Page 92 of Between Love and Loathing
“I can do it myself,” I retorted and turned back to the paint.
“Really?” He walked up and pulled back some of the blue tape. That’s when I saw the white was now bleeding onto the pinks. “You didn’t line the walls correctly and it’s still a skill that—”
“I’ll do it again.” I stood up and shooed him away as I winced.
“Clara,” His voice was low. “You need to quit working and go home. The bakery looks stunning, and we can finish the rest tomorrow.”
“Stunning?” That’s all I heard.
He tsked. “I won’t say it again.”
“Why are you here then if not to keep complimenting it? Don’t you have work to do before we open?”
He nodded. “I came by to give you this.” He pulled a small red box from his trouser pocket and shook it in front of me as I wide-eyed it. Then he grabbed my wrist and set it in my dirty paint-speckled hand.
“What’s this?” I whispered.
“A gift.”
“For what?”
“For perfecting Sugar and Spice. It’s everything you wanted to accomplish and more.”
His compliments never came willingly and were so far and few between that this one meant the world. I also knew he meant it—that he truly was as happy as I was with it.
I think for someone to truly appreciate the highs in their life, they have to experience the lows. I’d graduated from culinary school without my mother in attendance. I’d had birthdays with no cakes, no mentions of it, and no apologies for forgetting.
My mother and sister didn’t call to get an update on the opening of my bakery. Instead, it was to ask about Dominic.
In comparison to those lows, the high with Dominic and his gift was remarkable.
Tears streamed down my face as I opened the box and saw a gold cupcake hanging from a chain.
“Dominic,” I whispered. Smiling through the tears, I said, “Please put it on me.”
He turned me around and undid the chain to lay it over my collarbone where his hands brushed softly against my neck. I held my hair up and he latched the clasp before murmuring into my ear, “Cherry on top because your lips taste like them. And if you don’t let me taste them now, I’ll be pissy the whole rest of the day and not let you fiddle with this stupid wall.”
I jumped up and kissed him hard, squeezing him tight and breathing in the scent that now felt like home. He might have been my fake boyfriend but he was everything I’d ever wanted, what I never knew I needed.
When I pulled away, Paloma was in the doorway with puffy eyes that looked like she’d been crying. “Paloma, what’s wrong?”
“Just a bad review in an article about the name of my store. It doesn’t matter.” She waved it off now and her brows slammed down before she breathed out my name in concern. “Clara, do you have a death wish?”
“What?” I tilted my head confused.
She rushed in and rounded the counter to turn on my back kitchen fan before she closed the paint can and then turned a furious glare on me. “You have lupus. Do you understand? Painting with no ventilation is—”
“What?” Dominic’s question sliced through the air cutting off Paloma halfway into her rant.
I winced and Paloma’s mouth snapped shut. When I turned to look at Dominic, in his face, I saw a flurry of emotions. Disbelief, then anger, then sadness, then something that looked a lot like fear.
He said the question again, softer this time but no less lethal. “What did you just say, Paloma?”
She shook her head fast when she realized what she’d done. “Sorry but you need to wear a mask. Or hire someone! Breathing that paint is bad for anyone and lupus doesn’t have one-size-fits-all triggers.” She started to backtrack out of the bakery and hurried to say, “Talk to you later. Your bakery with the flowers and the sign looks beautiful. Love you, bye.”
Willing myself to start this conversation was like gearing up to face one of my bullies head on. Hiding my condition, which was probably what I should have admitted I was doing, was easier than sharing it, than recognizing it, than accepting it. I’d avoided the sign from my body when I hurt, I told myself I was fine over and over, and I talked myself into believing no one needed to know.
“So, it’s not a big deal but—”
