Sweet Cheeks(111)

@HayesWhitOffcl

@SweetChks Are you still in need of a cardboard cut-out holding a sign selling your wares? #10Days #MadA-Game #GrudgeCupcakes #Anticipation



@SweetChks

@HayesWhitOffcl Only if I get to place the flour handprints. In the right places. #IveGotGameToo #10Days #TalkIsCheap



@HayesWhitOffcl

@SweetChks Proud of you. Class act the other day. BTW, what’s the most important thing in a kitchen to you? #GameOn #48Hours #ActionIsBetter



@SweetChks

@HayesWhitOffcl Granite slab on the island. With flour. And sugar.

#MmMmGood Can we skip the next #2880minutes?



@HayesWhitOffcl

@SweetChks I’m a man of my word. What are you going to do to try to break me of it? #Decisions #GameChanger #ILoveIcingInYourHair #CountersAndFlour



@SweetChks

@HayesWhitOffcl I’ve got my ways to make you talk. #MadSkillz #GameChanger



@HayesWhitOffcl

Better bring your A-Game @SweetChks Mine’s stronger. #HayesFTW #ShipsSink





TWO DAYS LEFT



It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up and have a Twitter flirt with Hayes. It’s the first time he’s responded and it’s ridiculously silly that the small interaction put me on cloud nine. Yet it has.

Between the divorce organization proposal I spent all night working on that I sent to Ryder for his opinion, my little morning exchange with Hayes, and the knowledge I get to speak with (and hopefully see) him in forty-eight hours—after his asinine ten-day rule is up—today feels like it’s going to be a good day.

I slowly enjoy sipping my coffee and spend a little extra time getting ready. I feel relief and contentment, which is welcome after a tumultuous couple of months.

“Say? You’re going to want to come down and see this,” DeeDee calls up the stairs, just as I finish getting ready. There’s something in her voice that reminds me of the first time Hayes came to Sweet Cheeks.

I shut the door to my apartment and jog down the stairs to find the bakery abuzz. A camera has been set up in one corner. Men in dark clothes with headsets huddle in another. All of the tables and chairs have been pushed to the side of the room except for one set. A tray of my most lavishly decorated cupcakes has been set atop it.

What the hell is going on?

The slew of photographers outside has grown tenfold with their cameras held at the ready, all vying for shots of what’s going on inside the store.

“What the—?” I’m about to lose my temper. Just because the letters on the logos of their jackets belong to one of the biggest entertainment networks—doesn’t mean they can just waltz into my bakery and take over without asking.

It’s then I catch the look on DeeDee’s face—huge grin and excitement palpable—and then Ryder standing beside her looking just as excited but with guilt mixed in.

“What’s going on?” My hands are on my hips and accusation is in my tone.

“The studio rented out the space for the day. They gave Hayes the okay to do a few interviews here for his upcoming movie.” Ryder challenges me to argue with him but all I heard was Hayes and here and my heart leaps into my throat.

“He’s coming here?”

“Do you not want him to?” The smirk on Ryder’s lips is half-cocked.

“Yes. No, I mean, yes, he can come.” I’m ridiculously flustered. A million questions and thoughts run through my mind, but the one that rings the loudest is I get to see Hayes.

I don’t think of the crazy-ass press outside who I lied to when I said there was nothing exciting happening here. I don’t worry about whether the Divorce Support proposal is good enough. I can’t. Because my mind and body are focused on Hayes Whitley and getting to see him again.

Over the next hour, I watch the people in the bakery prepare for the interview. I rearrange the cupcakes on the staged table. I pepper my brother with what seems like a thousand questions as to how this happened, but of course, get very little out of him. I roll my eyes at DeeDee when she tells me she had no clue until this morning. Her answer seems suspect, considering her extra effort at cleaning up last night.

And my eyes keep flickering to the storefront, waiting, wanting, then waiting again to see Hayes. It’s been way too long. I miss him.

The photographers scurry like mice when a black limo pulls into the parking lot, and the person who gets out of the car is the last person I ever expected to see here.

My hands stop fiddling with my hair. My feet stop shifting in anticipation. That simmering ache over getting to see him again burns cold. Every part of me freezes when Jenna Dixon emerges from the car.

The photographers become frenzied. Their cameras vie for the best shot. And she stands there, quite the picture in her skinny pants and low-cut top with her sleek hair—smooth and straight, and perfect lips turned up in a practiced smile. Completely soaking up the attention she needs almost as much as the air she breathes.