Page 34 of Ashes of Us
"Probably. I was working a lot. We weren't communicating. But also…” He shrugged. "She made her choice. I didn't make it for her."
Something in my chest eased. He got it. Actually got it.
"So here we are," I said. "Two people with trust issues having coffee."
"Could be worse. At least the coffee's good." He grinned. "And for the record, I still want to help with that fondant later."
"You're serious about that?"
"Dead serious. I'll even bring dinner. What do you like?"
I laughed. "You know you don't have to help me make a cake for a stranger's kid just to impress me, right? There are easier ways."
"Where's the fun in easy?" He grinned. "Besides, I want to see you in your element. Covered in flour, swearing at fondant. It sounds entertaining."
"It's really not. I get very intense about cake."
"Even better."
He was still grinning, and I realized I was smiling back. Actually smiling, not the customer-service version I'd perfected over the past year.
"So," he said. "About dinner. What do you like?"
"Anything that isn't cake-shaped."
He laughed—that sweet laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes—and suddenly this felt less like a terrifying first date and more like... coffee with someone who might actually understand.
We talked for another hour. He told me about his work. The weird calls, the regulars they saw over and over, the dark humor that kept them sane. I told him about the bakery, about the panicof opening week, about the woman who'd ordered six dozen cookies and then tried to pay with a personal check from 1987.
It was easy and comfortable.
Normal.
When we finally stood to leave, he walked me the thirty feet back to my bakery door.
"So," he said. "Was this completely terrible?"
"Shockingly not terrible."
"Good enough for a second date?"
I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to… I did. But because part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to reveal some fatal flaw, and for me to realize I'd misjudged again.
He saw my hesitation and didn't push. "No pressure. But I meant what I said about the fondant. I'll show up at seven with Thai food and zero expectations. If you decide you want to see me again after that, great. If not, at least you'll have help with the cake."
"You're really okay with that?"
"Piper." He said my name like he'd been practicing it. "I'm not going to show up at your door with expectations and a stopwatch. I'm just a guy who wants to help you make a superhero cake and see where things go. That work for you?"
My chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety.
"Thai food sounds good," I said. "Seven o'clock."
His smile was worth every ounce of fear.
He showedup on time with pad thai, spring rolls, and a YouTube tutorial on fondant work pulled up on his phone.
"I did research," he announced, setting the food on my small kitchen counter. "Turns out there are very passionate opinions about fondant versus buttercream."
