Pretty Pink Ribbons (12 page)

A part of me wants so badly for him to ask me what’s wrong. And not just so I have someone to talk to about it, but so that I have
him
to talk to about it. Logically, I know he isn’t there yet. He isn’t quite ready to make amends, and until he’s ready to make amends, he isn’t ready to learn about my diagnosis.

“Is that why my kitchen looks like a tornado went through it?” he asks, looking around the room. I nod coyly and he smiles in return. “Glad to know that hasn’t changed.”

Cocking my head, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“You,” he says, waving his hand in my direction. “Anytime you were upset—about anything—you wanted to be in the kitchen. It didn’t matter what it was, and it didn’t matter what you were making, you had to be in here.”

I slide my hands down the front of my apron. “Well, you’re right. That hasn’t changed.” We stand there staring at each other, and I can’t help but wonder what all hasn’t changed with him. In the past, when Levi was upset, he liked to be with me, and it didn’t matter what we did as long as we were together. I wonder what he does now when he’s upset.

“What are you making?” He halts our trip down memory lane and strides over to the pot that’s sizzling and popping on the stove.

I follow him, noticing that he doesn’t look quite as rumpled today as he did the other day. “You look better today,” I say, the words just falling from my mouth.

“Did I look bad the other day?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No, you just looked stressed.”

“Mason and I have had some things going on with the business,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal.

“Careful. It’ll spit at you,” I warn when he gets too close to the bubbling pot.

“What is it?” he asks, peering over the edge from a safe distance. They’ve been in long enough, so I pull the fried dough from the oil, one by one, and place them on a cooling rack. Picking one up, I bounce it from hand to hand, blowing on it to cool it down so it won’t burn his mouth.

“Here.” I hold the tiny chunk of heaven in my hand and Levi takes it. “Take a bite.” I grin, excited for him to try what I’ve made. He doesn’t hesitate and I watch as he bites into the crunchy layer, his eyes instantly rolling back into his head.

“Oh my God,” he moans around the food in his mouth. “This is amazing.” I pop a bite into my mouth and smile as he asks, “Can I have another one?”

I cover my mouth so he doesn’t see my half-eaten food when I answer him. “Please. Eat as much as you want. It’s your kitchen, so it’s really your food anyway.” He puts another bite in his mouth and it hits me. I shouldn’t have come here. Sure, maybe at one time I would have been welcome to come here at—I look at my watch—midnight, but I’m not sure I still have those privileges. Even though Blue is open, Flame is closed, and I had to use the key Mason gave me to get in. I really should have called first.

“I’m sorry,” I furrow my brow, hoping that he isn’t pissed. “I shouldn’t have just come in here like this.” I shake my head at my lack of consideration. “I wasn’t thinking. I needed to clear my head and this seemed like the perfect place.” Levi swallows his food and watches me intently as I keep talking. I can tell that he wants to ask me what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t be alone at home because Mia and Benny were there. So I came here . . . out of habit, I think, but I still shouldn’t have come. Or at the very least I should have called you first. I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts softly. “You were going to make me samples of some desserts anyway”—he peeks in the oven—“and by the looks of it, that’s exactly what you did.” When his eyes meet mine again, he looks happy, not unlike the way he looked last night at Blue but far different from how he looked the night he hired me.

“That’s it? You’re not mad?”

“No,” he laughs. “I’m not mad. Now show me what else you’ve got.” He’s really thrown me for a loop. It’s not that I expected him to be furious, but with our history and the less than warm welcome I initially received, I anticipated a little bit more of an argument. But don’t get me wrong, I’ll take this. Plus, I get the impression he’s trying to take my mind off what’s bothering me . . . and it’s working, so I’m going to go with it.

“Okay.” I walk across to the counter where my creations are and hand Levi a fork. I slide the first dessert in front of him. “This is tiramisu.” He dives right in and I giggle at his eagerness. Levi always did have a sweet tooth. “It’s a classic dessert that’s easy to make and I think your patrons would love it.”

“It’s so good,” he says, sliding the fork into his mouth again. My eyes stray to his lips and I watch as they lock around the utensil, sliding it out ever so slowly, ensuring that he doesn’t miss one morsel of his bite. I blink, my lips parted, as his tongue slides over his bottom lip and—

“What are these?”

“What’s what?”

“These,” he says, lifting up the container and waving it in front of my face.

“Oh, those. Yes.” I clear my throat, slightly embarrassed that I just lost my train of thought watching a man eat—then again, it’s not just
any
man. I’m hoping that Levi didn’t notice, or maybe he’s just gentlemanly enough to not mention it. “These little darlings are Espresso Cream Pies. Here, try one.” I lift the container and he pulls one out, his eyes dancing like he’s in heaven.

“This,” he says with conviction, pointing to the tiny pie. “This is fabulous. I want these on the menu.” A small bubble of hope forms inside of me, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I find myself getting excited about something.

“Wait!” I run over to the oven and pull open the door, first checking to see if it’s done. This is the one that’s important and I need it to be perfect. Pulling the pan out, I set it on the stove. Levi walks over and stands next to me. His eyes lock on the pie in front of us and he stares at it blankly for several seconds before looking at me.

“Is that . . . ?”

“Butterscotch Cream Pie,” I answer excitedly. “Yes, it is.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and that little bubble of hope I felt blossoms into something much more. “My grandma used to make that,” he whispers.

“I know.” His eyes widen in disbelief and he seems to be at a complete loss for words. That’s okay, I can talk enough for the both of us. “I don’t have her recipe, but I’ve been working to perfect that pie for the past eight years and this is as close as I can get to your grandmother’s.” Something in Levi’s expression shifts, though I can’t quite pinpoint what it is. An appreciation of sorts . . . maybe? “I hope you like it.”

I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE made me Butterscotch Cream Pie. And on top of that, Laney said she’s been perfecting the recipe for eight years. Eight freaking years.

I’m fully aware that I’m staring at her like a fucking idiot, but I really don’t know what to say.
She made my Grammy’s pie.
I can’t remember her ever eating my Grammy’s pie. How the hell did she even remember my Grammy used to make it?

I’ve been working really hard at keeping my distance and not allowing myself to get too close, but
fuck me,
she’s making it hard. If I don’t get a grip on what I’m feeling now, I’ll most likely get in way over my head. But I can’t just ignore this . . . this is so much more than just a pie. I’m just not sure I’m ready to explore exactly what
it
is.

“Well?” she asks hopefully, shoving a fork in my direction. “Are you going to try it?” She looks so damn cute in her pink apron, hair piled messily on top of her head and flour smeared across her face, and the sight of her tugs at something deep inside of me—something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Something I’m not sure I ever want to feel again. Unfortunately for me, Laney is my weakness . . . my kryptonite. One look from her makes me want to forget that the past eight years ever happened and beg her to start right back where we left off. I can’t let that happen.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I blurt, needing to remind her—and me—that what we had is in the past. Laney’s smile slowly falls, along with the fork that she is holding up, and I resist the urge to reach out to her.

I know I’m partly to blame here. I bought her a drink last night, mostly because it killed me that she thought she couldn’t afford it, and I stupidly let my guard down, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. It’s no secret that she hurt me, but after seeing her again and being around her again, I’m reminded why I loved her so much. She’s spunky, tenacious, caring, and her smile could light up the darkest night. And although I know I can’t let myself love her again, I would still very much like to be friends with her.

“But it can, if you let it,” she says, stepping toward me. And this is where the challenge lies. Laney has a determination like no one I’ve ever met, and if I have any hope at all of walking away from this intact, I need to tread lightly. “We need to talk about what happened that night, Levi.”

“We did talk about it.”

“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “I tried to talk about it and
you
blew me off.”

“Fine. Talk,” I concede, leaning against the counter, knowing that this isn’t going to go well. She blows out a slow breath and looks up at the ceiling as though she’s praying for the strength to get through this. “Well . . .” I urge, wanting her to get on with it. If she insists on reopening these old wounds, the faster the better so I can close them back up . . . for good this time.

“I made a mistake, a terrible one, and I want to make it right.” She takes another step toward me and I take one back. She sighs. “I should have never left. I should’ve stayed here, with you.”
You’re damn right you should have.
I bite down on my lower lip, trying desperately to keep my thoughts to myself. “I’m more than willing to take the fall, but let’s face it, you weren’t innocent in all of this either.”

And that’s all it takes to set me off. Blood slowly rises, seeping into my cheeks, and I fist my hands at my side. “You left
me,
” I spit, pounding a fist into my chest as I step toward her. “
You
didn’t choose us.
You
chose to leave.”

“But the ultimatum should’ve never been given,” she argues. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to make it work, and yes, I know it was going to probably be the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but I was willing to try. I had faith in us.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. I shouldn’t have given the ultimatum, but selfishly, I wanted her here with me, not thousands of miles away. And also, I just wanted her to pick me.

“My mom left us,” I growl, looking away because it’s easier than looking her in the eyes. I hear her sharp intake of breath. I never told her this. She’d asked, but I never told her the truth because it hurt too much. The one woman who should have loved me unconditionally walked away.

“You told me your mom died in a car accident,” she whispers. I look over and her eyes are glistening under the bright fluorescent lights. Telling her my mom died was the easy way out. Mason and I told all of our friends our mom had died, because to us, she did die. She cut us out of her life, so we cut her out of ours.

“Yeah, well, I lied.” I shrug. “She left us. I was only twelve, and Mason was ten. Don’t”—I shake my head—“don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me,” I snap, running a hand through my hair and down the back of my neck. “Don’t pity me. We’re better off without her, and—I’m getting off subject. I’m telling you this because I trusted her. She was my mother. She should have loved me and cared for me, no matter what. But she didn’t. She was selfish. She saw a better life for herself and she took it without batting an eyelash.”

I can see the instant Laney registers what I’m saying to her because her hand flies to her mouth and she slowly starts to shake her head. “So you see,” I nod, not giving her the chance to talk. “You left, just like she did. You saw an opportunity to better your life and you took it. And you know what, I’m not even mad about it anymore because now I get it. I get why you did what you did, but it doesn’t mean I agree with it. And it certainly doesn’t mean that we can go back to what we were because I can’t put myself out there like that again. You broke my fucking heart, Laney. You shredded it in two and it took me eight years—
eight
goddamn years—to get over it. And you know what? Now that you’re home, I’m still not sure I’m over it.” I can see a flash of hope behind her wet eyes and I continue quickly. “I gave you the ultimatum because I wanted you to choose me. I was in love with you and I needed to know that, when push came to shove, I was your first choice.”