Page 73 of Make Mine Sweet
I would love to argue, but I am self-aware enough to know I’d be a raging liar if I did.
She sighs, making a show of cracking her knuckles and stretching her neck side to side. “I guess that’s what I’m here for. I think you should open your own cake shop.”
My gaze goes straight to the swinging door that leads to the back, as if Mom’s as bad as Wren and is listening in. “I never even suggested that.”
“You should. Have you researched it?”
I scan the bakery, hoping against hope someone will walk in to interrupt this conversation. “No.”
Lies. I’ve looked at prices on storefronts, industrial ovens and refrigerators, website designers, the works. I’ve even spent more hours than I had to spare playing with logo ideas for Tess’s Cakes.
Not the best name but good enough for a completely imaginary shop.
“Then you should. Get serious about it. Write up a business plan for a loan. Tour buildings with Hope’s mom. Don’t give up.”
“I can’t do this right now, Wren.” I can’t talk about starting my own business when Mom’s in the next room. I can’t seriously entertain the idea anyway. The status quo is where I thrive. Not in taking risks and trying new things. “Please.”
“Fine. Tell me about the Ian situation.”
I’m ready to launch into my default “there is no Ian situation” when a customer walks through the bakery door.Finally. I exhale audibly, relieved I neither have to lie nor admit any part of the awkward truth.
Like…the Ian situation is he’s currently my fill-in babysitter, hanging out with August as we speak, and one back yard has never been the source of so much bonding before, and I’m afraid that every sweet thing he does just corkscrews him deeper into my heart, but I don’t actually know what to do with him once he’s in there.
Best to keep that to myself and just talk about fictional cake stores.
TWENTY-FIVE
IAN
I thoughtsprinting around in the back yard with Dutch half the day would wear the kid out, but that turned out to be a pipe dream. It’s like activity only ramps him up with more energy than he had before. He’s a tiny perpetual motion machine.
Enjoy it while it lasts, kid. One day, you’ll be thirty-six and exhausted after a few hours of babysitting. I’m not complaining, though. We’re having fun. It’s not the kind of socializing Amy was trying to get me to do, but it counts for something.
He comes onto the patio to pick over the afternoon snack options every now and then. I set out grapes—cut in half, which never seemed necessary until today—pretzels, and cheese sticks. I’m keeping tabs on his apps, and all his numbers look good.
It’s a bummer the kid has a medical condition like this, but diabetes care has come a long way in the last decade or so. He’s not doing finger pricks all day or injecting himself with insulin for every meal. He’s just a regular kid.
I do not think about how Tess treats me like a “regular guy,” prosthetic leg and all. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how it’s a non-issue for her. Or if I said I haven’t thought about her breathy “I like the way you look in shorts” comment approximately seventy-five times a day.
I set down August’s phone and pick up mine, swiping over to my text messages with her.
Tess: On a break and checking in
Tess: Is A giving you any trouble?
Ian: He beat me at Candy Land
Ian: Sang a whole song about it
Ian: Seems a little much, but otherwise we’re good
Tess: He likes to win
Tess: I think you share that
Ian: I always win
Ian: When I want something badly enough
