Page 47 of Desserts for Stressed People

“I saw you eat that cheesecake today. It might not be your favorite, but you were hardly forcing it down.”

After a quick laugh, we approach his car. He’s right, the slice of forest fruit cheesecake I found on my desk this morning wasnothard to swallow. “Okay. I’ll give you theOGversion. But I’m warning you, it bums most people out.”

He opens the car door on the passenger side and offers me his hand. “My expectations are at an all-time low.”

My fingers find his, and once I’m sitting, I wish I didn’t have to let them go, because my skin tingles in the spot where it touches him. But I reluctantly do, as I’m forced to hold my dress together so that I don’t accidentally flash him.

“Okay. Underwhelm me,” he says once he’s sitting next to me. The engine roars to life, and soon, we’re on the road.

“My parents had issues conceiving, and when my mom finally got pregnant, they were thrilled. But the due date came, and I didn’t show up.”

When the screen on the car dashboard notifies someone is calling him, I pause. He presses a button to reject the call and nods. “So you weren’t born a stickler.”

Trying to hold back a smile, I turn my attention to the road. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Of course, but I’ve never pegged you for a straggler.”

I slap his shoulder with the back of my hand, set on ignoring just howfirmit is, and when he chuckles, I do too. “Anyway, the doctor scheduled my birth, and my dad forced my mom to go though she refused to. She always says it felt like walking the plank.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“During the birth, there was a complication, and my mom had to be sedated so that the doctor could perform a c-section. And while she was asleep, she...”

Though he should be focusing on the street, his eyes dart to me, his lips parted as if he depends on my next words. “She...”

“She had a vision.”

“A vision?”

“Yes. She says she saw some entity. I don’t know, God, if you will. But she isn’t religious, so—I guess ‘entity’ is the right term.”

“Okay,” he says. He sounds skeptical.

I would be too, but I’ve heard and told this story a hundred times, and I’ve seen most reactions to it too. “This entity told her it’d save us both and would be my guardian angel. That it would protect me and assist me in every struggle, through every obstacle.”

“As long as your mom named you Heaven.” He gives me a side look, then focuses back on the road.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Does he think my mom’s a lunatic? People have before. Others just felt awkward when I told them the story. Like they were trying to find a way not to offend me.

“Do you believe it’s true?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I believe her brain was simmering in a lot of entertaining drugs,” I say with a grin. “But she believes it, and it’s her story, so it’s good enough for me. Plus, it makes it sound like I’m special. I have this extra layer of protection that helps me through life.”

He keeps nodding, and when a second call comes, he quickly rejects it. “Well, I expected your mom to be a fan of Beyoncé or a religious fanatic. A vision from the underworld isn’t exactly underwhelming.” Stopping at a traffic light, he shrugs. “I think it’s true, her story. Youarespecial.”

* * *

We getout of the car, my breath worked up—maybe because this dinner is making me nervous, but probably because of what Shane said as we drove. That I’mspecial.

“Ready?” he asks, joining my side.

“I guess.” I straighten my dress and pull it down a little, but it’s stretched tight on my skin and I don’t achieve any tangible results.

His gaze is tender on mine. “You can’t be that nervous.”

“Is it so obvious?”

“Yeah, you’re almost shaking. What’s the problem?”

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