Page 42 of For Butter or for Worse
“Her husband,” Georgie explains.
“Ah.”
For a moment, she and I stand here and look at each other, like neither of us is sure what we should do now that we’re no longer under the watchful gaze of ourtherapist. There’s no question Cecily will be back at some point and expecting us to continue, but what do we do in the meantime?
“You’ll need a piping bag next,” Georgie says after clearing her throat. When I open a drawer to grab one, only to find it full of towels instead, she bites her lip. “Sorry. I moved them to that one over there. It helps my flow by having that stuff closer to where I usually do the piping work.”
I ignore the flash of irritation that rushes through me. “Smart.” I mean that, even if the word came out a little rough. I can’t expect Georgie to operate exactly the same way Uncle Bill did, and swapping drawers isn’t the same as erasing someone’s memory.
With a piping bag in hand, I start loading up the batter and search for another topic of conversation. If I can keep her talking, she’s less likely to judge the mess I’m making as I try to get all the batter into the bag. “What about that fancy boyfriend of yours?” I ask. I regret it instantly but keep going. “Did you learn anything from him?”
I’m not sure I want to know what prompts the blush on her cheeks.
“Baking-wise, he learned more things from me than the other way around. We met on the set of that competition I was in, and the only reason he got first place was because the final challenge was his specialty. He got lucky. Most of the stuff we sell in theHome Bakedbakery are my recipes.”
“So why is he the one who gets to keep the show and stuff now that you’ve split up?”
She huffs in frustration. “That is a good question, Kingston. His name is the one behind the company, so he made the argument that I have no claim, and I was too tired of his crap to fight it.”
Now hereallysounds like an idiot, and I think I might understand why she wants to own Kingston’s instead of keeping it under my name. All things considered, she’s been very calm about everything even though it hasn’t been going exactly how she hoped. If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to hide my frustration.
She looks down at the half-full bag in my hands and nods. “Ready to start piping? You’re going to pipe in a circle, starting at the side and working yourway to the center, and you’ll want to make them about an inch and a half in diameter without ending with a point in the middle. I would demonstrate for you if I could.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Do one, and I’ll tell you if you’re doing it right.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“That’s a fun word. Not exactly a surf term, so where’d you pick that one up? A little smaller.”
I furrow my brow, as much in confusion as concentration as I do my best to pipe out the round cookies to her specifications. “You do know I went to college, don’t you?”
“What?” She bumps into my arm so hard that she completely messes up the macaron I was piping. “Why didn’t I know that?”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“I don’t know. I guess since you’re still working at the surf shack. You said you bought it when you were nineteen!”
I shrug, though it stings to think she wouldn’t expect me to continue my education. I know I’m small-town, but I like to think I have a big life ahead of me. Or, I did before Uncle Bill passed away and made me the last Kingston. Now dreaming of more for my life seems pointless. “The shack is only open part of the year, and Pete still managed it for those first few years while I was going to Charleston Southern. I worked the shop in the afternoons.”
“You still lived in Willow Cove?”
“It wasn’t that long of a drive, and I did half my classes online. I thought about moving to Charleston for the last couple of years, but I liked being around Uncle Bill too much.”
“What did you study?”
“Business.” And I would really like to talk about something that isn’t me. “You know people can have good vocabularies without getting a degree, right? You don’t have a degree, so you should be offended by your own surprise that I would use a word likemagnanimous.”
Color floods her face, but she smiles a little, so she’s not entirely embarrassed. She nods to the half-full tray in front of me. “Those aren’t completely terrible.”
“You’renot completely terrible,” I shoot back and then pipe a little circle of macaron batter onto her forehead.
She gasps, mouth gaping open. “I can’t believe you just did that. Especially when I can’t fight back!”
“We can’t have that.” I move in close, which both works to shut her mouth and gets me near enough to reach behind her. Working slowly, I tug loose the apron strings that have held her hands captive behind her back. I’m taking my time both so I can prepare for her counterstrike and because I’ve got a noseful of her intoxicating scent. I could stand here all night. “Never let it be said that I don’t fight fair,” I whisper.
When my fingers brush against Georgie’s hand, she curls her fingers around mine for a brief moment. A gesture of gratitude for freeing her, maybe? Regardless, her touch is as electric as it has been since her return, and I can’t help but close my eyes as I take another deep breath of the smell of her shampoo.
When I open my eyes again, I’m overcome by how beautiful she is. I’ve always thought so, but I must have forgotten how it felt to gaze into those green eyes of hers and see everything. All of her fears and hopes. There were times when I thought I could hear her thoughts just by looking at her, and I’ve either lost the skill or she’s saying there’s a chance she might stay.Please stay.
Georgie grabs the piping bag from my other hand and squeezes it in my direction. The green goop oozes out too slowly and plops onto the floor between our feet. We stare at it for a moment, neither of us saying a word, and then I crack, snorting a chuckle that quickly turns into a full-blown laugh when Georgie starts giggling.
