Page 17 of Mixed Signals
“Caleb!”
I want to slam my head into the emergency door. At this rate, I’ll never leave this school. Might as well make myself cozy on the linoleum floor and set up a velvet rope walkway for anyone who might need something from me. I collect my frustration like Gabe’s wayward assignments and stack it into something neat and tidy in my chest. I blow out a deep breath and turn to watch Mrs. Peters march her way towards me.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Peters?”
She waves away the formality. “Carina, please. We work together now, Caleb.”
“Habit,” I explain. “You’ll always be Luka’s mom to me.”
“As it should be, I suppose.” A smile lights up her face, chestnut hair swinging behind her shoulders. Luka looks just like her, down to the freckles over his nose and the smile that spells nothing but trouble.
She clasps her hands behind her back. “I wanted to remind you that you’re on bus duty Wednesday morning. I think this is the first time you’re on the schedule.”
Shit. I did forget about that. “Ah, yes. Thank you for the reminder.”
Maybe I can stop by Layla’s tomorrow morning instead. I might break my self-control streak and get something with dark chocolate. Go crazy and get peanut butter. I feel like I’ve earned it.
“Will you be stopping by the farm this week?”
It’s like she’s read my mind. I blink and try to stop the heat from rising to my cheeks. Judging by her smile, I’m entirely unsuccessful. My blush has always given me away.
“I’m going to try,” I manage. “I can’t seem to get through my week without something from Layla’s.”
My blush deepens. Mercifully, Mrs. Peters doesn’t comment on it.
“If you see my son while you’re there, remind him he has all of my good Tupperware.” She clicks her tongue once. “He finally moves closer to his mother and I suddenly see him less than when he lived in New York.”
“Ah, well. I’m sure Stella is keeping him busy.”
“As it should be, I suppose,” she repeats with another grin. She turns on her heel and heads back in the direction she came from. She hosts a cooking class after school for some of the kids whose parents work late. Easy recipes they can make on their own with enough leftovers to bring to their siblings. I’ve always thought it was incredibly kind of her.
“Oh, and Caleb?”
I sigh. “Yes, Mrs. Peters?”
“Tell Layla I say hello.”
FIVE
LAYLA
“Honey,I just want you to know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me—”
I clench my teeth and pointedly ignore the couple standing less than two feet away from me, their noses rubbing together, their hands clasped tightly between them.
“—and I’m so happy we could come here together. It really feels like our love has grown deeper and—”
I make a choking sound and duck down further behind the counter. Every day. This happensevery day.
“—coming to this place, feeling this magic, I know I’m supposed to be with you for the rest of our lives.”
I know what comes next. The gentle thud of someone’s knee hitting the hardwood floor and the breathy gasp in response. I have seen seventeen proposals in the last six months.
Nice, I guess, in some ways. But in other, more important ways—the absolute worst.
I pop back up from behind the counter just in time to see two people frantically making out against my display case, a big diamond sparkling on the appropriate finger. I ignore them and turn back to my cupcakes. I have bigger things on my mind than potential public indecency right where all my salted caramel cookies can see.
Caleb didn’t show up on Monday.
