Page 46 of The Second Chance Year

Heart heavy, I sink down on the front step of a random apartment building.

Kasumi isn’t going to give me a second chance. I blew it.

Since I’m already on Instagram, and I have no reason to hurry home, I switch over to Alex’s profile. When I wasn’t crying over sitcoms or eating chocolate chips straight out of the bag during my Very Bad Year, I was creeping on Alex’s social media feeds. It was about this time that the blond woman showed up, the one I’m pretty sure he started dating after he broke up with me.

But this time around,Ibroke up with Alex, and instead of a blond woman, his Instagram feed is full of photos of expensive cocktails and the guys from work hanging out at their usual bar. He must not be dating her. If I scroll back farther, there are dozens of images from when we were together. I don’t want to look, but my gaze is drawn there anyway. I focus on a photo of Alex holding two of my homemade strawberry rhubarb doughnuts up to his eyes like glasses.

I donut know what I’d do without you.

He’s been calling me, wanting to talk, and there are times I badly want to pick up the phone. But the person I want to find on the other end is the Alex who would take silly photos with baked goods to make me laugh. The Alex who believed in my career and not just his own.

It took me two times around this same year to realize it, but Alex isn’t that guy anymore.

Feeling more alone than I have in a long time, I haul myself off the stoop and keep walking. What if I called Owen to spill everything? Not about my second chance year, because my brother would definitely wonder if I’d fallen headfirst into a pot of dulce de leche when I started going on about wishesand fortune tellers. But I could talk to him about all the other stuff… Alex, and Xavier, and Jacob.

My shoulders slump. I can’t talk to him about Jacob. I can’t tell him his best friend tossed me aside like a fallen soufflé. Aside from the sheer humiliation I’d suffer, I do love my brother and wouldn’t want to harm his friendship with Jacob. And I shouldn’t break the news about the promotion at Xavier’s until it’s official, either.

As I approach Higher Grounds, the café glows from the pendant lamps hanging above each table, and their warmth spills out the picture window and onto the sidewalk. I peer in to see who’s working tonight. José Luis stands behind the counter, smiling as he places a cup and saucer in front of a customer whose back is to me. I’m about to pull the door open when I realize I’ve seen that back before. It was in my apartment, and the man attached to it abruptly decided he wanted nothing to do with me.

It never occurred to me that our ill-advised make-out session would result in a joint custody arrangement, but apparently it has. Jacob quit stopping by Higher Groundson the days I make pastries there, and I’m slowly backing away from the door now that he’s inside.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’ll go home and celebrate my impending promotion with popcorn, Netflix rom-coms, and my cat.

There’s nothing sad about that at all.

Chapter 24

It’s not my usual day to bake at Higher Grounds, but Zoe texted to see if I’d come in and make another special order. We’ve been getting more customers who try my pastries at the café and then ask if they can place large orders for more. I’m a sucker for anyone who loves my baking, so I haven’t been able to say no. But it means that I’m spending my days running back and forth between Higher Grounds and Xavier’s, and when I finally fall into bed at night, I dream of pastry flour and confectioners’ sugar.

The extra money is helping me to grow my Someday Bakery fund, and I can tell it’s been helpful for Zoe, too. Right now, she’s sitting at the front counter with her laptop open to a spreadsheet, and she looks like she’s ready to tear her braids out of her head.

I slide a croissant in front of her, and she looks up from the computer. “Is there any possible way that two hundred and twenty-five minus three hundred and eighty-three isn’t a negative number?”

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re asking the person who scraped by with C-minuses in high school math. But I’m going to go out on a limb and say no?”

Her shoulders slump. “Damn it.”

“I’m sorry.” I top off her cup of coffee. “Anything I can help with?”

She sighs and rips off a bite of the croissant. “You’re already helping—Mmmm. This is amazing. Is that apricot?”

I nod. “It’s a new recipe.”

Zoe slams the laptop shut and pulls the plate closer. “Thank you for coming in to do these special orders, Sadie. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but… they’re really helping to keep this place afloat.”

“I’m sure it’s expensive to run a café like this.” I’ve been saving to open my bakery for five years. If Zoe is struggling to keep Higher Grounds going, will it ever be possible for me to run a place of my own?

Zoe tears off another piece of croissant. “It was easier when I first opened about ten years ago. But my rent nearly doubled recently, and unless I increase my prices to match, it’s harder to keep up.”

“But if you raise your prices too much, people will just go to Starbucks.”

“Exactly.”

“Higher Grounds is so special, though.” Unlike so many Brooklyn coffeehouses where, unless you have the perfect oversized flannel shirt, high-waisted jeans, and slouch in your beanie hat, you’re an outsider from the minute you walk in. Here, Zoe makes everyone feel like they belong. Even crazy cat ladies and lonely, gruff older women and shy musicians with a special place in their hearts for lonely, gruff older women.

“Thanks. I really wanted to create a space where people would feel welcome. And a community for musicians and poets and local artists.”

“Well, you’ve definitely done that.” There are packed performances like the one for the pink-haired singer-songwriter several nights a week, and a revolving display of artwork on the walls. But with Williamsburg real estate beginning to rival Manhattan prices, none of that probably brings in the kind of money Zoe needs to keep this place in the black.

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