Page 119 of The Best Kind of Bad

A small grin tugs at my lips. “Mimi’s. That’s what Uncle Gus used to call my mom. Mimi.”

He grunts. “Didn’t know that.”

“I started the bakery with her in mind. I baked all types of cakes, but I specialized in recipes for people with dietary restrictions. My mom developed celiac disease, but she had the biggest sweet tooth. I wanted to make things she could enjoy.” I pause, looking out the window. “And it did okay, you know? People seemed to like it. I liked making people happy. Putting my heart into it.” I grin at him. “But you probably don’t need the backstory.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. “Honey, I live for the backstory.”

I laugh at that. “Well, anyway. That bakery was the dream. I poured my heart and soul into it. When the fire destroyed the bakery, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to do it all over.”

He studies my face. “You’ve found the energy to start up again?”

I nod. “I’m ready to get going again. The bakery sat for too long. I need to get back to it.”

I sign the last paper and hand the messy stack back to Carl. He taps the edges on the desktop, straightening the pile. “What’s Dusty going to think about all this?”

I glance back out the window with a ghost of a smile. “I hope he’s proud of me.”

78.

Dusty

I stoop, closing the last gate on the irrigation pipe. Cool water still trickles down the row. The knees on my mechanic's jumpsuit are wet and muddy.

They’re greasy and dirt-smudged, too. I smell like diesel fuel and sweat and the great outdoors.

Ed trots up, carrying an old corncob in his mouth. I pat his head and gesture at the truck. “Let’s go home, Ed.”

He leads the way, his tail wagging. I’m limping a little. If I was with other people, I’d hide the fact. But out here, it’s just me and Ed, so I let my weariness show.

Turns out two full-time jobs are hard on the body. I’m dead-ass tired, but it’s worth it. The pain in my knee is what freedom feels like. I need this job if I’m going to come to Marnie with my head held high, not as an obligation.

Climbing behind the wheel, I roll the windows down and blast the classic rock. The old songs ground me. They remind me of working on cars with Runner. Of the way the football team used to hype ourselves up before a big game.

We’d sing those songs at the top of our lungs. I’m tone deaf and I’ll be the first to admit it, but I’d stand on the locker room bench and belt those words out like they were written on my heart.

The house comes into view, and the feeling of anxiousness and dread settle heavily in my gut. Those feelings are always there, these days. July is drawing to a close, and I don’t have a clear idea of what Marnie’s plan is. I suppose I could just ask, but until the words come off her lips, I can still hope for the best. I can still live in a world where there’s a Marnie and a Dusty. Together.

Sometimes, I just wish she’d put me out of my misery. But until Marnie kicks my ass out, I’m going to keep fighting for her.

And most likely, even after that. I won’t give up easily, but I’m still holding out hope that it won’t come to that.

I pull up to the house and Ed tumbles out. As soon as I step inside, I peel the jumpsuit off and carry it to the laundry room. I’ve got athletic shorts and a t-shirt on underneath. Walking back into the kitchen, I stop at the fridge and find the iced tea Marnie made this morning.

I’m gulping it down when my gaze lands on a manilla envelop on the far counter. I flip it over and read Marnie’s name. Below that, three words that feel like individual slashes against my chest.

Deed of sale.

No.

My thoughts grow tangled. It’s hard to pull out one cohesive thought. I want to find Marnie, to fall to her feet, but she’s in the shower.

I sit on the edge of the couch, resting my head in my hands.

This is the worst moment, and yet, I don’t want it to stop. Because at the other end of this misery is a sad goodbye.

All too soon, the shower turns off. The door opens a short time later, steam and the sweet smell of Marnie’s lotion fills the air.

“Hey.”

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