Page 63 of The Weight Of Falling
“Maybe I don’t,” he agrees. But his response comes too quickly. And in that unguarded instant, I see the truth he’s trying to bury. Maybe he cares too much.
This complicated, confusing man is tying me in knots. I curl my fingers around my pendant, as if it can give me courage, and finally speak what I’ve been holding back. “Your silence over the last few days feels louder than that word on my car. And it hurts more.”
Joel stares at me. “You think this is easy for me?” he says finally, his voice rough. “Staying away from you?” His throat works. “You want words? Fine. What if I told you I think about you more than I should? That silence is the only thing keeping me from ruining everything?” He steps toward me, his face inches from mine. “Would that hurt less?”
“All right, Joel, here it is,” calls a cheery voice. “Sorry that took so long.”
Stacy, one of Beth’s senior cake artists, emerges from the back carrying a towering three-tier cake. Each tier is wrapped in smooth white fondant, with intricate piping along the edges and delicate sugar roses climbing each layer. It’s stunning. And unmistakably a wedding cake.
“It looks incredible,” Joel says, leaning closer. “Are those the edible gold leaves?”
Stacy nods, pleased. “Uh-huh. I had a lot of fun making them.”
“You did a great job,” he tells her, and she beams.
“What about you, Kenzie?” Stacy turns to me expectantly. “What do you think?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”
“Of course.” She flicks her gaze between us. “It’s your cake too.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, no, you’ve got the wrong idea—”
“The cake’s for Kate,” Joel breaks in quickly.
“Mm-hm. Of course it is.” Stacy gives him an exaggerated wink. “Nothing whatsoever to do with the two of you.”
Joel scowls. “Kate and I are doing a wedding shoot for a bridal magazine.”
“Uh-huh. I got you.” Stacy mimes zipping her lips. “Don’t worry, my silence is guaranteed.”
“There’s nothing to keep silent about,” Joel grits out.
“Of course not,” she replies with overdone innocence. “Now, let me just box up the cake that definitely isn’t your wedding cake.”
I stay rooted in place while Joel radiates quiet irritation beside me, both of us knowing that protesting further will only make us look guiltier. Why do I always end up in these impossibly awkward situations? At least this one isn’t my fault.
Stacy crouches and tugs a flat cake box from under the counter, pops it into shape, then slides it beside the cake. As she hooks her fingers under the silver board and lifts, she loses her balance. She lets out a horrified gasp as the board tips toward the open box, the tiers wobbling precariously.
Joel and I lunge forward at the same time. My fingers clamp onto one side of the cake board, while Joel grabs the opposite edge. Our eyes meet for a breathless moment.
It takes me only two seconds to realize the bakery noise has receded into a hush, as though the whole room is holding its breath with us. A line of customers has formed at the door, all staring dewy-eyed at the sight of Joel and me holding a wedding cake, like the world’s most incriminating photo.
“Ohhh, how lovely!” someone gushes. “Joel Adams, I had no idea you and Kenzie were picking out your wedding cake already. You two sure don’t waste time.”
A ripple of chuckles spreads across the room. Someone actually claps and a young server holding a tray looks ready to swoon.
Joel clenches his jaw. For a moment, I think he’s going to correct her, but then his eyes flick to mine and I know what he’s thinking. Denying it will only make it worse.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.
“You can’t blame me this time,” I whisper back.
He shakes his head. “I’m starting to realize you and low key don’t even live on the same planet.”
With Stacy’s help, we manage to get the cake boxed without further incident, but curious eyes and a chorus of good-natured well-wishes trail us all the way to the door.
Out on the sidewalk, late-morning sunlight spills across the bakery’s glass front.
