great. Well, anyway, my whole plan is to stock typical English treats, but before I do that, I need to find out whether it’s something New York is ready for.” I suck in a breath, ignoring how wobbly my legs are getting. “I was hoping to use you as a trial run for the recipes I’ve got lined up so far… ifthat makes sense?”

When I stop rambling, he looks down towards his feet, my immediate gut feeling telling me he’s going to say he’s busy, or has dinner plans with the final famous Robert, leaving me stumped as to why I didn’t just ask Addy instead, or you know, do things on my own like I’d sworn to.

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