“Dude, do you have any coffee in this joint?”
Fuck, I’m tired. And hyped. Dreading the long day ahead but loving that I get to see her today. I shuffle down the carpeted hall I used to practice my baseball slide on and into the kitchen. It’s painted a different color now but that doesn’t erase the memories it holds. Of where the jar used to sit on the counter full of the cookies I would steal from Saylor. Of the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator where Mrs. Rodgers used to hide a stash of candy we all would sneak from when we didn’t think she was paying attention. Of sitting down for meals and there was always a place setting made up for me whether I asked to eat here or not.
Ryder sits in the same location as when we were kids, but at a different table and lifts his eyes to meet mine. He looks as worse for wear as I feel—and points his finger to the Kuerig on the counter.
“Thanks.” I brew some coffee, doctor it, then sit across from him and think that this is where it all started for me. My love for Saylor.
We sit in comfortable silence. The kind two friends who have known each other forever can sit in without words and figure out how we feel about the turn of events.
“Do you think Jenna’ll show?” He raises his eyebrows and pushes one of the tabloids to the side he was looking at to see if shit was dying down.
“If she knows what’s good for her, she will.”
“Hmm.”
“Is my IOU paid off yet?” I chuckle. Thinking about back then—a few months after I’d left for Hollywood and was waiting for filming to start—how he helped my mom out, separating their mess of finances when my dad came after her in their divorce. How I had no money to pay him, but he called in favors anyway and got everything I needed to help get her taken care of. And despite his continued denials, I know he paid money out of his own pocket to get those favors done for me.
“Make her cry again, I’ll still punch you. I don’t care how famous your ugly ass is.”
“So noted.” I nod my head. Tuck my tongue in my cheek and prepare myself for the day ahead. “She have any clue about today?”
“Not a one.”
Good.
I miss her.
It’s sure as shit going to be hard to stick to my guns and not talk to her when I see her.
TWO DAYS LEFT
TWITTER
@HayesWhitOffcl
@SweetChks Are you still in need of a cardboard cut-out holding a sign selling your wares? #10Days #MadA-Game #GrudgeCupcakes #Anticipation
@SweetChks
@HayesWhitOffcl Only if I get to place the flour handprints. In the right places. #IveGotGameToo #10Days #TalkIsCheap
@HayesWhitOffcl
@SweetChks Proud of you. Class act the other day. BTW, what’s the most important thing in a kitchen to you? #GameOn #48Hours #ActionIsBetter
@SweetChks
@HayesWhitOffcl Granite slab on the island. With flour. And sugar.
#MmMmGood Can we skip the next #2880minutes?
@HayesWhitOffcl
@SweetChks I’m a man of my word. What are you going to do to try to break me of it? #Decisions #GameChanger #ILoveIcingInYourHair #CountersAndFlour
@SweetChks
@HayesWhitOffcl I’ve got my ways to make you talk. #MadSkillz #GameChanger
@HayesWhitOffcl
Better bring your A-Game @SweetChks Mine’s stronger. #HayesFTW #ShipsSink
TWO DAYS LEFT
It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up and have a Twitter flirt with Hayes. It’s the first time he’s responded and it’s ridiculously silly that the small interaction put me on cloud nine. Yet it has.
Between the divorce organization proposal I spent all night working on that I sent to Ryder for his opinion, my little morning exchange with Hayes, and the knowledge I get to speak with (and hopefully see) him in forty-eight hours—after his asinine ten-day rule is up—today feels like it’s going to be a good day.
I slowly enjoy sipping my coffee and spend a little extra time getting ready. I feel relief and contentment, which is welcome after a tumultuous couple of months.
“Say? You’re going to want to come down and see this,” DeeDee calls up the stairs, just as I finish getting ready. There’s something in her voice that reminds me of the first time Hayes came to Sweet Cheeks.
I shut the door to my apartment and jog down the stairs to find the bakery abuzz. A camera has been set up in one corner. Men in dark clothes with headsets huddle in another. All of the tables and chairs have been pushed to the side of the room except for one set. A tray of my most lavishly decorated cupcakes has been set atop it.
What the hell is going on?
The slew of photographers outside has grown tenfold with their cameras held at the ready, all vying for shots of what’s going on inside the store.