Page 6 of Half Baked

“And why am I being graced with a history lesson right now?”

Casting me a sidelong glance, he shrugs. “I don’t know, just something about this moment.”

After another handful’s worth of chips, I move on to the crab melt. There’s no doubt he’s looking to get a rise out of me, and I have no intention of giving him the satisfaction. But when I look his way again, there’s a wariness in his eyes that gives me pause.

“Why did you really move over here?” I ask again, this time my voice is laced with actual curiosity.

“Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.” His jaw tightens, as if he’s grinding his teeth. And there’s heat in his eyes. It’s that look he always gets when I’m around.

“You’re giving me that look. But I’ll remind you once again that you approached me.”

“What look is that?”

“TheI hate Poppylook.”

Reaching over, he plucks a chip from my basket. “Why are you watching videos of yourself baking?” He’s clearly ignoring my comment, but I had forgotten the baking reel was open when he came over.

“It’s called running a business.”

“I’ve never seen you do those though.”

His words cause me to stop eating, food nearly at my lips. Does he look at the bakery socials? I shake my head, dropping the sandwich and reaching for the glass of wine. “Wren says these videos will reach more people than other posts. So, I’m considering it. But I’ll probably be the only person to ever watch this.” I rap my knuckles on my phone, surprising myself with how open I’m being with him.

“Do you like the idea of posting that?”

“No.”

“Then you have your answer.”

My scowl returns as I swivel to face him fully. It would be that simple to the rich boy who never had to struggle like this. “Do things always work that easily for you?”

“Is something going on with the bakery?” Hayden asks in return. And something almost like concern flashes across his features. The last thing I need is his pity.

Shoving the remaining crab melt in my mouth, I chase it with the final sip of white wine and jump off the stool. It only takes a minute for me to withdraw the necessary cash for my meal, but in that amount of time, Hayden has already waved Rusty over and pointed to my empty basket and glass. “On my tab,” he tells the proprietor.

Rusty nods and walks away again. Great, I’ll never get him to come back and reverse Hayden’s request.

“Here.” I hold the money out to Hayden instead. I don’t like the idea of owing him. But he only glances at the bills and shakes his head, refusing my money.

“About the bakery,” Hayden presses, snatching the last shrimp from his basket and rising from his seat as well. Apparently, he’s leaving with me. Also great. “What’s going on?”

We step into the warm evening air, a sky full of stars sparkling above us tonight. In any other circumstance, I’d stop and soak it in. But I need to get away from him as soon as possible. “It’s not your building, remember?”

“I remember that well.” He follows me through the parking lot, staying close to my side.

“Good. Then remember this—not your building, not your problem, Baywatch.”

“Poppy,” he breathes as we reach my Bronco. His jaw tenses as silence hangs in the air between us. Then with a shake of his head, he says, “I hope everything is okay,” and turns to go.

I stand with my hand on my driver’s side door and watch him cross the parking lot to his little green sports car. Unlike his life, if I want things to be okay, I have to try. And that’s really all it comes down to. I need to do everything I can to keep the bakehouse going.

Pulling my phone out, I post the reel before I can change my mind. Who says spite posting is a bad thing? It turns out, Hayden gave me the answer after all.

I roll over in bed with a groan. My phone will not stop vibrating on the nightstand; the noise is incessant. I reach out and snatch it up, expecting to see my group text thread as the culprit.

But it’s not.

With a jolt, I sit forward in bed, staring at the notifications. I believe the termblowing upis fitting for this situation. Views, comments, and new followers pour in. “Oh my—” I breathe as my attention catches on a direct message notification. It’s from Small Town Table. But nottheSmall Town Table. It can’t be.

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