~Zoey~
A few weeks before Jordan’s birthday was the opening of my first bakery: Ni?a’s Sweet Cakes. I couldn’t believe the time had come. We’d had a small gathering to celebrate the occasion a few nights before and held high hopes for business. Boy, were my expectations crushed the first three days when we had a total of six customers, two being friends. Not only was my ego checked, but my fears started to rise. I’d already mentally prepared to not make a personal profit for at least the first quarter, but I still had Angela to pay.
Angela didn’t complain. In fact, she busied herself with whipping up concoctions for our still evolving menu. I’d consulted Chesney about it and even a professor and a few colleagues at school. All of the suggestions were the same and nothing I didn’t try. I refused to contact Jacques Moreau. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’d burned that bridge after Dallas. I told him I wasn’t interested in more than that one night. He called for about a month after. He even made pop up visits to the campus, all for me to ignore and reject him. It felt childish, but I’d quickly decided forcing myself into a sexual relationship with a man wouldn’t cure what ailed me. I also vowed to myself to never sleep with a man who I had no emotional connection to. That could have likely been why I’d ended up feeling used after our only time together.
I’ll never forget the moment my business trajectory changed. I was slouched over the counter with my fist holding my head up at the chin, looking just as dejected as I felt. I got caught up watching cars and utility vans park and set up across the street wondering what the heck was going on in this normally quiet block. It was a far better activity than what was going on in my soon-to-be-defunct bakery.
The door chimed, snatching my attention. It was him. He was tall. Taller than I recalled, ironically. His tatted body was mostly covered in sweats except for the ones on his neck that couldn’t be covered by anything but makeup. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and his hat to the back. My chest heaved at the recognition of Stenton.
He didn’t smile and I didn’t have the benefit of his eyes. The last time I’d seen him was in Dallas when I’d coldly informed him I’d been with another man, something I still didn’t know who made him privy to. I hadn’t been speaking to Tynisha, swearing it was she who ran her mouth to him.
Stenton sauntered over to the showcase counter, regarding our display of luxury cupcakes. He had yet to look at me, which was likely ideal with the way my bottom lip swept the floor. It seemed like hours before he spoke.
“I’ll take two of each please,” he muttered with no resemblance of familiarity.
It took a few seconds before I realized I was looking like a Stenton Rogers fan, caught in the hype of his countenance.
“Uh… Oh… Two of each?”
“Yes, please,” he qualified.
Jumping into action, I immediately grabbed a sheet of dry waxed bakery paper and started building his order, packing the cupcakes into boxes. It took some time with my shaky, misty hands. What made the task even more daunting was the searing on the side of my face from his blazing eyes. I couldn’t return the gaze. I was too frazzled. Once done, I bagged the boxes and rang him up on the iPad I attached a card reader to for ringing up orders. When I turned to give him a total, Stenton was handing me a thousand dollar bill.
“I—” I quickly rephrased. “We don’t have change.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to keep it.” His eyes were inside the bag, inspecting the boxes.
“Thanks,” I breathed.
Stenton grabbed the bag, positioning to leave when he finally reached my eyes. My mouth hung agape.
“Such an intimate name, your business.”
I took a moment to consider his comment.
“It became so popular by a mere tweet. Thought I’d join the bandwagon.”