Page 147 of A Taste of Vanilla

“I know.”

I pause. “Then why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay.”

I turn, staring down the stairs at the door.

“I’m not in danger.”

“I know.”

“Then go away.”

“No.”

I close my eyes.

“And you left some cookie dough out.”

My eyes fly open. That bastard.

I scramble up, nearly trip down the stairs, and fling the door open. He’s standing on the other side, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms, his expression calm. But his eyes are not.

“You came here to tell me I left dough out? You can’t just put it away?”

“You didn’t add the chocolate chips.”

My face crumples, and I turn away.

“Halston,” he murmurs, reaching for me.

“No.” I step away. “I thought that if we just got past the first review, maybe it wouldn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t. You see he’s moving the goalpost, right?”

I look up at him.

“He sees that criticizing the bakery didn’t work, so why not criticize you? He’s just trying to control you.” His arms cross behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling. “And sure, does he have a point? Yeah. There are a few things that can be changed. But people come in because of you. They love you, Halston. And you need to understand that.”

His words land one after another, each like a punch.

And I can’t unhear them.

It’s not a review. It’s control.

I study the toe of my shoe against the laminate flooring beneath me. “I don’t want to be a gimmick.”

“You’re not.”

“My drinks are silly.”

“They can be.”

I glare at him, but he’s blurry through the tears.

“But they’re good, and people love them.”

Despite how much it hurts, there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s honest with me. He’s not just trying to make me feel good.