Page 81 of Desserts for Stressed People

Isn’t that the best thing I’ve heard the whole week? Yes. Yes, it is.

When the dough is cooked and the dorayaki are piled onto the plate, we sit at the table and start filling them. Chocolate, apricot jam, figs jam, strawberry jam. Repeat.

He points a spoon at me. “I think we’re doing pretty good with this non-dating thing.”

I spread chocolate onto the dorayaki, steaming hot against my fingers. “I think so too. We are mastering the art of platonic hangouts.”

“Hmm. Still, we are two highly competitive, chronically stressed people who live for challenges...It’s bound to get boring.” When my gaze shoots to him, he shrugs. “Since we’re so great at it.”

I can’t help but feel overtaken by his joy as he flashes the most charming smile at me. “I guess I see what you mean.”

“So...Maybe, at some point, I could ask you out again. If you think you’re ready for that.” He stares at the dorayaki in his hands like that’s who he’s asking out. “We could try to master the dating arts too. Just...away from coffee and other warm beverages.”

My heart beats so fast it feels like it’s about to spread its wings and fly out of my chest, but I force my voice to remain stable. “Maybe at some point you could.”

“And would you say yes?”

I can almost see Emma’s head exploding. He’s asking me out again, and I swear to God I will not mess it up this time. No coffee pouring, no Alex, no pauses either. “Yes. Yes, I would say yes. Yes. Yes.”

His shoulders shake with laughter, and as he stops, his eyes narrow. “Did I count five yeses?”

“Yes,” I repeat for the sixth time. I’ll say it again if he wants me to. Ten times. Hell, a hundred times. I’ll tattoo a big YES on my forehead if he doesn’t get the message. Yes.

“Great. Then...I guess I’ll wait for you to be single, and we’ll take it from there.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

Over the past week, I’ve been so focused on work and on my war with Shane, I’ve postponed deciding what to do about Alex, whether I should accept Olivia and Emma’s help or wait for my raise. But the awareness that the only thing standing between me and Shane on a date is my boyfriend is swaying me in the right direction.

“Tomorrow. As soon as we’re back home, I’ll break up with him.”

Shane’s expression is much more serious now, but his smile remains warm and affectionate. “Good. That’s good to hear.”

I hope he believes me. That hiding Alex from him didn’t shatter his trust in me and that he knows I’m not like his mom. Iwillbreak up with Alex, and I won’t disappoint Shane.

“Of course, you could change your mind,” Shane says.

He spreads a thick layer of apricot jam on the dorayaki in his hands, my heart warming. He’s worried, which doesn’t make me happy, but the creases in his forehead, the little pout on his mouth...they’re all signs of how much he cares.

If there’s ever been a moment I wished I could teleport like the characters inStar Trek, it’s now. Live long and prosper, I’d tell Shane, then I’d skedaddle to my apartment and dump Alex so quickly he’d be left with a headache.

“I won’t. It’s going to be a hard conversation, but there’s no doubt in my mind about what I want.”

“Great. You are not exactly one to be intimidated.” When my eyes bug out, he points at himself. “I don’t scare you one bit, and I scare everyone.”

After joining the two sides of the dorayaki, I drop it onto the plate. If he only knew how tense I feel around him, he wouldn’t be saying this.“How do you figure that?”

“For starters, when we met, you shut me up. ‘The way I see it, I’m here to help you, not the other way around. I can go back to the floor ofartistsI come from, or you can let me speak,’” he says with a high-pitched voice that almost grants him a fig-filled half dorayaki in his face.

I force down the roaring of anger inside me. “Yet I didn’t make much of an impression.” When he cocks his head to the side, I continue, “You forgot who I was.”

“I didn’t forget.” He spreads jam onto the little disk of dough, avoiding my stare. I clear my throat, and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t. I just...You called me Mr. Asshole. It was the second thing you said to me. I knew your mind was made up already, and I guess...” He bitterly smiles down at his plate. “I figured I’d play the part.”

Wait, what? He can’t be serious.

Once he notices my unconvinced stare, he sighs. “I know, not my finest move. I guess I have a slight tendency to act like a”—he smirks—“anasshole, when I’m offended. Or hurt.” Looking down, he mumbles, “Sometimes I attack back when I’m hurt.”

I’ve seen that plenty, but the fact that he owns up to it feels like some sort of apology. Maybe for the past week too.

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