Chapter 3

chapter three

Addie

" Hellooooo ?"

A faint voice echoes around my bedroom, pulling me from sleep, and I crack one eye open groggily, lifting my head from the fluffy pillow.

"I know you're in there, Addie. Do not ignore me!" The same annoying voice grunts through the Alexa on my nightstand so loudly that my ears ring.

Groaning, I pull my pillow over my face and flop back down onto the mattress.

Of course this is my Sunday morning wake-up call. A sobering reminder of reality after the party last night.

"Add—"

"I'm coming, Tad, jeez. I was sleeping ," I mutter against the pillow before abandoning it to glance over at the alarm clock on my nightstand. "It's only 7:00 a.m. What could you possibly need from me at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday?"

I can practically see his eyes rolling as he speaks. "We took a last-minute order at the bakery, and Dad needs you to come prep the dough."

"It's Sunday, Tad. My only day off. Can't you do it today?" I sigh frustratedly. Even though I already know the answer to that question. My stepbrother would never lift a finger to help the bakery, even though it's what's paid for his lacrosse career and the all-boys private Catholic school he attended before starting at Orleans U. He's spoiled and entitled and honestly… just a jerk.

I'm the one who has to wake up at three in the morning to help Amos do prep in the bakery, barely skating out of the store in enough time to make it to my first class on most days.

Something Tad, nor my stepfather, has ever had to do.

I don't mind working in the bakery or helping in any way that I can. It's just the fact that it's expected of me and that my time is never taken into consideration.

Why would it be when I'm not respected by either of them?

If I was, then Brent wouldn't be trying to marry me off to the highest bidder to fix problems that he created.

Tad laughs haughtily, and for a second, I think about unplugging the Alexa and tossing it into the trash where he belongs but decide not to because then I'd never hear the end of it.

It's bad enough that they both drop into the device unannounced with absolutely no respect for my privacy. I don't think I could handle them showing up in the flesh, invading my little sanctuary in my room above our garage. I try to limit one-on-one… anything with them whenever I can help it.

"Can't. Busy. You know me and the guys brunch on Sunday. Sorry, little sis. Maybe next time though?"

I scoff, my words coming out in a frustrated rush of syllables. "I really need to work on my art portfolio. Can you please cancel brunch for the day and fill in? Please just help me this once."

"Nope, no can do. Guess you'll just have to stay up late to work on it. Not my problem. See ya." The blue ring of light on Alexa glows, signaling Tad's gone, and I grab the pillow and pull it over my face once more, only this time, I scream into it as loudly as I can.

It's not at all surprising that Tad's asking me to use my only day off to work on a last-minute order that he took because let's just say that the apple… doesn't fall far from the tree.

Those two deserve each other, and like always, I tell myself to hold it together. Be the bigger person. Ignore their snide remarks and shitty jabs because their cruel words are only a reflection of who they are.

That's something my mom used to tell me when I was a little girl. That people's actions are a reflection of who they are and not at all of who I am.

But some days, it's easier said than done to heed her words, especially on days like today when I have to deal with Tad's dismissive demands before I've even had any coffee.

Begrudgingly, I toss the covers off and head to my bathroom to shower, almost tripping over the pile of laundry that's accumulated in the middle of the floor. Auggie opens one eye at the disturbance before he settles back to sleep in my bed.

Sundays are usually the days that I get everything done that I've had to neglect during the rest of the week, which is why I'm even more frustrated that I'm having to sacrifice my one and only day off. Between my classes and work, sometimes I feel like I never get a chance to breathe.

The stolen moments of quiet are few and far between. And I really love the quiet.

I pause in the middle of my room by the laundry, my eyes scanning the yellowed, cracked, and peeling paint of the walls to the worn and rickety furniture that is older than me.

My makeshift bedroom above the garage is… rustic at best. There are more things wrong with it than things not, but it's also… my piece of solace away from the main house.

It's home. It might not be much, but it's mine. I spent most of my teens making it feel that way. Picking up pieces at garage sales and for super cheap while thrifting. Some of my best finds have been buried beneath what others would consider trash on the shelves.

Hues of burgundy, black, and emerald… warm, earthy browns decorate the walls in paintings, and shelves display decorative vases and vintage knickknacks. Pieces that make me feel happy and comfortable. Dark green plants with long, loopy leaves drape over my bookshelves, and bronzed candlestick holders sit on my mess of a desk, lighting the way for more nights than I care to say as I've sketched until I've fallen asleep on my sketchbook, only to wake up with smudges of charcoal on my cheeks and staining my fingers.

A smile tugs at my lips when my thoughts drift back to last night… and meeting Grant. An unexpected meet-cute that's been lingering in my thoughts since I got home.

There's a small part of me that wishes I could've given him my number when he asked, like a normal college girl my age who flirted with a boy at a party would.

Okay, a big part of me wishes that.

But the realistic part of me also knows that there are too many things that stand in the way.

The number one thing being that in less than three weeks, I'm going to be married to someone else. A guy who I can't stand. A carbon copy of my entitled, snooty stepbrother, except that my "fiancé" looks at me with hungry, leering eyes like I'm a piece of meat at a market.

The weight on my shoulders feels heavier than ever as I turn the shower handle all the way to the left, as hot as it will go, and the old pipes groan and creak loudly at the sudden rush of pressure.

I've been meaning to ask Earl to take a look at it, but there's been a hundred other things to worry about. I make a mental note to ask him today as I step under the steaming spray and try to push last night and Grant from my mind.

After my shower, I throw on a pair of old jeans and a work shirt before heading downstairs and through the gate outside my stepfather's house to the side entrance of the bakery. I've always loved that this piece of my mom has been right next door and never out of reach.

Before I even open the door, I know that Amos is inside, creating magic from his fingertips. The scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wafts through the air, and my stomach rumbles in response as I push the door open and walk inside.

There aren't very many constants in my world, but Amos Herveaux is one of them. I can hardly remember a time in my life when he hasn't been here, and I can't imagine a time when he won't be. He's been working at the bakery since I was a little girl.

"Well, good mornin', cher. Sleep well?" His dark hazel eyes twinkle, and he smiles as he looks up at me from the pan in front of him. His long gray hair is pulled into his signature tight ponytail at his nape, the strands of his hair decorated with beads and ribbon that match the bracelets on his wrist. He's the most eccentric, lively person I know, and sometimes I envy him for his ability to be who he is so effortlessly.

I always tease him for being the absolute opposite, in every way possible, of his husband, Earl.

Earl helps with maintenance around the house and bakery, and while Amos is a swirl of boisterous energy who never meets a stranger, Earl is quiet, stoic, and reserved.

Amos is a practicing Wiccan and never leaves home without his crystals or his tarot deck. And Earl? Raised a devout Catholic who still buys a newspaper on Sunday and believes that we never actually made it to the moon.

They're living proof that no matter how different you can be from someone, loving each other is all that really matters in the end.

"Good morning," I say, walking over to the counter and reaching for my favorite coffee mug on the shelf above it. The pot next to it is still steaming, and I could cry with how badly I need the caffeine after the late night and early morning. "You have no idea how bad I needed this."

He laughs and lifts a finger, telling me to pause before turning to the other side of the kitchen and returning with a strawberry cream cheese croissant, my absolute favorite thing he makes.

"The universe told me you needed one this morning, cher, so I woke up a little early and made you a fresh batch."

I snatch it from his hand eagerly, but not before quickly throwing my arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I might cry over this fresh baked goodness, however sad that might be. Thank you for coming in to help me with this order too. I'm sorry Tad took it at the last minute. God, what would I do without you, Amos?"

Amos's deep chuckle vibrates against my chest as he holds me tightly to him in a hug. "I'm your fairy godmother, so you'll never have to find out. It's nothing, Addie. You know I'm always going to be here for you. Now, eat up because you know I wanna hear all about last night."

Pulling back, I take a giant bite of the fruity deliciousness in my hand and moan around the soft, flaky dough.

God, I would honestly do terrible things to have one of these… maybe two… every morning. It's truly heaven-sent.

"Nothing to tell," I hedge.

His thick, bushy brow arches, and the expression on his face tells me that I am not getting out of this kitchen without talking, so I hop onto the counter and sigh before taking another quick bite of the croissant.

"It was… fine. I can confidently say that I will never be a frat party kind of girl. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and not a great one. I'll never get the smell of stale beer out of my favorite cardigan." My nose wrinkles.

"Did you make any friends?"

My thoughts drift once more to Grant, and I shake my head.

"I did… not. Make any friends." The little white lie slips past my lips easily, and for a second, I feel slightly guilty for it. I guess, though, technically, it isn't a lie because we're not friends.

He's just a guy that I happened to meet last night and spent a few precious moments talking to about nothing at all. Just a guy that I… can't stop thinking about?

"I—" I'm cut off by the door of the kitchen flying open and my stepfather barreling through, a look of annoyance on his face. My heart lurches in my chest.

Crap.

I quickly hop off the counter and shove the rest of the croissant in my mouth.

"Addie, I thought Tad told you what I needed from you today?" His jaw steels while he glances between Amos and me with disdain.

I nod. "He did. I, uh… was just grabbing breakfast really quickly."

I want to tell him that I'm not going to do it, and if he has a problem with that, then he can shove it, but I don't, and I likely never would.

Because that's exactly who I am as a person, a passive doormat, and it's the one thing I hate about myself. My inability to stand up for myself despite the things I've dealt with my entire life from both Brent and Tad.

"Well, please, take all the time you need. It's not like we have a crisis on our hands," he says with venom-laced words.

"But there?—"

He lifts his meaty hand, cutting me off abruptly. "The last thing we need is to not complete this order for the promised time, Addie. It's for a prominent New Orleans business, and I'd like to not tarnish our reputation because of your dawdling. Which means that I need you to take care of this as soon as possible, minus any excuses."

I nod hastily. "Got it."

"And as a reminder, we'll be celebrating your engagement next weekend with a party, so please be sure to be on time and wear something… appropriate . Need I remind you how important this is for our family and the bakery ?" His jaw ticks.

Inside, my stomach is twisted into knots of hurt and frustration, but I press the feelings down, as always, keeping my mouth shut as I nod again.

I'm the dutiful stepdaughter because, at the end of the day, I know how important this bakery was to my mom. How much time, love, and dedication she put into every nook and cranny, and seeing it fail isn't an option. It's the reason that I've agreed to this stupid, archaic plan. Because if I don't… we could lose Ever After, and I truly can't live with that. I cannot fathom a world without it.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the kitchen, letting the door slam shut behind him, rattling the frame.

Only once he's gone does it feel like the air returns to the room, and I suck in a shaky breath.

"Cher, do not put a single ounce of stock into what that ass says. You know I could put him in his place anytime," Amos says, stirring the pot with more vigor. "A wedding? God, he has lost his mind."

"I know, but I need you around, so don't aggravate him into firing you. I've got it handled. I'll figure it out. Somehow. I'm going to get started on preparing the order, but I'll tell you more about last night later, 'kay?" I muster a small smile as I jump down from the counter and pat his arm. "Love you."

"Love you, my darlin'." His eyes are soft and his smile full of pity. Even though I appreciate the love and concern, I hate that I'm the recipient of his sympathy.

One day, I'll stand up to Brent. It just… won't be today.

As it turned out, I didn't get to catch Amos up on what happened last night because I worked the entire day prepping hundreds and hundreds of mini king cakes, and before I realized it, the sky was dark, and my stomach was growling fiercely. Unsurprisingly, it took the entire day to complete the last-minute order, and honestly, I have no energy left to even be mad about it any longer.

I'm exhausted, down to my bones, and as I plop down into the chair at my desk, my eyes are already bleary. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through the next few hours of working on my project. But I don't want to fall behind on developing ideas for my thesis.

I reach for my sketchbook while staring at the computer screen but stop short when I realize it's not in the spot it usually is.

I spend the next hour tearing my room apart to the point that it looks like a hurricane has hit it and come up empty-handed.

My sketchbook is not here, and I groan when I realize where I might have left it.