Page 64 of Invisible String
That’s a promise. I never have and never will. I leave part of my soul with her. Who am I kidding? She’s always had a hold on it.
I grasp the metal handle of my battered Nova and tug the creaky door open, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles to life with a familiar growl. As I glance over myshoulder, I catch a glimpse of Rainey standing on the porch, her gaze locked on mine for a brief moment before she forcefully shuts the front door with a resounding slam. The echo of the closing door reverberates in my chest, and it feels as though a shadow has descended, engulfing my world in darkness. The sun no longer looms over me.
How ironic she read all ofThe Thorn Birdsto me. Why she chose to read that book at a young age is beyond me. I understand it now. A forbidden relationship that never got a happy ending.
As I speed down the slick road, my car’s tires struggle for traction on the steep incline. The towering trees of the forest blur past, casting shadows over the winding path. My chest heaves with unbearable pain. But I keep pushing, keep going. My hands shake. I want to say fuck it and tell her everything, but the damn bastard’s voice rings in my ears. It will destroy her.You are the trigger. Forbidden.
Once I’m two hours out of the five hours I have until I get to Vegas, I turn on the radio. The first song that plays is “To Love Someone” by Benson Boone, which blasts on my out-of-balance speakers. I’m not into sappy music, but the song fits my mood. This heartbreak crashes through me, brutal and unrelenting, like a rusted knife straight to the chest. I lost my mom, and it was crushing, but this pain is different.It’s the pain of loving someone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
RAINEY
Four years later
“Watch it. Hot buns out of the oven,” I shout to my employee, Isabella, who’s rolling dough on the opposite side of me. I am placing the searing cookie sheet on the metal table. The cream cheese drizzle is the right consistency for the cinnamon buns. With a spatula, I spread it evenly, and every damn time, my mouth waters.
The thirty different flavors of cookies are all baked and ready for display. I walk into the dining area and glance at the newly decorated bakery. Maroon-and-white paint coats the walls, giving it a welcoming vibe. A portrait of my mom hangs on the walls when she won aFood Networkchallenge for the best macaroons. She smiles widely, her beautiful brown hair shoulder-length, and next to her is Duff Goldman. He was one of the judges.
“I miss her. She was always such a kind woman. She lit up when she cooked and baked,” Isabella says in her accent. Isabella started working with my mom four years ago and became close friends with her.
“Me too. I think about her every damn day.” Mom passed away a year ago. When she became ill with cancer, I dropped out of school to care for her. She fought me the whole time. Someone needed to watch her and keep an eye on the bakery. Besides, the nurses Dad tried to hire were not too friendly during the interview.
She clears her throat and rubs my back. “Your mom would be so proud of you, honey. Look at this place you created. You made her dream come true by opening a café in Las Vegas.”
I wipe a rolling tear. I closed her bakery in Carson City a couple of months after she passed. She had planned on opening her bakery here in Vegas when my dad moved them out to be closer to the doctors she was seeing. She searched for the perfect building, but her cancer progressed, and she stopped fighting. I can’t say she stopped fighting because she fought for three years. It’s me who wished she fought harder, but that would be unfair. She was tired.
My mom wanted me to go back to school, but my dream no longer filled my heart with joy. Living my mom’s dream is more fulfilling. “Thank you for being here, Isabella. You are such a lifesaver.”
Isabella brings me into her motherly embrace. She’s warm and just what I need—a hug from the woman I love so much. She’s pure kindness. “I’m always here for you,mija.”
I believe her. She’s helped me transform this café into not just any ordinary bakery, but a bookstore as well. Isabella came up with a great idea to bring a little bit of Mexican flavor into my bakery by serving pan dulce, and I thought, well, I can serve my mom’s favorite soups and sandwiches as well.
“Enough crying, let’s get the doors open,” I tell her, looking around the shop and peering at the books on the shelf. My mom loved reading, and I was lucky she passed that knowledge on to me.
I flipthe sign to open and unlock doors, and a couple of people waltz in with a smile on their beautiful faces. “Hey, gorgeous.” Andrew, my long-time friend since we were in middle school, walks in. He plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “The place looks amazing.”
“Thank you. How about a treat?” I offer him.
His broad smile has me chuckling. Andrew is indeed a handsome man. He finished law school and is a business partner with my father.
“I’d love to be your first customer. How about a red velvet cookie or cupcake?”
I grab him a peanut butter cookie instead. Something about red velvet takes me back to a place I buried under a rusted floorboard. “Here you go. These are to die for. Nice and sweet.”
“Sweet, just like you.” He laughs when I roll my eyes at him. He takes a bite. “You’re right. These are good. You’ve always been a great cook,” he says, taking his wallet out.
I shake my head at him. “On the house.”
He tosses a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “I said I wanted to be your first paying customer.” He licks the crumbs on his lips. “How about we celebrate with dinner tonight?” He steps aside, waiting for my response. We’ve danced to this tune for too long. Andrew has always had a crush on me. I’ve only seen him as a long-time friend.
“I don’t know…maybe next time.”
He frowns childishly. “Oh, come on, Rainey. Have a nice dinner with me. You deserve it. You’ve been through so muchthis year.” He takes the last bite of his cookie. “It’s not like it’s a date. Just two friends having dinner. Or unless you want it to be a date.”
I don’t miss his cocky tone. Andrew is one of those guys who has women falling at his feet. He was that jock all the girls wanted to date, especially in college, playing football. He’s getting irritated because I’m not one of those girls he’s used to. Since my mom passed, he’s been trying a little harder. Maybe it’s because he’s been there for me this whole time, and we’ve spent more time together. Especially now that he works at my dad’s law firm.
I sigh. “Okay, dinner.”
