Page 54 of Desserts for Stressed People

“Yes. For a week. It’s out of town.”

He nods. “All right.”

Complete disinterest. He doesn’t care whether I’m around—frankly, it’s almost insane he believed my lie to start with. He knows about the Dèvon event. I told him it’s last minute and he can see how overworked I am. But he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t question. Because he doesn’t care. Instead, he’s probably thinking about all the dates he can line up.

Lying back down, I breathe in relief. At least, I can hole up in Emma’s apartment for a week. And once I’m back...that’s a problem for the future. As of now, I just need to get away from him.

* * *

The marble horseslook at me, and I at them. The water pouring out of their mouths must be dirty and cold, but I’ve been sweating for long enough that it’s appealing nonetheless.

I drink a sip of iced tea from my aluminum bottle, then set it back inside my bag. When my phone beeps with a text from Emma, I quickly check it with no intention of answering. It’s been eight days since my almost-date with my almost-ex-boyfriend, and I’ve been staying at her place ever since. I’m unfortunately about to go back home, but before I can, I need some alone time to process everything.

A kid screams, rushing beside me, and a few more follow. On the other side, a couple chats and giggles as they hold some shopping bags. The kids reach the white ice cream truck, and a group of teenagers sit by the benches at the center of the square.

I think I could stay here all day. Take it all in. Which is what I try to do, but my mind keeps goingthere. To the prison I’m about to go back to.

At least Emma welcomed me with open arms and hasn’t insisted on me taking the money. We’ve had a fun week. Lots of ice cream, pizza, terrible movies and laughing. Shane hasn’t texted Nevaeh once, but I haven’t had the chance to miss him, because we’ve been spending a lot of time together at the office. It’s been good.

Though I thought I’d probably never use the key he gave me, when I arrived at the girl’s graffiti a couple of hours ago, there were too many people for me to slide along the back wall unnoticed, so I had to go through the door. I spent the longest time in his secret spot, thinking.

With the light of the day, I’ve noticed many more details. For example, I’m pretty sure the roof fell down because it gave in to the weight of weeds growing on it. They’re still cascading from the roof down into the hole, hanging several feet above the ground. And the graffiti of the little girl pointing at the secret passage? There’s one in the internal garden too. The girl is wearing the same dress and has a similar surprised expression, but she’s throwing her hands up in victory. I wonder who spray painted those and why. Was it Shane? Or did he find that entrance because of the graffiti?

A girl walks beside me and turns with her back to the fountain in a cloud of laughter.

Oh, no, she’ll throw a coin. A coin that will soon turn green and disgusting together with the hundred similar ones already there.

I glare as her friend takes a video of her chucking the small metal disk into the fountain, then twirling around. Ugh. Teenagers. Don’t they have TikToks to make?

“Are you going to push that girl in?”

I jump up at Shane’s voice and turn to him much quicker than I should. “Mr. Hassholm,” I say as he fits his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

His smile is pleased as his eyes land on mine. It’s like there’s melted chocolate in his irises. “Heaven. What are you doing here?” He points at the fountain. “Besides glaring at teenagers?”

Shit. He could have caught me inside his secret place. He could still figure out something doesn’t add up. Especially if I don’t lose my panicked expression and answer. “I live a couple of streets from here.”

“That’s right. You do.” He nods. “It’s a nice neighborhood.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“No. I’m ten minutes away from the office.”

Silence stretches between us. This is the first time I’ve seen him in a t-shirt and jeans, if you exclude the pictures he sent Nevaeh.He’s model-worthy. Godlike in a tight white shirt with a bright red breast pocket that’s just so gorgeous on him, I have to assume it’s been draped around his perfect muscles, adapted to his wide shoulders and torso. Which reminds me that...crap, I’m wearing my worn-out leggings and an old, oversized t-shirt I use as a dress. There’s also no makeup on my face, and my hair is up in a messy bun. This must be quite a different image from last week’s inappropriately revealing dress.

“The clients loved the table setting. I got an email this morning. Did you hear from the construction guys?”

I cock my head to the side, disappointed work is all he wants to talk about when my head is spinning from the deep and earthy smell of soap coming from him and his dazzling smile. “I don’t think I’m paid enough to work on a Saturday.”

His hand moves to his nape, and I can’t help but stare at his biceps flexing. “Of course, sorry. It’s—uh...force of habit, I guess.”

We keep smiling politely, and I can’t explain the tension between us. It’s almost like we’re aware there’s no real reason for us to talk any longer, but neither of us wants to stop. Or maybe it’s just me.

“Do you want a coffee? Or, I don’t know...lunch?”

It’s ten in the morning, so lunch isn’t really an option. But I’m too flustered at the awareness that it isn’tjust meto point it out. He wants to spend time together. “I’d love a coffee.”

“Yeah? There is this nice café a couple of streets from here.”

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