Page 83 of Mixed Signals
Hidden talents all around, apparently.
I cut the shortcake slices and then someone pipes the cream. Strawberries are sliced and placed and more shortcake is layered. On and on we go.
I won’t have my full menu, but I will have food. That’s more than I had an hour ago.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped foot on the pathway this morning. The front light that is always on was snuffed out, the air conditioning unit silent. I wedged open the front door and stared for three long beats at the flower petals on the floor. I could feel the heat pressing against my skin, the slightly stale and sour smell of food left sitting out. My walk to the back felt like a thousand miles.
I checked the refrigerators, saw my destroyed desserts, sat on the floor and called Caleb.
It was the only thing I could think to do.
Which is terrifying in its own right. We have an arrangement with clear boundaries and safeguards in place but when I felt like I was bursting at the seams, Caleb was the only person I wanted to call. Not Stella. Not Beckett. Not Evie or Luka.
I wanted Caleb.
And he had shown up. Immediately. With his shirt on inside out and backwards, the tag just under his chin. Sleep rumpled and wearing two different shoes, he showed up for me.
That’s definitely not included in our arrangement.
Stella nudges me with her elbow. “When do the scones come out?”
I blink and press another circle into the shortcake. I glance at the clock that Beckett fixed before he disappeared somewhere with Caleb and Luka. “Ten minutes.”
Which gives me almost forty-five before the interview team shows up. It should be enough time to get these last shortcakes done and kick everyone out. Maybe I can pretend this is a normal morning and not the most categorically stressful moment of my life. Evie appears on my other side and starts toying with my hair.
“Not by the food,” I mumble. That’s the last thing I need.
“Then come over here for a second.”
Beatrice swats me away with hands covered in flour and aggressively yanks the shortcake out of my hands. Decision made for me, I roll my eyes and follow Evelyn obediently to the corner. If anyone has questions about why Beatrice and I are suddenly working together, they don’t say a word. Maybe our portrayed rivalry isn’t as fierce as I thought. Perhaps I should bodycheck her into the jam display the next time we’re at the grocery store together just to reinforce the narrative. She’d get a kick out of that.
Evelyn blocks me in against the wall and immediately untangles the loose knot I tucked my strands into. She drags her fingers against my scalp, parting and fluffing. I blow out an anxious breath.
“I don’t know if I have time for this.”
“You’re getting your picture taken today.” She reminds me with an arch of one dark, perfect brow. “You’ll thank me for this when your face is in a magazine.”
She’s right. I guess. It doesn’t make it any easier to stand here though. At least with all of the activity, I’ve been able to keep my mind from running. I can hold back the thoughts that have lurked like shadows since Stella first told me about the opportunity.I don’t deserve this. They’re going to show up and tell me it’s all a misunderstanding. My scones aren’t anything special. I’m not anything special.
The intrusive thoughts haven’t stopped since that first trickle, a couple of weeks ago. They’ve gotten worse, actually, an almost endless barrage of doubts and misgivings.
It’s better with Caleb, though. When he’s around. I try not to think too hard about that.
Evelyn pulls out some tinted lip stain out of the front pocket of her overalls and unscrews the top, tap-tapping it against my bottom lip. I’d be surprised with anyone else if they suddenly pulled out a tube of makeup from mud-splattered clothes, but not with Evie.
I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath, hold it, and then exhale slowly. Evie’s hand falls away from my face.
“Layla.” I blink open my eyes. Evelyn smiles gently at me. “It looks amazing. I know it’s not what you planned, but—they’re coming here for you, not the scones.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. Anxiety winds tight in my chest. “They’re sort of coming here for the scones,” I contest. And the custards. And the tarts. And everything else on the special menu stenciled on chalkboard out front. All of that stuff only exists in my trash bins out back. A breath wheezes out of me.
Evie shakes me a little. “Layla, honey, everything is going to be—”
“Hey.” Caleb’s interruption is smooth as he suddenly appears at our side, dirt on both of his knees and in a swipe across his forehead—his t-shirt still twisted inside out. He reaches for me and the relief I feel is immediate. Something about his arm winding around me, holding tight and sure. It’s a warm pressure expanding in the center of my chest—an unraveling of that twisted, tangled up knot. I’m reaching for him before I even realize it, my hand looping around his wrist. His shifts until our fingers twine together, his long fingers overlapping the back of my hand. He tips his head closer so I can hear him over the noise of the kitchen. Specifically the sound of Beatrice barking orders like a war general. “Can I borrow you for a second?”
I nod.
Evie pokes him hard in the chest as he tugs me towards the back door. “Don’t mess up her makeup.”
