Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
So I’d done what I always did when the world felt too heavy. I got in the kitchen and baked.
There was comfort in following a recipe, in the precision of measurements and the alchemy of ingredients transforming into something beautiful. Baking didn’t judge me. It didn’t accuse me of sabotage or question my character. It was satisfying and simple. And right now, that simplicity was exactly what I needed.
Besides, Miles was still in the hospital. Hazel had been there all night, and they could both probably use something sweet. At least my heartbreak could be productive.
The frosting reached the perfect consistency. Glossy and smooth, the kind of chocolate that would make you close your eyes on the first bite. I turned off the mixer and began transferring it to a piping bag, my movements automatic after years of practice. I wasn’t a professional decorator by any means, but I could manage an impressive swirl topped with chocolate sprinkles.
As I worked my way through the cupcakes, my mind drifted back to Simon. It had been doing that all morning, no matter how hard I tried to redirect it. The ache in my chest intensified with each thought, a dull throb that sharpened whenever I remembered the look on his face in that parking lot.
I squeezed the piping bag too hard, and frosting squirted out in an uneven blob. Sighing, I scraped it off and started again.
Just two days ago, I’d been happier than I could remember being. I’d had a job I actually loved, working for a man I respected and admired. More than that, I’d had Simon. His rare smiles, his dry humor, the way he looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room.
I’d been starting to think I might love him.
The realization had been creeping up on me for weeks, but I’d been too afraid to examine it closely. Love felt like a big word, a dangerous word, one that carried the weight of vulnerability and the risk of devastation.
Turned out, I got the devastation anyway.
Not that it mattered now. Whatever we’d had was over, personally and professionally. I just needed to move on. It would take time, and I might work my way through the entire dessert section of my cookbook in the process, but I was determined to get past this pain.
Eventually.
I finished the last cupcake, admiring my work despite my mood. Twenty-four perfect swirls, each one topped with a sprinkle of chocolate. I licked a stray bit of frosting from my fingertip, savoring the rich sweetness, when the doorbell rang.
Frowning, I untied my apron—smeared with cocoa powder and a few errant streaks of batter—and headed for the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood for company. Probably a delivery, or maybe Wren checking up on me again.
I didn’t bother looking through the peephole. It didn’t seem to matter who it was.
I regretted that decision the moment I swung open the door and found Simon standing on my doorstep.
The air left my lungs in a rush, and for a moment all I could do was stare. He looked… terrible. That was the only word for it. Stubble darkened his jaw, something I’d never seen on him before, not once in all our time working together. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his clothes, while still expensive, looked like he’d slept in them. While he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
Those eyes burned into mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter despite everything. There was something in them I hadn’t expected to see.
Regret.
No. I steeled myself against the flutter in my chest. It didn’t matter if he regretted what he’d said. He’d still said it. He’d still broken me.
I moved to close the door in his face, but Simon was faster. His foot slid into the gap, blocking it, and his hand curled around the edge of the door with gentle but immovable pressure.
“Leave, Simon.” I snapped. “I don’t want to see you.”
“Please, Raina.” The word sounded foreign coming from him, rough and unfamiliar, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I just want to talk to you.”
He stepped past me before I could stop him, his body brushing against mine in the narrow doorway. The contact sent electricity sparking across my skin, and I hated myself for the way my pulse quickened. Hated that even now, after everything, my body still responded to his presence.
He was standing in my living room now, looking out of place among my cozy furniture and bright throw pillows. I slammed the door shut—harder than necessary—and turned to face him with my hands planted on my hips.
“I think you said enough yesterday.”
Simon didn’t flinch, but the shame that flickered across his features was unmistakable. “I know. Kurt told me what happened with Miles.”