Chapter 1
SHELLEY
“Ugh.” I grunted as I slammed my fist into the dough, punching a large dent and shrinking the risen mixture to half its height. It was probably too soon to rework the bread dough, but the action worked wonders in releasing some of my pent-up frustration.
I was so done with Patrick. No, I was done with men altogether.
I should have known better than to date a man that willfully wore spandex in public. Real men didn’t prance around with everything on display, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They wore loose shorts and played real sports. The kind that made them sweat and smell like real guys. They didn’t bend into all kinds of poses like a pretzel and wear workout clothes that looked better on their female counterparts.
That alone should have tipped me off that something wasn’t right. I had ignored that nagging voice in the back of my mind and gone out with Patrick anyway.
I’d been desperate for someone to pay attention to the real me, not the person they thought I was, and Patrick had seemed like he did. He’d made me feel seen.
But I’d been wrong. So wrong. Again. Turned out the weasel was more interested in seeing how many women he could string along at the same time. Yeah, he’d seen me. As nothing more than a number.
Not anymore, though. I was through.
I rubbed the length of my arm over my forehead, hoping to keep my flour-covered hands out of my golden blonde hair, which had escaped my long ponytail. After a long day manning the bakery alone, and the force with which I’d been pounding the mixture, my ponytail hung crooked and loose.
One last pat, and I set the bowl aside.
“You sure you’re done with that? I think you could get another round in if you gave it another go.” Mamie’s voice startled me as the back door swung closed, alerting me of her presence.
“I think I’ll pop this in the fridge for the morning.” I exhaled, secretly chastising myself for my childish behavior. “What brings you around so late?” I checked the clock to make sure I hadn’t imagined it was almost closing time. I wasn’t ready for any more false hope today.
“With Charlotte away on her honeymoon, I thought I’d come and help you close up. By the looks of it,” Mamie eyed me and pulled her brows up high, “you could use the extra help.”
Charlotte, the owner of Char’s Sweets and Treats, was technically my boss, even though we’d been close friends for almost a decade. As Charlotte’s grandmother and the person who raised her from the age of sixteen, Mamie often helped out in the bakery when Charlotte needed an extra pair of hands. Or she came around to sit and catch up on the latest news and eye the customers. Preferably the male ones.
Mamie didn’t wait for my reply as she took an extra apron and pulled it over her head.
She may be Charlotte’s grandmother, but she’d always treated me like her own family. Ever since my parents had moved away to Florida earlier this year, she mothered me even more.
“Go.” She shooed me out to the front of the bakery, not hesitating a second as she plunged her hands into the sudsy water, scrubbing the first bowl she reached for.
The front was empty, which wasn’t unusual for a Tuesday just before closing. If I was lucky, the pesky teenagers that left a sticky mess of brownies with hot fudge and ice cream twenty minutes ago would be the last patrons for the day. I did a quick scan of the place, wiping down every surface I hadn’t gotten to earlier, but leaving the mopping. I’d deal with that in the morning. My confrontation with Patrick earlier and the long day at the bakery had left me beyond exhausted.
“So, another date with the charming Patrick tonight?” Mamie beamed as I dragged myself through the door and into the kitchen with the last of the dirty cups and plates I’d missed in the debacle with the hot fudge. Her words halted my advance, making the weight of the day pound down on me in full force.
Mamie’s waiting face blurred as my eyes filled with moisture. Frustration had me pinching my eyes shut and keeping them closed to avoid any tears from leaking. I would not cry over Patrick again. I would not.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Mamie’s voice sounded near.
I felt her hand on my cheek, brushing a trail of wetness away despite my failing attempts to ward off my emotions.
“There’ll be no more dates with Patrick.” My voice cracked, and I felt the last of the fight leave me. My shoulders dropped, and I raised my hands to cover my face. Mamie was quick to wrap her arms around me and rub my back. Instead of stopping the tears from falling, I felt all the emotions I’d been holding in since I’d turned my back on that despicable man erupt in a torrent of waterworks.
“There, there now. Let it all out.” Mamie continued to soothe me, whispering kind words of comfort as she held me near.
Her arms stayed wrapped around me until I calmed down. When I pulled back, I felt like I’d been crying for hours instead of only minutes. The steady banging in my head indicated a rhythm achieved only by a constant, drawn-out hammering instead of the mere breakdown I’d allowed myself in Mamie’s arms.
“What did that man do to you?” Mamie held me at arm’s length, peering into my eyes, her brows drawn together.
“What makes you so sure he’s to blame?” I ran my fingers under my lashes, hoping to remove the last traces of my meltdown.
“Tears like that. I’m not an idiot. Only a man can inflict such pain,” Mamie shot back. “Tell me now, before I find that man and beat it out of him.”
I returned her stare, feeling my lips tugging up in a small smile. When Mamie’s pulled down in a frown, I realized she wasn’t joking.
“I’ll give you one guess. What do men do that make us cry big, fat, ugly tears?” I returned her question with one of my own, still not ready to admit it out loud. How could I be that stupid?
“Are you telling me that…” Mamie sputtered, her cheeks growing red. “Man.” She spat the word as if it tasted of bitter lemon in her mouth. “He cheated on you?”
I nodded, feeling my eyes pooling again. I blinked rapidly, all the while chanting to myself that I would be strong and not break down again. I would not!
“Why, next time I see him, I will…” Mamie’s voice rose as she threw her fist in the air.
“No,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, my chin wobbling. “I told him all I had to say this afternoon. I don’t want anything more to do with him. I’m done.”
“And rightly so. That good-for-nothing piece of…”
“Mamie.” I interrupted her, before she started cussing. She had a mouth on her and was well acquainted with not only a colorful English vocabulary, but an expansive French—her mother tongue—one as well. She utilized it frequently when she felt like English didn’t provide her with ample words to do the job sufficiently. It wasn’t often you saw such a put-together seventy-year-old lady with perfect makeup and gray hair pinned up to perfection swear like a sailor.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Patrick did me a favor, really.”
“How?” Mamie looked at me, not at all convinced.
“I’m twenty-seven years old. I’ve dated plenty of men, and no relationship has ever lasted, this time included. I’m done with it. No more.”