Page 15 of For The Weekend
“Oh.”
I feel my mouth forming into a semblance of a smile. It probably does look weird. Doesn’t feel weird, though. “You can ramble. It’s okay.”
She releases a loud breath that relaxes her shoulders, and I don’t like that she was so tense about it. Like maybe not everyone in her life lets her be herself.
Fuckers.
“Ramble all you want.” I shrug. “I’ll listen.”
She grins, and I have that feeling again. Like the Hulk smashed me.
“What are you doing on October 16th?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not.
“Uh, I don’t know. Do…you…need something?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and waves her hands around by her ears. “No. No. Never mind. Only me being silly. So, uh…” She whacks my left bicep and then sort of pats it, which leads to squeezing. I clear my throat, and she snaps out of her trancelike state.
“Welcome to the neighborhood and all that,” she says, overly brightly, and warmth spreads through the hole the Hulk smashed in me. I like her. I like her bubbly yet slightly odd and chaotic energy. Especially when she blushes. “And thanks for helping me with the flour.”
“No problem.” There’s something about this woman that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I want to know her better. I should since I’ve been fucking her every day in my mind.
“Hey, Elle, are you going to make any more fruit tarts this week? Someone’s asking about them.”
Eloise and I both turn to the interruption. “Oh, um…sure.” When the employee’s eyes flicker to me, Eloise glances at me like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “This is Roman. Roman, this is Morgan.”
I tip my chin in greeting as I take in Morgan’s purple hair, septum piercing, and the name tag like the one I’d seen of Mio’s. Morgan’s readsthey/thembelow their name.
“Hey.” Morgan nods at me before looking back to Eloise for her answer.
“Morgan keeps my shop running,” she tells me, which earns a vivid red blush from her employee. Then she motions to them. “I’ll make the tarts as soon as I can get an order of fruits in. I only have strawberries and blueberries right now. Or, I guess I can always make a berry tart,” she muses and looks up to me as if my opinion matters. “People would like that, right?”
I lift a shoulder. “I like berries.”
Her answering smile lets me know it was the right answer. She gestures to Morgan. “I’ll have berry tarts made tomorrow.”
“Got it.” They slip back through the curtain, leaving Eloise and me alone once again.
“I should let you go,” I say at the same time she says, “You probably have things to do.”
She giggles, low and sweet, and I don’t want to leave but I do have to pick Mazie up.
“Come with me,” she instructs, placing her hand on my arm, steering me through the black curtain toward the front of the bakery.
I feel out of place traipsing through the delicate pink-and-white interior in my heavy boots, torn jeans, and faded Linkin Park T-shirt, but Eloise grins up at me like I’m made of fucking rainbows and glitter, and I think I’d do just about anything to have her always look at me like that.
I don’t know her well. Hell, I don’t know her at all. Only that she has a sense of humor about herself, tends to ramble, and can pull a smile out of me.
But I have the feeling she can make anyone smile.
Make anyone fall in love with her.
We stop by the front counter, where she waves to a woman with a toddler seated at a table. “Heya, Tabby.” She lowers her voice like a monster. “Hello, George.”
George, the toddler, shrieks in laughter, waving a piece of a muffin in his chubby hand while his mother attempts to make him sit.
Smiling to herself, Eloise packs up the last cinnamon roll and hands it to me. “For your help earlier.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
