Chapter 19

The end of the week comes, including another successful custom cake creation, this one for a birthday party. It’s perfect, nothing big and fancy like the wedding cake but a small, double-layer round with a rainbow of flowers laid out to look like a mane, flowing from a golden unicorn horn. I’d even played with edible glitter and candy sequins to make it more ‘extra’.

Throughout the busy week, Lance is still here. He’s spent every day working on his laptop, leaving to make appearances at the office, or to get what he calls PT in, but coming back to help me in the kitchen or feed me takeout for dinner.

It’s nice to have someone to lean on, and I’m trusting more and more that he’s got my back.

He’s a genuine American hero who wants to make me his number one. I might be his toughest mission to date, but I’m trying to have a little faith.

“I know that look,” Trixie says, jostling me from my reverie as she takes the tray of Ooey-Gooey Buttery Goodness Bars from my hand. “The ‘I’m in love but don’t want to admit it because I’m a scaredy-cat that’s scared’ look.” She fakes a cat hiss, grinning. “All you’re missing is a damn yellow daisy to pluck at as you chant, ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’ ”

“Oh, stop it,” I protest, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “I was thinking about the Generations of Hope event.”

Trixie smirks, one brow lifting in a twist and the other lowering over her eye. She looks like a girly version of The Rock with his famous expression. She’s not remotely convinced but offers me a lifeline. “Fine, if you’re thinking about the event, then tell me all about it. Give me the latest update.”

Trixie had been thrilled to go in with Lance and me on the Generations of Hope idea. Over several days, we spent every spare moment trying to figure out how to make the biggest impact and finally landed on a big festival-type event for the kickoff with smaller get-togethers on a regular basis after that. We’re hoping to win Thomas’s funding to keep them going.

But first, we have to make the kickoff a huge hit to showcase the idea. So Lance has been steering the ship, making every wish we come up with actually come true.

“Well,” I tell Trixie, going through my mental checklist, “he’s scouted several locations, and I think he’s actually going to get Main Street to let us use the park in front of the community center. We’ll be able to use the basketball courts for a charity game, set up tents with the various activities, and he got a burger place to sponsor the food. It’s actually happening, Trix! We’re going to bring everyone together, from the youngest to the oldest, and Roseboro will be better for it.”

She nods but frowns. “Hey, I thought we were doing the food?”

I shake my head, transferring mini-tartlets to the bakery case. “We’re doing mini-cupcake samples and sponsoring the Bake-a-Thon tent, where grandmas like my Grandma Winnie can teach the next generation how to bake. But we’ll also have a grill for burgers that the grandpas are going to man.”

She smiles. “We are doing it, aren’t we? I talked to Terry Maxwell, the computer fixer guy, about having a booth too. He said he’d facilitate a social media workshop for the older set, get the tech-savvy kids to help out. He said he’ll have everybody, young and old, safely on Instagram before the end of the event.”

“And I talked to Mrs. Petrie, Izzy’s neighbor, about doing an arm-knitting demonstration,” I conclude. “She makes these monstrous blankets out of fluffy yarn. I think the kids will love them. Hell, I love them so much I’m hoping I have time to get to her booth to learn myself.”

We stand back, looking at the case filled with the first round of today’s goodies. “Ready for the before-church crowd?” Trixie asks, and I see the first car pull up outside.

I nod, and Steven flips the lock and turns on the buzzing neon sign.

Trixie is helping the first customer when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I look down, seeing it’s Mia. “Hey, Trix, I’ll be a second,” I say, waving my phone at her.

I can’t be gone long. The rush is going to start any minute, but I always take time to answer Mia if I can. Besides being my bestie, she’d be the one to notify me if there was something to worry about with the whole Blackwell situation.

“Hey, girl,” I answer as I swoosh through the double doors to the kitchen.

“What’s shaking, bacon?” she says, my food puns rubbing off on everyone.

“Busy, busy, just starting the Sunday rush. You awake already or still awake?” Either option is equally likely. Mia is a total video game nerd and will start a game at ten p.m. to play for ‘just a minute’, and boom, here comes the sun. She’s tricked me into that more than once, but not since I opened the bakery and had to start getting up around the time she goes to bed after a gaming session.

“Still awake, actually, though not from gaming. A little birdie told me to do a full background check on your boy, which of course means I need to know what the fuck’s up with you and GI Joe!”

My jaw drops, even though somehow, I’m not surprised. “You did not do a background check on my boyfriend.”

The word rolls off my tongue before I can stop it, but it feels good. It feels true, and I like that. A lot.

I can hear her eye roll. “Of course I did. I checked Gabe out too, though his file is unsurprisingly thin. Your man’s, though? Thick, like thiiiick. I know it all, family, military, et-cetera, et-cetera. But what I don’t know is, how’re you doing and what’re you doing with him?”

I fidget, drawing invisible shapes on the clean stainless-steel prep table. “I’m good, I’m . . . uh, I’m seeing him?”

Mia isn’t one for pussyfooting around, and she slips into her Russian accent, which makes everything sound like a threat. “In Mother Russia, man is seen or not seen. No questions. So which?”

“Seeing,” I admit. “I’m still not sure what he’s doing with me when he could have someone easier, more beautiful, less me, but he’s still here so I’m trying to believe him when he says he’s not going anywhere.”

“Wow,” Mia says breathlessly. “It’s about fucking time. You are the shit, girl, and we’ve been telling you for years that you deserve the very best and to stop settling for assholes. It’s not that all guys are shit—helloooo, Tommy?”

I can’t decide if she’s merely talking about how awesome her guy is or if he just walked through the room, but the result’s the same either way. He’s one of the good ones. A moment later, she continues. “You’ve had your pick of the assholes, or let them pick you. I don’t know which is worse. Sounds like you got a good one this time, though.”

“He is, isn’t he?” I know I sound like a lovesick teenager, but honestly, I feel a little spun out like I did the first time the boy I was crushing on looked my way. And that was in third grade. Her words start to sink in and I can’t help myself. “What do you know about him?”

He’s already told me so much, but I want more. I want it all. Like maybe if I truly understand everything about him, I can somehow figure out how to make him stay. I know it’s a weakness, but my experiences weigh on me, making me feel like not enough no matter how many times my friends tell me I am.

“Well, Jonathan knows him well enough to vouch for him. Jon’s the guy who controls your security and is helping me snoopity-doo-dah into Blackwell. I hear the guys on the ground respect Lance, but you’d know that better than me,” she accuses.

“We went out to meet the SUV guys. I’d only ever met Steven, but Lance introduced me to Brian-slash-Larry and Paul-slash-Curly too,” I say, confirming her accusation and reminding myself to use their real names, not the Three Stooges ones Trixie prefers. “Jon got Lance a gun, which made me nervous at first, but he showed me how he takes it apart, cleans it, and stores it safely. I don’t want to ever touch it, but it helped me feel comfortable that he was confident with it. Silly, I know, considering he’s a SEAL.”

“Look,” Mia says quietly, “he’s clean as a whistle on paper. The timing just makes me nervous. Are you sure he’s not some Blackwell sleeper agent? I mean, Blackwell’s got more tentacles than a giant squid, ones we never even considered.” For all my trust issues, Mia has some of her own. I know she feels guilty she didn’t catch on to the saboteur’s deception at Goldstone sooner.

“I trust him, Mia, and that speaks volumes,” I reassure her. “Not just in my brain, but in my gut too. I know my picker’s been a bit broken in the past, but I really think I’m doing the right thing this time.”

Funny how trying to convince Mia helps me convince myself. Not that I need convincing, exactly. I do trust Lance, can feel it in my bones that he’s good for me, but my pesky demons keep trying to steal my happiness. But I won’t let them. I refuse to lose something this good because of my cynicism and lack of faith.

“Okay, if you’re with him, I’m in. I’ll let Tommy know the family grew by two feet. What size shoe does he wear, anyway?” Mia says casually. Too casually.

“Big enough for me to feel it the morning after,” I reply to the question she’s really asking. I don’t know where the stereotype came from that only guys engage in locker room talk because Mia, Izzy, and I share way too much. I know everything from how dominant Thomas can be to how sweet Gabe often is, which seems counter-intuitive if you knew the men, but I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Unless you spill all like we do.

“Gotta go, honey. Trixie is going to kill me if I leave her out there alone for the rush much longer,” I tell her honestly. She says something about our usual lunch date, the ones I’ve been missing out on in favor of doing custom orders, and I agree noncommittally.

As soon as I hang up, Trixie pokes her head through the doors, her eyes wide. I get a good look at her eyes and see the horror there. Something’s wrong.

“Oh, my God, Char, you have to come!”