28. Birdie

Confession: I don't really like my clothes.

Frowning, Mara stood in front of my closet (well, technically her closet) and flipped through the neutral-toned dresses.

"What?" I said, already defensive.

"I didn't know this many shades of black existed," she said. "Does that school have something against color?"

Rubbing my arm, I sat on the bed. "You know what it's like to try to dress up as a big girl. Straight sizes are too small and plus sizes are too big. It's harder to shop for professional looks that aren't too revealing or skirts that are long enough to go over my ass or prints that aren't too loud."

"Okay, I will admit shopping a size eighteen sucks—which is why I wear leggings all the time—but there has to be more than this."

I shrugged. "I've sworn off buying jeans, so it's athleisure or dress clothes."

Mara's frown grew deeper—how that was even possible, I had no idea.

"Okay, now I'm feeling hopeless."

"No, it's not that. I'm sure he'd adore you in all of this." She gestured at my closet. "I'm just wondering how I've never noticed it..."

Her gaze on me saw way too much. "What?"

"Your clothes are a reflection of you," Mara said.

"So you're stretchy?" I asked with a wry smile.

She snorted. "Comfortable, relaxed. And you're..." She gestured. "You're in mourning!"

"What would I be mourning?" I asked.

"That's for you to find out." She shut the closet door. "In the meantime, I got the cutest dress last weekend. You should wear it."

I tried arguing with her at first. The tag wasn't even off the flirty floral dress yet, but she insisted, and I had to admit, I looked pretty cute. The colors even brought out the natural flush in my cheeks and the blue in my eyes.

We decided on stylish sneakers to match, then I'd worked one of Mara's bandanas through my curly hair as a headband. I'd never worn anything like this, but I realized I'd never felt more like myself. It made me want to go back to the store and find more dresses like the one Cohen had bought me.

It was silly, really. I should have been wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants to quell this sexual tension that lingered between Cohen and me. But just like that first night, I imagined his fingers playing with the hem of my dress, his knee parting my legs, his... I shivered. "Are you sure about this outfit?" I asked Mara.

"It's perfect. Not too casual, but also not too dressy," Mara said. "If he's not going to tell you where you're going, you have to be ready for anything. Speaking of, did you wear cute underwear?"

I turned to her and raised my eyebrows. "Absolutely not. Wearing cute panties would be like begging him to lift my skirt up and take me in the bathroom." Which gave me new ideas all together.

She bit her lip. "Now there's a date worth going on."

We were so on the same page it was scary, but we both needed to remember what could never be. "Mara, for the millionth time, I can't date him. The school—"

"—code of conduct expressly forbids it," she finished for me, mimicking my voice. "But do they say anything about one-night stands and banging it out with the hot barkeep?"

I shook my head, laughing, and walked toward the living room. Cohen could be here any moment, and I wanted to spare him a suggestive conversation with my overzealous best friend. I picked up my purse. "I'm going to wait for him outside."

"Uh huh. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"What's that?" I teased. "Anal?"

She cackled as I walked outside and shut the door.

Maybe Mara was right about ‘banging one out.' I did want to fulfil my fantasy from that first night. If I wasn't such a chicken, we could have already had sex, and Cohen Bardot would be out of my system. But instead, I'd backed out and now here I was in not-dating purgatory with the hottest guy I'd ever met.

His car pulled into the driveway, and I could practically feel Mara's eyeballs on me as I walked to meet him.

He got out of the car, wearing fitted jeans and an olive-toned T-shirt that showed off his arms. I wondered when he worked out—if he got up early to do it or made time in the evening. But then I realized he was looking at me, and oh god, had he already said hello and I'd missed it?

"Hi," I said with an embarrassed smile. I still couldn't believe I'd almost called him sexy the night before when I was still trying to be his friend.

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he came and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

My skin felt hot where his lips had been, and I wished he could have kissed me longer. Could have moved his mouth just inches over so we could have that kiss I'd longed for the week before.

"Ready for your surprise?" he asked, as though completely unfazed by the contact.

"As long as it involves waffles," I teased.

"But of course."

I got into his car, and once we had closed the doors behind us, he lifted a hand and waved toward the house.

I distinctly saw a curtain whoosh shut.

"A friend of yours?" he asked, clearly amused.

"She was." I laughed awkwardly. "Actually, she's kind of my hero—letting me stay with her until I find a place and preparing me for not-dates." I gave him a look. "I had no idea what to wear."

"I'm sure she knows you look beautiful no matter what you're wearing."

Good thing I was sitting down, because his grin paired with those words made my knees weak. The back of my neck was hot already, so I reached up and brushed some curls away from my neck and looked out the window.

"So I know we're trying to stay out of Emerson," he said. "Have you ever heard of this place called Seaton Bakery?"

I lifted my eyebrows. "I didn't even know there were restaurants in Seaton. I thought it was just shut down factories and some housing."

He shook his head. "Spoken like a true rich kid."

"You're not wrong." I'd grown up exactly the way my parents had intended me to—going to Brentwood Academy, becoming skilled in an instrument I no longer played, learning languages I'd never use, and above all else, knowing how to groom myself for the public eye.

"No, there's a fishing pier there that's pretty fun on the weekends—they bring out food carts and kids fly kites and old guys cast reels off the dock. And then, of course, Seaton has a few shops and my very favorite place to get breakfast on the weekends."

"Yeah?"

"You're going to love it. And the owners—Chris and Gayle—they've become sort of like my business mentors at the bar, even though they're only ten years older than me."

"That good?" I asked.

He nodded emphatically. "Everyone who works there stays there forever because they're so great to work with, and their customer loyalty is through the roof. Of course, that might have something to do with their clean bathrooms." He winked at me.

My cheeks heated, but I smiled and said, "Possibly."

Soon, we reached a simple brick building painted white with discounts and specials written on the windows. It was unassuming, blending into the other places around it and the asphalt parking lot so broken up it may as well have been gravel.

"This is it?" I asked. The way he'd praised it, I'd expected...more.

He nodded and turned off the car. "Just wait ‘til you get inside."

Skeptical, I got out of the car and walked alongside him, thankful at least for the fact that no one from the Academy would be caught dead here. It would be too much damage to their personal "brand" to be seen in a place that didn't use cloth napkins.

That made me like Cohen just a little bit more. He may have had money, but he also knew how to spot the diamonds in the rough.

A bell hanging on the door clanged as we walked inside. Despite its humble exterior, the inside of the shop exuded warmth. Couples and families and friends sat around mismatched tables and booths, and a display right up front showed off brightly colored cupcakes that made my mouth water.

The woman behind the counter smiled at us and said, "Cohen! This must be the girl."

My cheeks heated as I smiled at her, walking closer. "Hi, I'm Birdie." I extended my hand, and she shook it with both of hers.

"I'm Gayle. It's so nice to meet you." She had light blond hair and a smile that made her eyes crinkle. I immediately liked her.

The swinging kitchen doors opened, and a tall, thin man with a round belly and a head of gray hair walked through, rubbing his hands on his apron. "Is this her?"

I glanced at Cohen, and I swore I saw a blush on his cheeks. "Chris," he said, "this is Birdie."

Chris rubbed his hands yet again on his apron before shaking my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Birdie." Just like his wife, his smile made me like him right away.

"Cohen's told me wonderful things about the two of you," I said.

Gayle grinned at him. Despite the lines forming around her eyes, she looked so young, so full of life. I could tell why Cohen was fond them. "Is that so?" she said.

Cohen shrugged. "Only how you two taught me everything I know."

Chris batted his hand at Cohen. "He's been a smart one ever since he started working here at sixteen. That was just a couple years after we opened."

I raised my eyebrows. Cohen hadn't told me he used to work here. Did that mean he used to live in Seaton?

Cohen seemed shy—shy—and said, "Well, I thought I'd show Birdie the best of Seaton." He got out his wallet. "Can you send out some of your specialties?"

"Only if you put that thing away," Gayle said, nodding at his wallet. "You know your money's no good here."

Cohen shook his head and, tucking his wallet in his back pocket, said, "Stubborn as always."

Turning back toward the kitchen, Chris said, "You have no idea."

Cohen took my hand and led me to an open table near the corner of the bakery. I drank in everything—the old men playing chess, the young couple sitting on the same side of the booth, a family with kids running circles around the tables. There weren't any pretenses here. No, everyone was being exactly who they were. It took special people to make everyone feel so at home. People like my Grandpa Chester.

As we sat down, Cohen said, "What do you think?"

I smiled at him and said, "It feels like home."

He grinned back as if it were the best answer I could have given. "It does, doesn't it?"

"I didn't realize you used to work here."

"I had to," he said simply. "When your mom's an addict and your dad's nowhere to be found, someone has to put food on the table."

My heart wrenched, no matter how matter of factly he said the words. "Cohen, I—"

He shook his head. "Don't be sorry. I learned a lot from my mom."

I waited for him to elaborate.

"I learned quick ways to see who would be kind enough to share a meal. I found out how to live frugally, how to make myself scarce when another boyfriend came around, how to find a vein, you know..." He chuckled softly, but his eyes showed a vulnerability his casual words belied.

"That's awful," I breathed. Cohen and I had lived completely different lives, and although I disagreed with plenty my parents did, at least I never had to wonder where my next meals were coming from.

"It was. Gayle and Chris are more than my mentors. They were newly married, had just opened the bakery, and they were still the parents I always wished I could have."

I glanced over my shoulder at Gayle interacting with another customer. "They're lovely."

He reached across the table and took my hand. "And so are you."