Page 20 of Ashes of Us
I sat there staring at the empty stool next to me. The bartender came by and refilled my glass without asking.
My phone buzzed again. Another text. Another call. I didn't check to see who it was.
I picked up my drink and finished it in one burning swallow.
Scott was right. I'd blown up the best thing that ever happened to me.
And for what?
I couldn't even remember anymore.
CHAPTER 9: PIPER
FIVE WEEKS LATER
The kitchen looked like a flour bomb had gone off.
Every surface was covered—cooling racks lined up on the counter, mixing bowls stacked in the sink, a fine layer of white powder dusting the floor. I'd run out of counter space an hour ago and started putting sheet pans on the dining table. Then the coffee table. Then the floor.
I pulled another batch of chocolate chip cookies from the oven and set them on the last available inch of counter space. Checked my phone. 2:47 PM.
Right now, I should have been getting my hair done.
I turned back to the stand mixer and started on another batch of dough.
By 4:00, I should have been putting on my dress. The one that was still hanging in a garment bag in the closet of an apartment I hadn't been back to in more than a month. White silk, fitted bodice, the kind of dress I'd tried on seventeen times before saying yes.
I measured out flour. Added baking soda. Didn't look at the clock.
By 5:30, I should have been at the venue. Walking down the aisle on Dad's arm while two hundred people watched. Liamwaiting at the altar in his navy suit, the one his mom had helped him pick out.
The mixer whirred and I added chocolate chips. Way more than the recipe called for.
By 6:00, we should have been married.
I hit the off button and stared at the bowl of dough.
My phone buzzed on the counter with a text from one of my bridesmaids—Sarah, who'd been my roommate in college.
Thinking of you today. Love you.
I looked away and went back to baking.
The front door opened around seven. I heard Maya's keys hit the entry table, her footsteps in the hallway, then silence.
"Holy shit," she said from the doorway.
I didn't look up from the pastry I was rolling out. "I'm making croissants."
"I can see that." She stepped into the kitchen, carefully navigating around the sheet pans on the floor. "How many batches have you made today?"
"I don't know. A few."
"Piper." She picked up a cookie from one of the cooling racks. "There are at least six dozen cookies here. And is that… are those three cakes?"
"Four. There's one in the bedroom."
"In the bedroom."
