Page 42 of What I Like About You

Okay, so it’s only been a week, but I’msoin love.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m behind the counter, taking orders and making recommendations along with Sawyer. Ourcupcake of the day—vanilla bean with rosemary lilac frosting—sells out by noon. It is a line-out-the-door kind of day and at this rate it’ll be six p.m. before I blink.

Diana Davidson is behind the register and Max, her husband, is in the kitchen checking inventory.

Sawyer’s parents are the coolest. On what I thought would be my first day, I actually just met with Diana for an informal interview over coffee and cupcakes. I started to freak out, but it didn’t take long for my stomach to untangle and my hands to uncurl from fists because Diana gets it—getsme. With the help of the magical red velvet cupcake I consumed, I breezed through our chat. I showed her a few images of my One True Pastry cupcakes—shots that were never posted, of course—and that sealed the deal.

I am guaranteed at least twelve hours a week, I get a key to the shop so I can open on weekends, and best of all, I’m allowed to use the kitchen after hours, so long as it lookspristinewhen I leave.

The first time I saw the kitchen, I almost passed out it’s so beautiful. All the equipment is state of the art with its convection oven and cooling racks andmultipleindustrial cake mixers. Seriously, it’s next level.

There’s thankfully not much time for chatting with Sawyer during rush hour, so we spend most of the afternoon on autopilot. There are a lot of people in the small space, but in moments when I start to feel overwhelmed, I inhale the scent of fresh-baked cupcakes and pretend I’m in the kitchen, and everything is okay.

At last, it slows down around five p.m.

“Kitchen duty,” Diana calls and Sawyer groans.

Diana’s Mom Smirk is on fire today. “Halle can help too, after her break. Show her how we clean the mixers.”

“Fine,” Sawyer says, pushing theEMPLOYEES ONLYdoor to the kitchen open.

I head to the back room for my fifteen and the chance to finally check my phone.

The break room is super basic, with a row of lockers for employees and two circular tables with four plastic pink chairs at each. I spin my combination lock, swing the door open, and reach into myGO AWAY I’M READINGtote bag for my phone.

There aresomany notifications. It’s mostly everyone still fuming about the revelation that Alanna LaForest, author of the book of my heart … hates teenagers. It’s horrifying. If Grams were here, she’d be in total damage control mode. Grams was always a staunch believer in publishing books that speak to teenagers, in finding authors who did that better than anyone. It feels almost like an attack against her just as much as us teens.

I don’t know how toprocessthis information. So I leave the group chat messages unread and reply to Nash’s instead, time-stamped an hour ago.

Nash Stevens

Question.

4:01 PM

I only have fifteen—well, twelve—minutes until kitchen duty, but I’m too curious to not immediately respond.

answer

5:04 PM

When do you throw in the towel? Re: like, trying to be friends with someone.

5:04 PM

My face gets hot reading Nash’s words. He meansme, Halle. I know he does. This keeps happening. Every time we text lately, she—I—somehow comes up. It’s weird. I don’t know how to answer his question honestly, so I revert to Kels’s defense mechanism. Snark.

when you start speaking in clichés

5:06 PM

… Wow. I’m being serious right now.

5:06 PM

by someone you mean halle?

5:07 PM

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