Page 50 of We Can Do
“Uh, yeah. Every single time. Remember when I first started dating David? I practically stalked his Instagram going back three years.”
I burst into laughter. “Yeah. Same. Except Noah barely has social media.”
We fall into comfortable silence, the tires humming against the pavement as we cross the bridge to the mainland. The water sparkles on either side, boats bobbing in the distance. I make a decision and type out a text to Noah, telling him about the box,the threatening note. I need to tell someone besides Devin, and his opinion matters to me more than I want to admit.
The three dots appear immediately—he’s typing. Just knowing he’s there, on the other side of the phone, responding to me, makes my chest loosen.
Are you okay? Do you want me to come over? I can leave the bakery.
My heart swells at his concern.
I’m fine, I’m with Devin. Let’s talk tonight?
I smile when I see the dots appear again.
I’ll call you later. Promise.
“Are you worried he might be like Miles?” Devin’s question is quiet, careful, pulling my attention from the phone.
I suck in a sharp breath. She knows some of it—that Miles and I had a bad breakup, that he was controlling about my health. But not everything. Not the worst parts.
“No,” I say slowly, really examining the feeling. “He doesn’t act like Miles. Miles was always trying to fix me. And then—after we broke up—he wrote this article.”
The words taste bitter, like bile rising from somewhere deep. “It was titled ‘How to Support Partners with Chronic Pelvic Pain.’ Published in Men’s Health. He made it sound like it was all my fault for not trying harder to ‘overcome’ the pain and maintain a normal sex life. Like I was choosing to be sick. Like I wasn’t doing enough.”
“Are you shitting me?” Devin’s explosion is immediate and fierce. Her hands tighten on the steering wheel until her knuckles go white. “I didn’t know that! I mean, you told methat he’s a journalist, but... God, Alexis, that’s awful. What an absolute asshole. That’s a violation. That’s—that’s abuse.”
“Yeah.” I press my lips together, willing the familiar sting to fade. It’s been almost five years since the article was published, but talking about it brings it all back—the humiliation of seeing our private life dissected for strangers, the rage at his betrayal, the crushing knowledge that it would live on the internet forever.
“Are you afraid Noah would do something like that?” Devin’s voice has gentled.
My inhale is deep, cleansing. “No. I trust him.”
The words surprise me even as they leave my mouth. But they’re true. Bone-deep true. Noah has never once suggested I’m not trying hard enough. Never implied that my condition is something to be overcome rather than accepted. When I told him penetrative sex was off the table during flares, he just nodded and asked what would feel good instead. No disappointment. No frustration. Just acceptance.
“I know it’s complicated,” I add, needing to voice the reality. “Me being his editor, our messy history with the reviews... but I think we can navigate it. Things feel so easy with him. He—he makes me feel safe. Like I can just be myself, flares and all.”
“Wow.”
“What?” I turn to see her shaking her head, a small smile playing at her lips.
“I’ve never heard you talk about someone like that. You sound... settled. Happy.”
“I guess Noah is... different.” The smile that spreads across my face is involuntary, unstoppable.
“So what’s next? You keep learning how to bake from him?” We’ve reached the edge of downtown, passing the veterinarian’s office with its cheerful painted paw prints in cotton candy colors—Flick putting her signature yarn colors stamp on Sebastian’s practice—taking the bridge to the mainland.
“We’re ready to start working on the book’s front matter. The introduction, modifications to recipes for different dietary needs. Technical stuff like that. But I want to keep testing the recipes myself. I’m kind of the ideal guinea pig—the book is specifically geared toward sourdough newbies.”
“And that’s you.”
“That’s me,” I chuckle. “I didn’t even know what a starter was two weeks ago.”
“You sure you don’t want to stop at Rye Again?” Devin checks as we pass the turnoff. “We’re so close.”
“I don’t want to look too desperate.” I grimace, even though every cell in my body wants to say yes, wants to see him even for just a minute. “Plus, I’ll see him later. I can wait.”
“No problem. You won’t, though.”
