Page 29 of Don't Forget Me
She clicked open the pen and began to write.
Ev and Owen,
You wouldn’t believe where your dear old mom is, but even more, you wouldn’t believe who I’m here with.
Nick Jacobs, the man who wasn’t supposed to be a part of her world outside of movie nights.
I made your pancakes for a movie star this morning.
As she wrote, she could almost feel them holding her, keeping her from disappearing altogether.
Elizabeth stomped through the kitchen, pulling open cupboards to look for the ingredients she needed for her angry baking. It was the best kind of therapy. Even when she felt like crap, every time she'd gotten bad news from doctors, she baked something full of sugar that she wasn’t even be able to eat with the nausea from her treatments.
This time, she could eat it all.
It started when her mom was first diagnosed. She’d been a great baker, but she went downhill so quickly it was like one day she just couldn’t do it anymore. So, Elizabeth took up the mantel, letting her mom watch her from the giant chair in their nearby living room.
Now, this wasn’t desperate baking, only frustrated. How did she get stuck here with the most stubborn, arrogant man she could imagine?
Nick Jacobs was not who she’d expected him to be.
And she’d be glad when she woke up and was free of his harsh words and ridiculously stiff demeanor. Who was like that? Seriously. People didn’t act like such douchebags in real life. At least, not people she’d known.
All she’d done was sit in a study that used to belong to her father. She didn’t deserve his attitude.
Elizabeth sensed his presence before turning to see him. It was like he sucked all the oxygen from the room. Not in a good “I can’t stop thinking about you” way. More like a “I’m going to suffocate you with my douchebaggery” way.
“What?” she snapped when he didn’t say anything.
“Do you do anything besides cook?”
She wrapped her fingers over the edge of the counter, gripping it until her knuckles turned white. This man… “Yes, but I figured baking was more productive when I’m mad than murder.”
His face showed no expression, no reaction. “Interesting.”
“What would really be interesting is if you left me alone.” She turned toward the mixing bowl, her back tense.
A stool scraped against the floor. Did this man know how to listen?
She measured the flour. “You’re welcome for the pancakes.”
“I didn’t ask for them.”
She shook her head. “Sometimes, people do nice things without being asked. I know, shocker.”
“Not in Hollywood they don’t.”
She scoffed at that. “Your wife never makes you breakfast?” Though, she couldn’t picture perfect Sherrie Thompson standing over a hot stove.
A harsh laugh barked out of him. “That’s funny.”
“And you never cook for her?”
“Sherrie and I… we don’t even live together anymore.”
She froze. That was definitely not something the rest of the world knew. “You don’t…”
“We’re working on a divorce.”
