Page 76 of Half Baked

Poppy

“What do you think is going on?” A not-so-hushed whisper carries from outside my open living room window.

“She would only send an SOS about the bakery or Hayden,” another voice answers. “Go in or wait for Stevie?”

“Wait, I’d say, she should be here any second.”

I could call out that I hear them from my spot on the couch, tell them to just come in. But they want to present as a unified front, so who am I to hinder that? Instead, I settle back in, lifting one of my daisy embroidered throw pillows and squeezing it against my chest. It’s not long before I hear the Jeep park, and then the three of them burst through the front door.

“Pop?”

“We brought wine.”

“Talk to us.”

They surround me, the four of us scrunched together on a couch made for three.

“What was that about wine?” I ask, looking between them.

“On it.” Ivy jumps up and heads for my kitchen to get a corkscrew and glasses. Returning triumphantly, she perches on the arm of the sofa beside me and hands the corkscrew to Wren.

“What happened?” Wren asks, yanking the cork from the bottle of red and giving a generous pour to the glass Ivy holds out. Passing it to me, they all wait for my hearty gulp before a response.

“The show is cancelled. Well, at least my episodes.”

Telling Hayden felt easier than this. Telling him was about admitting the depth of my feelings for him by admitting my actions. It was aboutus.

Telling anyone else, it simply feels like admitting failure. Because I have failed.

This was my shot at saving my bakery. There won’t be another influx of cash unless I beg, borrow, or steal it. And I have a feeling that borrowing it from Hayden won’t actually be a loan, but rather a handout. I take another gulp of wine as they stare at me in shock.

“Why?” Stevie asks gently.

“They didn’t want to simply mention Hayden’s last name, they wanted to shine a glaring spotlight on his pain. And the thing is,” I pause, looking at each of them, “he was willing to do it. For me.”

“He really cares about you,” Stevie says. “I think he’d do anything for you.”

“Was that always the case? How did I miss that all this time?” I finish my glass and sink back into the couch. Of course, I refused to admit it before, but I knew our bickering was seriously charged. Being around Hayden was always like being outside on a muggy summer night riddled with heat lightning. It just took time for us to develop into anything that would catch fire.

“Probably. You said he gave you the building, right?” Ivy recalls.

“He did. He was always the one paying the price for me. And this time, it came at too high a cost for me to accept. I turned the show away.”

“I don’t understand how they can take a baking show and twist it into such an unrelated storyline. Then just cancel the baking part because you weren’t on board,” Stevie says with a shake of her head.

“Me either,” I sigh. I had scrutinized the contract; it was about as clear as mud. This wasn’t their first time in a situation like this, I assume.

“We’re so sorry,” they all offer in turn. And with Ivy’s arm wrapped around me, Wren pouring me a fresh glass, and Stevie holding my hand, I feel their support in my bones.

After a sip of her own wine, Wren says, “This is huge, though. I mean what does this mean about how muchyoucare aboutHayden?”

She has a point. This bakery was my dream for years, it was everything. And I knowingly gave up the safety net that was going to keep it from going under. I gave it up for Hayden.

“I didn’t even hesitate,” I admit. “And yes, it was the right thing to do. Profiting off someone else’s pain is wrong. But it was more than that, I would have done anything to stop him from being hurt.”

“How seriousareyou two?”

“The first night we slept together?—”

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