Sweet Cheeks(10)

The colors in the sky begin to fade as I clean up the back room and take a few phone orders. What I really want to do is run upstairs to my apartment atop the bakery and grab a quick shower. But I figure if I wait until we close, then I can reward myself with a glass or two of wine while soaking in a hot bath.

The bell jingles again and I hear a man say, “Good afternoon.” Something about the sound of his voice gives me pause, and I stop long enough to notice that after a few seconds, DeeDee hasn’t responded.

“Dee?” I call out as I move through the doorway to the retail front. She comes into view first—eyes wide, mouth agape—staring straight ahead. I immediately open my mouth to apologize to the customer for her rudeness, but the words—just like my heart—stop abruptly when the customer comes into sight.

I feel like every part of me staggers backward, and yet my feet stay completely still, as a pair of chocolate-brown eyes meet mine. A cocky yet cautious smile slowly curls up the corner of his mouth.

That mouth. The one that whispered sweet nothings. Lies. Told me he’d stay forever. And left without ever saying a word.

It’s like the air has been vacuumed from the room. I struggle to draw in a steady breath, and time seems to stand still as we stare at each other.

Because it’s him.

Hayes Whitley.

An older version of the boy who walked away all those years ago. Washed his hands of me and what we had without a word. The one who broke my heart in every way imaginable and stole more than just my innocence when he drove off.

Seconds pass. They feel like those first weeks after he left—long, confusing, and painful. And the hurt I thought I’d let go of years ago, slams into me like a battering ram.

But hell if I’m going to let him know it.

“Ships Ahoy.” His voice . . . silk over gravel. How can it still cause goosebumps to race over my skin despite everything? How can that stupid nickname I haven’t heard in almost ten years still ruffle my feathers and make me remember things I thought I’d purged from my memory? How can it make me say the one name I swore I’d never say again?

“Hayes.” My voice is calm. Even. Expertly disguising my racing pulse and the sudden surge of every imaginable emotion overwhelming me.

“It’s been a long time, Saylor.” No smile now, just a set jaw with intense eyes fixed on mine, and a flex of his hands at his side.

“A lifetime.” I break his stare and look around at my fledgling cupcake shop and suddenly feel completely inadequate. My cozy, little bakery compared to his larger-than-life public career. I wipe my damp palms on my apron, smear some frosting in the process, but am too overwhelmed seeing him again to care. I take a few steps forward, nerves suddenly jittering within, and have never been more thankful for the counter in between us as I am right now. A barrier. Some distance. Anything to break the pull those eyes of his have always had on me.

I glance over to DeeDee. I don’t have the wherewithal to try and figure out if the shock blanketing her face is because the famous heartthrob, Hollywood A-Lister Hayes Whitley is standing in Sweet Cheeks or because he obviously knows me somehow.

Her eyes flicker back and forth between us in an uncomfortable silence, amplified with years of unanswered questions before she nods as if she knows we need a moment to ourselves. She glances back to Hayes for a second and then leaves us alone.

I turn to physically watch her retreat into the kitchen area and use the few seconds to try and get over the shock of seeing him again. But when she disappears, I have no choice but to turn and face him. Unsure of what to say, I address everything but the elephant in the room. “Congratulations on all of your success.”

“Thank you.” His voice is soft—almost apologetic—and it pulls my attention to look closer to see the unspoken questions flitting through his eyes. He begins to speak and then stops. Hesitates. Looks down at the cupcakes in the case beside me then back up to me. “You look great, Saylor.”

His unexpected words surprise me. The simple compliment flusters me. And while a small part of me preens that he notices how I look, I also know he’s lying. Being splattered in a ticker-tape parade of blue frosting doesn’t look good on anyone.

But I need this reminder of just how smooth Hayes Whitley can be so I can rein in the strange mix of emotions I’m feeling. The familiarity from seeing an old friend and the bitterness of being left behind by my first love.

I’d prefer to hold tight to the bitterness and anger than acknowledge that fledgling flutter of hope my teenage self must have held on to somewhere deep down. Someday Hayes might come back for me.

Don’t even think it, Saylor. That’s not why he’s here. Besides, he’s ten years too late.