Sweet Cheeks(6)

However, I wasn’t blind to my own bullshit. I had been so focused on selecting vows and table centerpieces and favor choices that when I had a day to sit and do nothing while Mitch was off on one of his boys’ country club weekends, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

“A part of me—one I’m really hating right now—thinks you’re brilliant.”

Ryder’s words pull me from the thoughts that have run a marathon in my head over the past six months. When I look toward him, my smile comes easily for the first time in the past hour. “It took you, what? Almost twenty-eight years to figure out what I’ve known all along—that I’m the smarter one?”

“Dream on.” He rolls his eyes.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“For the record, I still think your idea is horrible, but you might be onto something.”

“My idea? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve had the business for what? Ten months now?”

“Since it’s officially been up and running here at the store, more like eight. Why? What am I missing?” I set the piping bag down and lean back against the counter behind me.

“During that time, has it ever crossed your mind that the machine that is the Layton family may be influencing your sales?” I chortle out a laugh, immediately discrediting him. “No. I’m serious, Say. I know this is a big town and it’s just one family, but they are well known around here. Mitch’s uncle is a congressman and his father owns half the town. I think it makes more sense than not that they—”

“I doubt the Laytons are making a point in their busy lives to sabotage Sweet Cheeks. They’ve got small countries to run or something.”

“That’s not what I’m implying.”

“Get to the point then.” Patience. Gone.

“All I’m saying is, when there’s a breakup, people back away from the person they think is to blame, right? They typically side with the one they feel has been wronged.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Should I assume you’re referring to me as being the one to blame?” Crossing my arms, I hate that his comment miffs me.

“Yes. And no.” He takes a step closer and dips a finger in one of my empty frosting tubs and licks the dab. “Mitch’s friends have already proven to be shallow and judgmental. Proof being the way they basically cut you out of their lives after you broke it off. So . . . what if we turn the tide?”

“Dude. I love you. I’m sure you have a point to make. But, seriously? I’m not following your reasoning and have what feels like a million cupcakes left to frost, so can you please get to whatever you’re getting to so I can finish them?”

“It’s all about perception.”

I snort and roll my eyes at him. “And how is whatever brilliant thing I said going to make my business suddenly successful by changing the perception of my ex-friends? After how they’ve treated me, I would never really want to be friends with them again anyway.”

“Your little rant gave me an idea.”

What? “I was joking, Ryder.” Unease tickles the back of my neck.

“Just hear me out.” He holds his hands up in front of him. His chill out, Saylor look is on his face. “Let’s say you do show up at the wedding with someone who is better looking, more influential, more something in their eyes than their precious friend Mitch. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’d look at you in a different light.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I sputter the words out and immediately chastise myself for automatically defending the very people who hurt me.

“To us it is, yes. We were taught not to pledge allegiance to the friend with the biggest bank account but after how they’ve acted, it seems they do.”

“Fine. Sure. If that’s the case, then it’s a good thing I no longer associate with them.” I turn my attention back to the cupcakes, not wanting to waste another thought on them or wherever he’s going with this.

“You’re completely missing what I’m saying.”

“Then just say it.”

“I think you should go to the wedding. Do exactly what you joked about.” He smacks his hands on the butcher block for emphasis. “Walk in there with your head held high and act like leaving Mitch was the best damn decision you’ve ever made, even if seeing him feels like you’ve been punched in the gut. The fact that you’ve traveled thousands of miles and have enough balls to be there should make a huge statement in itself without you ever having to say a word.”

He’s lost it. Like totally lost it. “You forgot one thing. I don’t have balls.” I try to lighten the mood. Derail the topic.