A flash on the screen of my cell. Another glance up from the cupcake I’m designing to see yet another notification in and endless stream of them.
Quit distracting me.
I set down the piping tube and grab my cell. My will power is nonexistent when it comes to wanting to read the responses to Hayes’s tweet from earlier this morning. I’m not quite sure why he’s asking about the world’s population or what it has to do with me but it helps to pass the day.
@MindiSocksLou
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl Seven billion #ThanksGoogle What’s a #GrudgeCupcake? I love you Hayes!
Focus, Saylor.
On the new idea. On what flavor combinations would complement the concept best. On how this little flash of creativity has gotten me down from the apartment where I’ve been hiding from prying eyes and back into the work area of the bakery.
And while I’ve relegated myself to the work area only, at least I’m there.
A notification flashes again.
The distraction works.
@BookLoverJeniB
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl A bazillion. Why are you asking? #GrudgeCupcake?
I dirty my hands in the frosting, working on design after design trying to perfect my vision. I’m picky and particular and throw ten designs out for every one I keep, because I have to get this right.
Plus throwing myself into full-creative mode means I’m distracted. And distracted is so much easier than thinking about how much I miss Hayes and how frustrated I am with him and his damn ten-day rule.
So, creativity helps to pass the time slowly ticking away until I get to see him again.
My screen flashes.
This time I try to avoid getting frosting on it when I pick it up.
@TBartley86
@HayesWhitOffcl Leave @SweetChks and marry me. I kiss better. #GrudgeCupcake – Answer: Population 7 billion
The bell of the door alerting new customers is steady while I work. Curiosity is clearly still strong. Despite the sign that Ryder put on the door that says No Cameras, the photographers come in, buy a cupcake, and take a seat with the hopes that I’ll step into the front where they can sneak a picture of me on their cell phones. The female fans stop in to buy a cupcake with stars in their eyes looking around in case Hayes shows up.
They’re wasting their time. If they were true stalkers, they’d know about his ridiculous ten-day rule.
All the while the tweets continue to flash.
@Hollywood732
@HayesWhitOffcl @SweetChks 6.9 billion. Is this a trick question?
“You’ve been awfully quiet back here.”
Ryder. I smile softly, knowing he’s bailing on his regular workload during the days to help out (meaning keeping a big brother eye on me) and then going home and catching up on his own responsibilities.
“Just messing with an idea,” I murmur as I step back and scrutinize my design.
“Hmm. So you being back in the kitchen . . . does that mean the new oven’s too hard to resist or you’ve talked to Hayes and have figured stuff out?” He narrows his eyes as he waits for an answer.
“He’s not giving me an option.” I shrug. I don’t fight the smile because I do feel better with the elephant’s foot of pressure removed from my chest.
“He’s not?” He raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Nope. And you didn’t even have to clock him this time around to knock some sense into him.”
“I was only trying to protect you.” His expression is guarded, unsure if I’m going to be mad at him for interfering all those years ago.
“I know.” I think of all the other things I could say to him: how I was a big girl and could make my own decisions. How he might have been the reason we never got back together. But I don’t say any of them. Maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated each other and the connection we rekindled if we hadn’t had other experiences to compare them to.
“What’s up with his tweet this morning?” It’s my turn to show shock, surprised he noticed. “Hey, I check your social media following. Visibility is a good thing—means possible sales—and you gained several thousand new followers this morning.”
Huh. Always looking out for me. And always business-savvy.
“I don’t know. He’s trying to win me over.”
“I think he already has.”
I start to say maybe, but stop when I see his head angle to the side as he notices the fondant tops in front of me.
Nerves jitter within as I step back and try to look at the cupcakes through his eyes. The first one looks like it has a needle sewing together the fondant with the words “Oats to sow” in cursive above it. The one beside it looks like shattered glass with the words “One to throw” in block letters across the top. The next pair is the same color scheme, just a darker tint. The first cupcake has no design and says “One to smash” with its partner saying “He can kiss my ass” and a pair of lips outlining the lettering.