34. Alice

ALICE

“ T hank you.” I smile, taking the steaming mug of peppermint tea from Sam.

“You’re welcome.”

Suzy puts an arm around my shoulder in a side hug, careful not to jostle my tea. “Go get your rest.” She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “Tomorrow you’re telling us everything .”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sigh. “I owe you guys.”

Sam flicks at one of the buttons on my pajama shirt. “You don’t owe us shit.”

I run my free hand down my front, smoothing out the tiny present-shaped button. “Okay, fine. I’ll live in your basement forever and never thank you again.”

“That’s more like it!” Suzy laughs.

Shaking my head, I move out of the kitchen, past the little entryway, and open the door to the basement.

Suzy and Sam inherited this house from their grandfather—on the other side of their family—last summer. It’s a little two-bedroom rambler in an old part of town, with a tiny yard and an unfinished basement.

Being nearly as broke as me, they’ve been doing the renovations themselves, little by little, but the bones are there, and I know they’ll make it into something special.

My descent slows when I notice the glow at the bottom of the stairs.

There are a few small, uncovered windows lining the basement that let in light from the streetlamps outside, but that’s not what this is.

When my feet hit the bare concrete floor, I have to press my lips together to stop my chin from trembling.

Strung across the exposed floor beams above me are strings of multicolored Christmas lights.

I need a second to steady myself before shouting up the stairs, “I love you!”

“We love you, too!” my cousins chorus back before I hear the floor creak as they walk away from the stairs.

The main area of the basement is piled with old furniture and stacks of boxes, but in the center is a little clear spot that I call home.

Carefully, I lower myself onto my mattress that’s resting on the floor.

With my nightstand next to me, it’s really not much different than my old apartment.

I left everything in my nightstand when I packed it into my car earlier today—having gone back to grab the final things after the show wrapped up. So, when I open the top drawer, a familiar shoebox greets me.

Setting my tea down, I drag the box out and set it on my lap.

I pause for a moment before opening the lid.

Now that I’ve met Michael, it feels a little creepy to have this. A little bit serial killer. A lot a bit stalker. But I justify my collection by telling myself there are probably lots of people out there who save Chef Mike Kesso articles.

But I bet those people haven’t had his face up their skirt.

I flip the lid off.

Magazine articles, interviews, and one signed photo stare up at me.

I always thought of this as my inspiration box. A way to motivate myself to follow my dreams, just like Michael did.

I don’t need an empire like he’s built, but just one bakery would be nice. One thing to call my own. A way to put my stamp on this world.

But now… I bite my lip. Now I wonder if this is more of an obsession box.

I use the tip of my finger to nudge the photo into view.

I won this as a part of a gift basket from a food blogger I follow. And it’s been my most prized possession ever since.

I nudge it back under an article.

“Get a grip, Alice,” I mumble out loud.

What we did was… fun. But it was a moment.

A moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. But just a moment.

And moments pass.

I set the box on the mattress next to me and flop onto my back.

It’s time for me to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. I feel too old to be this lost. This unsure.

Staring at the lights above, I try to imagine my perfect life. What would make me happy.

Michael.

Okay, what would make me happy but is also realistic, I correct myself.

Blinking against the feeling of loss that’s trying to overwhelm me, I take another slow breath.

Habit has me patting the empty pocket of my pajama pants, wishing I’d remembered to look for my lost coin.

When they finished my interview, the director, or whoever she was, told me I was free to go. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay and find Michael. Talk to him. Maybe hug him. Tell him how much he’s meant to me over the years. How he’s inspired me to be a better baker and to find my happiness.

But when I craned my neck past the director to look for him, all I saw was his back as he hugged Mikayla.

The rational part of my brain told me that he always hugs the winner. It’s a part of every episode—the judges hugging the victor—but the sight of it went straight through my heart. And in an emotional panic, I half ran to my room, cleared out my things, and left.

Biggest mistake of my mistake-riddled life.

I groan and rub a hand over my eyes.

A loud knock at the front door has me jolting up into a sitting position.

I don’t have a clock set up, but I know it’s late. Late enough that no one should be dropping by.

Creaking floorboards tell me that one, or both, of my cousins are on the way to answer when the doorbell chimes.

“Geez, we’re coming!” Suzy yells a moment before I hear the front door open.

A low voice joins my cousins’, but I can’t make out what’s being said.

Standing, I take a few steps toward the stairs.

There’s the unmistakable sound of Sam squealing in excitement, followed by the front door closing.

I wonder what ? —

The basement door opens above me, and I open my mouth to ask what’s going on when I freeze.

The figure silhouetted at the top of the stairs is not Sam. Or Suzy.

My breath catches in my lungs as the form takes the first step down, closing the door behind him.

It can’t be.

Frozen in place, I stare as the glow from the Christmas lights slowly illuminates the man before me.

Black leather shoes. Dark wash jeans. And the same formfitting black shirt I’d recognize in my sleep.

“Michael?” I whisper his name.

With a final step, he stops right in front of me. The soft light highlighting the strands of silver in his hair.

His eyes are on mine, and he looks… angry.

“What are you doing here?” I’m still whispering, too stunned to do more. Too stunned to even worry about the unflattering candy cane striped pajamas that I’m wearing.

His jaw flexes. “You left.”

“I…” My mouth opens and closes. “I was told we were done.”

Michael shakes his head. “We’re not done.”

“We’re not?” My voice trembles.

He takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “Baby Cakes, we’re never gonna be done.”

“Michael.” I breathe his name again, only this time, there’s no question.

He’s here.

Michael is here… for me.