. . . the only regret I’ve ever had . . .
“Goddammit.” I scrub my hands over my face in frustration. I need to focus. To concentrate. And not on Saylor. The girl I never said goodbye to. The promises left empty. The door I slammed shut so I didn’t feel like the selfish prick I was for chasing my dreams without a single thought to hers.
Shit. It’s amazing how the bright lights in this big city have pushed all that away. Faded the memories. Reinforced my decision with the success it has brought me.
And all it takes to bring me right back is one text from my oldest friend who never asks for anything.
Cashing in that IOU. It’s Saylor. She needs your help. Call when you can.
Fuck, man. Trying to forget her is like trying to remember someone I’ve never met. It’s impossible. And no matter how hard I try to push Ryder’s text out of my mind, she’s still there.
Clear as day.
Because nothing improves the memory like trying to forget.
“That’s a good color on you.”
I glance up from the cupcakes before me and glare at DeeDee. “Funny.”
“Let me guess, it was you versus the frosting and the frosting won?”
“Is it that bad?” I reach up to pat down my hair but stop the natural reaction since my hands are covered in frosting too.
DeeDee’s smile widens as she takes in the fallout from trying to do too many things at once. Like use the hand mixer and reach for the phone at the same time so the beaters lift from the bowl and spray blue icing all over the place.
More specifically, all over me. If my apron is any indication, I can only imagine the million blue flecks in my hair as if someone threw confetti at me.
“Nah. It’s just you.”
I laugh and know this is exactly one of the things that irked Mitch so much. My ability to get so lost in my work that I don’t give a second thought to being covered in ingredients. How some days I’d slide into his car and get something—batter, frosting, or God forbid, sprinkles—on the custom leather seats of his precious Mercedes. “Guess that explains why my dating life is so jam-packed these days, huh?”
“You and me both,” she says as she looks up from the computer with a lift of her eyebrows. “Checking social media for you.”
“Per Ryder’s request, I’m sure.”
She laughs for good measure, giving me an answer without saying a word. “Bride’s mom from last weekend tweeted last night saying she loved the cupcakes and wanted to thank you. I private messaged her and asked if she’d be a reference for us. She agreed and asked if it would be okay if she recommended Sweet Cheeks to the catering manager she works with at the convention center.”
“Really?” The thought of getting on their coveted vendor list has me smiling despite the nine hours I’ve already put in today.
“Yes. Fingers crossed she follows through. See? The power of social media.” Someone’s been talking to Ryder too much. I shake my head at the thought as she stands and walks toward the table where I’m working.
“Wow. These look great. Is this the order for the Rosemont family that came in yesterday?” She steps forward to look closer at the ten dozen cupcakes I’m putting the finishing touches on. All of them are decorated like a Marine’s dress blue uniform, complete with accurate bars and accolades.
I angle my head to the side, scrutinize my own work and nod, pleased with how they turned out. “Yes. They’re for a celebration of life event. He was a retired Marine.”
“Highly decorated by the looks of it.”
“Seems so.”
“Do you want me to deliver them for you?”
“No need to. They’re getting picked up after five.” I glance at the clock on the wall and cringe. I have forty minutes left to get them finished.
The bell on the door to the bakery jingles, announcing a customer, and DeeDee smiles.
“The game must be over. I’ll man the counter,” she says as she heads out front to greet them. And thank God for the game, or rather the series of basketball games in a state cup tournament, being held right down the street at the high school. A lot of new faces have been stopping in this week with the buy three get one free flyer we papered the school with, resulting in some boosted sales.
I’ll take any little victory I can get right now.
The intermittent jingle of the door lightens my mood as I finish up the final dozen uniform-themed cupcakes, package them up, and place them in the display case for completed orders behind the counter. I know Ryder will be happy with this week’s receipts and that, more than anything, gives me an ounce of hope I’ll be able to figure something out to keep my dream afloat.