Page 128 of Desserts for Stressed People

I kneel in front of him, with the folder between us, then point at the floor plan on the first page. “All of the estimates we’ve gone through exclude one space, which would remain yours.”

I show him the renders of the bakery I created with the freelancer. I love them. Dark blue paint, white floors, and a chocolate waterfall built into the back wall. There are stainless steel fridges and a wooden counter, as well as coordinated tables. And plants as far as the eye can see.

“Desserts for Stressed People?” he asks, a spark in his gaze I’ve never seen before.

“Yeah, it’s...” I shrug. “Just a suggestion. I don’t know. I figure everyone wants dessert when they’re stressed. We know that better than anyone. And it’s...I think it’s different. It’s catchy.”

He lets out a surprised huff, looking back at the folder in wonder, and I think I see his eyes watering when he gets to the renders. He loves them. “What happens to my childhood home?”

“It’s yours. Eighteen apartments. Seventeen for rent. You’ll need a loan to fix them up, but it won’t be too high. It’s an excellent investment. Any bank will go for it.”

After lightly shaking his head, he looks at me with the same dreamy expression. “Heaven, this is incredible.”

Moving a lock of hair behind my ear, I grin. “Will you think about it?”

“I already am,” he answers, lost in thought.

With my heart filled, I sit back down as he hunches to the right and grabs the envelope. The damn letter I forgot about.

“Can you wait to read that one until I’m gone?” I ask as panic makes my throat clench. If he reads that in front of me—hell, I don’t even know, and I don’t want to find out either.

He glances at the cream-white envelope, then at me. “We’ve come so far. Why quit right before it gets good?”

When I give him a resigned nod, he extracts the folded paper, opens it and reads out the words I hand wrote this morning. “Dear Shane. Mr. Asshole. Whichever one of you showed up here.” He glares at me, but that’s not even the embarrassing part. “This is my way of thanking you. You’ve injected my life with joy and dessert, and yours should be too. You deserve this place filled with good memories.”

He swallows, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Those six weeks with you were the most challenging of my life, and far too beautiful for me to describe. But I’ll treasure them forever, like I treasure you. Nevaeh could never answer your last message, so let me. Yes, I’ve had that feeling where I’m not sure if I’m awake or dreaming. I’ve felt that way since the day I met you. Know that...”

I keep my stare on the broken pavement, my cheeks warm and tingly. I can’t look at him. It’s too embarrassing.

He clears his throat. “Know that I love you, and my walls will always smell like chocolate. Catch you back into the future. Heaven.”

Once he sets the paper down, the silence is deafening. Is it awkward for him to know I love him? Is he as tense as I am right now? “I didn’t mean for it to sound like I’m trying to win you back. It’s—I wasn’t supposed to be here,” I mumble.

“I’m glad you were. Making me tell myself you love me is sad enough without me saying it to the walls.”

When I look up at him, he’s smiling, so I smile too. It feels so familiar, talking to him, joking around. I can almost taste what it’d be like. But he doesn’t give second chances to liars. I know that by now.

My phone rings, and I take it out of my pocket with a sigh. Emma. She’s been calling constantly, so I’m not sure if her spider senses are at work or this is just a routine check. And it isn’t exactly the best time for a chat, but last time I didn’t answer, she nearly called the fire department. “Sorry, I have to take it,” I tell Shane before bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Where are you? Did you take today off?”

There’s a familiar ding—it sounds like the elevator, so she must be at the office. “Yeah, I’ve been working on a project and needed a couple of days.” I kick a small rock, which rolls all the way to the green door. “Why? Did you want something?”

“No, no. I just...” She sighs. “Alright so...I know you’ve only recently forgiven me for my last mistake, but...”

My muscles stiffen, my stomach quickly tightening into a knot. Though this isn’t a comforting sentence coming from anyone, the fact that it’s Emma saying it makes the hairs on the back of my neck spike. “What happened?”

“Before I tell you, just know that—”

“Emma, what did you do?” I breathe.

“He came looking for you earlier today.”

I throw a glance at Shane. Of course, I wish she was talking about him, but I know there’s an equal chance that Mahatma Gandhi stopped by my office. Emma isn’t talking about Shane. She’s talking about myotherex.

Why is Alex looking for me? I thought we cleared the air. That we agreed to be friends, one day.

But most importantly, what did Emma do?

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