Page 43 of Crave

“For here, not to go. And I need about ten minutes of your time. Do you get a break?”

“Have a good day. Don’t come again. Next!” She walks away and starts helping the next customer, leaving me standing at the counter with more carbs than I usually eat in a month.

Not one to give up, I find an empty table, which gives me the perfect view of the register. I plug in my laptop, determined to wait, but I’ll attempt to get work done in the meantime.

I see her seething behind the counter, steam practically coming out of her ears at my audacity. She crosses her arms, blocking my view of her breasts.

“I’m not going away, so you might as well talk to me.”

She gives me one last glare before moving on to the next customer.

For the next two hours, I work, eat, and steal glances at Sandy, who happens to be looking at me every single time I look her way. This time when I catch her eye, she turns her back to me and pretends to be busy.

The morning rush has died down, leaving only a few people inside the bakery. I grab my empty cup and walk up to the counter.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Deedee.”

“Watch me, and don’t call me that.”

“We’re going to talk. Let me explain.” With her back still to me, I feel her shoulders stiffen, but only briefly. She turns and puts her piercing gaze on me as she slowly walks towards me, leaving only the counter to separate us.

“I believe I told you last week what you can do with your explanations. Sitting here for hours on end is not going to change that. You made your feelings quite clear the last time I agreed to let you explain.” She put explain in air quotes.

“Why didn’t you return any of my texts?”

“I didn’t get any texts from you. I blocked your number.” Before she completes that sentence, she turns her back towards me

“Bullshit.” I call her bluff. “I think you read every last text I sent.”

“I don’t really give a shit what you think.” She’s back to facing me, her voice practically laced with poison.

“You know what else I think? No. You know what else I know? I know we’re going to have a damn conversation, and I’m going to clear the air. At least let me apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she says quickly, putting up both hands in supplication. “Nothing else for us to discuss. Nothing happened between us, so let’s just forget about each other, okay?”

“I can’t forget about you, and I don’t want to forget. Have you been able to get me off your mind this week? Don’t bother lying to me. I already know the truth. I screwed up, Dee. Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t get to call me Dee. That’s reserved for friends.”

“I want to be more than friends, Deedee.”

The door from the kitchen to the front opens, and her tiny mother walks in with a young man trailing behind her.

“Deedee, Steve is here.” She stops talking the minute her eyes land on me, her sharp gaze going from me to her daughter, and back again.

“Hello, Mrs. Etienne.”

“Troublemaker,” is all she says. She looks to Sandy, who’s looking anywhere but at her mother. “You are back, I see.” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond. She turns to Sandy and they start speaking another language right there in front of me. I remember my father telling me that the Etiennes are originally from Haiti. In fact, she had her other daughter and a translator with her whenever she would meet with Dad and Troy to discuss business. I lean closer, trying to decipher any of the words, but they lower their voices to a bare whisper.

I don’t know what they say, but from the way all three of them look at me, I know whatever it is was about me.

And just like last time, she asks me the same question. “You here for cake?”

“I already had some, but I’m here for Deedee.”

Dee rolls her eyes and Steve laughs, but Mrs. Etienne frowns.

“For who?”

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