Page 18 of Sweet Hate
But yesterday…yesterday was something else. He only spoke when forced to by his mom, and most of the time his responses bordered on rude. It was like having lunch with a petulant teenager—except he was never petulant even as a damn teenager, and I should know. We spent most of our time alone together with both his parents and Grams working full time.
Make that make sense.
I’ve run into Axel a total of three times in the four days I’ve been back, and with the exception of that one tiny glimpse of the old him in the store, he’s been this grumpy gargoyle of a man I don’t recognize. I just wish I knew what happened to him. He seemed fine the day I left. He promised me he'd visit and that we’d talk every day. Then, nothing, nada, zilch. Not a fucking word.
I remember Grams telling me he’d started seeing someone not long after, so I figured he had some bird in the wings and got too busy for me. That bloody hurt. I believed him when he told me nothing would change. Losing him had been like losing a limb. The only person I ever wanted to speak to, whether things were good or bad, was gone. Zero explanation.
The day I left on that plane was the day our friendship died. To hear he was hanging out with some cow while I was at Dad’s crying my fucking eyes out grieving his loss for weeks was the final straw.
I told both Grams and Mia I didn’t want to hear his name ever again after that.
We clearly had wildly different views when it came to nothing changing. Best friends for life,my fucking ass.
I beat the icing harder, pretending it’s his smug stupid face until it’s smooth and fluffy. The icing, not his face. Obviously.
Swiping a spoon through the rainbow-streaked goodness, I pop it in my mouth.Perfect.Avoiding the urge to comfort eat the entire bowl, I distract myself by piping it onto the now-cooled cupcakes.
There.Done.
Mentally ticking the first job off my list, I give myself a pat on the back.
Now on to job number two.
Speaking to the handyman who lives above the bakery now it’s been cleared for repairs.
According to Grams, I can bribe him with Funfetti cupcakes to assess the damage. And I mean, he lives above it so surely, he’ll give a shit. Hopefully.
The faster we can get work started, the better. There is no way I can make the Merryweather wedding cakes without the bakery, and the longer the bakery is out of commission, the more anxious I see myself getting.
And I really don’t want to start regretting my life choices.
Coming back was my choice, and I want it to be a good one.
When the Merryweather’s reached out, I hesitated until I spoke to Grams. She needed the help, plus I kinda wanted Sweet Haven to see the real Haven. The girl who grew a pair of balls since she left. They might shrivel on the odd occasion, but don’t all balls shrink when they get scared? It’s biology.
Now, as I stare up the stairway to the handyman’s apartment, I mentally yank on my big girl panties and climb up, wielding my rainbow bribe.
Taking a deep breath, I press the doorbell and wait. I can hear music from somewhere inside, so at least he’s home. Except, a couple of minutes pass and no one comes to the door.
Ugh. Of course.
I press the bell again, a few times in quick succession. If anyone’s inside, they should hear it over the music, right? Hopefully they really, really love cupcakes enough to overlook my obnoxious door ringing.
But shit. Nothing.
Crouching, I rifle through my purse for something to leave a note on when the door jerks open. Two big bare feet appear in my field of vision before my eyes trail up to gray sweats.
Sweet baby Jesus.
You know what they say about gray sweats, and well, this guy confirms the theory with the generous size of his…package.
One I probably spend a second too long staring at before my eyes continue their exploration.
He hassex lines.
Probably not the technical term, but you know that sexy V that points to his Crown Jewels. Yes, that, and sweet mother, he has abs you can cut glass with.
Oh shit.
