Page 91 of Between Love and Loathing
“Are you kidding me? You loved these the first time you tried them, and you just said they would do in the bakery.”
Dominic glanced at a jar over in the corner of the kitchen and had the audacity to walk over to it, open the lid, and pop a chocolateI had not madeinto his mouth.
Motherfucker. My jaw actually dropped before I stomped over to snatch the jar and grab a chocolate for myself. “What’s so good about these? You told me you don’t like chocolate.”
“No. I said I don’t like to indulge in it. There’s a difference.”
I popped one in my mouth and chewed it. Then I turned to spit it out into the sink. “These are terrible.”
“Pretty much abominable,” he confirmed.
“Why would you eat these over everything I’ve offered you?”
“I’m already addicted to your pussy, baby. It’s the best dessert you offer. I don’t need to be addicted to anything else.”
I rolled my eyes. He chuckled and scooped me up like a baby. “Come on, little fighter. You’re sleeping in my bed.”
I shook my head, laughing at how ridiculous he was, but my gaze landed on the wall of pictures he’d put up just a few days ago and I blurted out, “Why are those pictures there? Are you having guests over because if so—”
“I just wanted pictures up of people I care about.”
I think I lost my heart there. Lost it all to him. “But I’m up there.”
“Yes. Well, I think I might care about you most.”
Nothing should have been intimate with my fake boyfriend. We should have gone to our own separate beds and forgotten about the sex we’d had that day. But his words and his actions imprinted themselves on my heart. Those pictures on his wall were in color.
Bold.
Beautiful.
Devastating color.
He would have told me just weeks ago a picture of color on his walls would have marred his whole home. Now, they hung there like a statement piece. My heart was fueled by it, consumed by it, and probably hypnotized by it.
From that point forth, he’d become my real boyfriend. I couldn’t help it. I made him breakfast, hung out with him through the day, laid in his study while he worked in the evening. We laughed. We discussed the resort. We made changes together. It felt real. It felt good. It felt like a space I wanted to be in for the rest of my life. There and in his bed. It’s where I slept every night until the reopening of the resort.
CLARA
Just a week until the opening, I got the call that the flowers were being installed in the ceiling of the bakery along with the Sugar and Spice Bakery sign.
Standing there and seeing it happen was supposed to be a happy moment. I stood on my own and watched them work since Dominic had a meeting and Paloma was at her store.
Without anyone by my side, I took it in. The sunlight on the bright-white curves of the lettering popped against the black backdrop. They’d woven small red, orange, and pink poppies through the last couple of letters, accenting it perfectly.
As more and more flowers threaded with lace were carted in and a crew stood on ladders to position everything correctly, I tried to hold back the stinging behind my eyes, especially when it was all done and one man came up to me to say he thought it turned out beautifully.
I offered all the workers poppy cupcakes, and they gushed over the unique recipe.
Something about watching the final touches happening to the thing I’d worked so hard to accomplish had tears streaming down my face. Both happy and sad ones. The happiness of completing it warred with the sadness that this part of the journey was over, that the climb to the top had ended. I didn’t want it to end even though I knew it was just beginning. Each first step was a final one and with its finality came a sadness I hadn’t expected.
By the time I walked into my bakery and took in the floral smell mixed with the spices I’d added to a few drink concoctions this morning, I’d cried more than I wanted to admit. I took a couple pictures and sent them to Evie, who’d been begging to see, and then I posted a snapshot of the ceiling to social media.
I sighed as I turned to the wall I still had to tackle. If I finished this, I could rest for the day, or maybe two days, before the reopening. I pulled at my neck and winced as some of the pain traveled through my body.
I’d already bought a white paint can and cracked it open. I took my time lining the blue tape the best I could and even watched an online video on how to keep it nice and straight with a paint brush. I was halfway through and feeling quite proud of myself when Dominic walked in.
“Clara Milton,” he sighed as I turned to him, coughing just a little. His gaze narrowed on me. “You told me you were hiring someone to do this.”
