Page 33 of Along Came Summer

“It's quite remarkable, isn't it, Lovebug?” she says, gesturing to the cake. “That you can create something so beautiful from nothing more than flour, sugar, butter and love?”

Yes, it truly is, and it’s why I love it so much.

“It really is remarkable,” I answer, picking up the lid to the box, placing it on the top and sticking some tape on the sides to keep it secure while they transport it. “Thank you for helping Grammy. I love having you in the kitchen with me, but now you must sit and rest. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and Ness and I will start cleaning up,” I instruct while slowly leading her toward the chair in the kitchen.

“Lovebug, I can help out with the cleaning—”

I shake my head and kneel down in front of her. “No, you've done enough. Sit here and take a break now, alright? Don't move an inch.”

Grammy looks at me fondly and places her hand on my cheek. “I'm so proud of you, Lovebug. Your parents would be, too.” Her eyes fill up with tears at the thought of them.

I have no recollection of my parents; all I possess are their photographs and what Grammy has told me whenever she speaks of them, though the empty space within me where they should be aches profoundly.

“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting my hand to cover hers. They feel like a baby’s, compared to mine, soft and tender, like I’m holding a piece of spun glass.

“Hey, Grammy, did Summer tell you that I’m setting her up on a date?” Nessa calls out, grinning broadly while she sprays down and wipes the worktops.

I roll my eyes when my grandmother's blue eyes broaden with surprise. “Nessa, I didn’t agree. I said I would think about it!” I scold her as I stand up and walk over to help her clean.

“That’s as good as a yes in my eyes, right Grammy?”

“That’s right dear, oh how exciting. Come sit and tell me all about it. Who is the boy? Is he handsome? My Emmett was handsome, oh the way he made my heart race.” Nessa pokes her tongue out at me as she rushes over to join my grandmother at the table.

I look around the kitchen and back at Nessa. “Oh, I’ll just clean all this up then, shall I?” They wave me off while they delve into a conversation, and when my Grammy pulls out her tin of sweet orange cookies, the mess in the kitchen is long forgotten about.

“So, there's this cute guy, he comes in here every day. We call him Mcfrappe because he’s tasty and oh so dreamy…” Nessa divulges, telling her all about the guy who comes in at lunchtime and orders a caramel frappe and a slice of Oreo cheesecake. He always wears a finely tailored suit, seeming like a very important businessman or lawyer. His clean-shaven face is framed by is hair, trimmed short and has a perfectly styled cowlick. And his eyes are by far his best feature; they’re kind and beautiful mocha hues. Nessa swears up and down that he comes here just to see me, which I highly doubt because I barely say two words to the man besides taking his order.

Also, what on earth could I ever have in common with a refined man like that? Other than his excellent taste in desserts, that is.

Maybe he’s the one I’ve been waiting for, my soul mate?

* * *

“I obtained my law degree from Oxford University after three tough years of hard work, toiling away with two jobs.” I drink my Chardonnay as he goes on and on about himself.

Wow, he's been talking for nearly an hour!

“They weren't kidding when they said Law isn't for everyone. I knew it was going to be tough. Even though I aced my LNAT exam, the three years that followed were certainly the most strenuous part of my life. But I was intent on getting my diploma, I had a goal in mind, and I was ready to do whatever it took to succeed, and I did.”

Do I look bored? I should probably nod or show some sort of recognition that I'm engaged in the conversation.

“Can I get you the dessert menu?” The waitress inquires, clearing our plates.

“Oh yes, please!” My date responds while using his white napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No thanks,” I say simultaneously, which makes both the waitress and my date turn their heads toward me in surprise. There's no way I can spend more time here listening to this self-absorbed man yammer about his accomplishments and difficulties during law school. It’s a hell of an achievement for sure, but is that really all he has going for him? A fancy criminal law degree.

Since the moment we sat down and I made the mistake of asking what he did for a living, he’s not shut up about it. At this point, I’m not even sure he remembers my name.

“I can’t eat another bite,” I clarify, placing my hand on the flat panes of my stomach to illustrate my point. “Plus, as you know, I work in a bakery, I’m around desserts all day, and I have had my fill of sugar for the day.”

“Of course,” he smiles politely, setting his napkin down on the table, “I guess we’ll just get the check then, please.”

“So, I—”

“Speaking of bakeries, back when I was at Oxford, there was this quaint little bakery just off campus owned by an elderly Italian couple called Angie’s Bakery. They made the best cannoli, and honestly, for the duration of my time there, I lived off those delightful treats.”

Oh, bloody hell. How can someone so attractive be so fucking boring.

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