“Hey,” I say softly, trying to get his attention as I split up the menus into piles on the counter. He ignores me. “Hey,” I say a little louder. But still nothing.
He moves past me, shoving the kitchen door open and disappearing inside. Glancing up at Vanessa, she and Lewis are focused on the applications, so I take the opportunity to try to talk to him.
Sneaking into the kitchen, I find Nick leaning over the sink, his fingers gripping the edge of the stainless steel basin so tight his knuckles are white.
“Hey, why are you ignoring me?”
“Why do you think?”
“I don't know. But maybe you can tell me instead of pretending like I'm not even here.”
His head twists in my direction, lids lowering angrily. “Did you do this?”
“Do what, Nick?” Throwing my arm up, I lean my hip against the counter.
“Bring her here? Did you tell her to come?”
Rolling my eyes, I take a step toward him. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”
“Because it's easier this way. Because with her here you don't need to face how you really feel.”
“What? Why would you even think that? We had an agreement. We both knew what was coming. But no, I didn't bring her here.”
He grunts, his head bobbing as he looks back in the sink. “Whatever. Why should I believe you? You act like you don't feel anything between us, like this is just fun sex and nothing more. You might be able to lie to yourself, Misty, but you can't lie to me. I know you feel something too.”
“Look, this was your idea, and we talked about it.”
“No—” he says, quickly cutting me off. “I didn't—”
The kitchen door swings open, and Vanessa walks in. We both stop talking, and the silence is so heavy I'm sure she can feel it too.
But she keeps moving, not stopping, oblivious to the tension between me and Nick . “Everything looks great, I'm seriously impressed you two. Lewis has nothing but great things to say. You both made this happen. I can't thank you enough.”
My heart aches, I feel like I betrayed my friend. She likes Nick, she told me she likes Nick, and now whatever happened between us here has to end. It's over. Besides, it was just a fling, that's it. It's not a big deal.
Nick is quiet, he's not acting like himself at all. And I'm a nervous mess. I'm trying so hard to pretend like I'm not hiding anything from Vanessa. Like Nick and I haven't fucked every night since we've been here. Like we haven't held hands while out to dinner, or snuggled while watching a movie.
My hands are shaking as I point out the new pictures we're adding to the menu and the chalk board I ordered for the employees to write the weekly specials on.
Nick keeps pacing back and forth, running his hands down his face and over his head. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can't find the words. Every so often he sucks in a large gulp of air, and Vanessa and I look up at him, but he lets it out slowly, and goes back to being silent.
“You all right?” Vanessa asks him as she stands up straight.
“Yeah, I'm fine, I've just had a headache all day. I'm going to go back to the hotel and pack.”
“I packed already, my stuff is ready to go, and in the car,” I say awkwardly, as if Vanessa's questioned our sleeping arrangements.
“Okay.” Vanessa peers at me from the corner of her eyes, her voice more alert, but not sure what she's listening for.
Nick barely looks at either of us as he stalks by. The kitchen doors swing back and forth, and the front door jingles as he leaves.
“What’s going on with him?” she asks, pointing in the direction he went.
“I—”
“Hello?” I hear coming from the front as the bell goes off again. “Is anyone here?”
Poking my head out the door, I see the woman and the small boy from the other day. “Hey you guys. How's the birthday boy?” I ask, making my voice as cheery and upbeat as possible.
This should be a good experience for this woman and her son, and I need to keep it that way.
“He's good,” she answers, looking down at her son and ruffling his hair. “We're super excited to see how the cake came out.”
“I can't wait to show you. Give me on second, I'll go grab it.”
“Who's that?” Vanessa asks, her brows dropping hard. “We're not even open yet, who took a cake order?”
“I know, I know, but they came in, and you know as well as anyone you should never turn down the chance for home grown advertising.”
“True,” she says.
“So. . .” I pause, and step into the walk-in fridge.
Coming back out, I'm holding a giant, three layer, swirly blue cake. The frosting looks like the ocean, full of light and dark blues, with white caps on the ruffled edges. Using fondant, I created a rice crispy whale that's spouting a sugar glaze water stream from the air hole.
“I made this.”
“You made that?” Her jaw hangs open as she comes to my side and examines the cake. “Jesus, Misty, when was the last time you baked? College?”
“No,” I say mockingly, and casually shrug a shoulder. “I've made a few cakes over the years for people. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make a little boy's day.”
Pushing the door open with my butt, I spin around. “What do you think?” I ask.
The boy gushes, excitedly jumping up and down in place. “Wow! You see that, Mommy? It's awesome!”
“Happy Sixth Birthday, Jameson. Hey, she even spelled your name right.”
“She did! It's so cool!” He's examining the cake, his eyes huge and wide.
“Good, I'm really happy you like it.” I feel good right now, proud to make someone's day. To give to someone who needed it.
“Are you sure I can't give you anything for it. It's really so beautiful, I don't feel right just walking out without giving you at least a little for it.”
“No, I told you I'd make you a cake and that's what I did. Just remember us the next time someone else needs a cake.” Winking, I smirk, and the woman nods and laughs.
“Excuse me,” Jameson asks, looking up at me. “Where's your husband?” he shifts his head around the room, searching for someone.
“Who?” I'm confused for a moment, and I'm sure my face shows it.
He looks back over his shoulder, and then tries to stand on his toes to look behind the counter. “Your husband. Did he see my cake? Did he like it?”
“My husband?”
Arching a brow, the boy grins and rolls his head on his shoulder. “Yeah, the man that was here? He has to be your husband, you look at each other like my mommy and daddy do.”
Nick. . . He's talking about Nick.
“Oh, no, he's not my husband. We're just friends, but he did love your cake.” Folding the box top closed, I hand it over to his mother. “He actually wants me to make him the same one for his next birthday.”
“Ha!” Jameson laughs out loud, and shakes his head. “He's too old for a cake like this. Maybe one a little smaller, but not like this.”
“Yeah, I told him the same thing.”