Page 245 of A Taste of Vanilla

For so many reasons. But mostly because Oliver is here for me. And because Marley left. And especially because I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t know if he’s staying. I hurt my best friend.

I lie back on the mattress.

For the first time in a while, sweetness is not enough.

twenty-two

. . .

Good Intentions, Bad Boundaries, Worse Timing

WARREN

I standin the kitchen with one hand braced on the counter and read the email twice. Then a third time, because the subject line is polite, which means the contents are not.

Updated Account Terms.

Effective immediately, Bitter Bloom’s standing weekly specialty flour delivery is being reduced due to market demand shifts. Future orders will require payment upon delivery instead of the previous net-thirty terms. We appreciate Bitter Bloom’s understanding during this period of vendor adjustment.

The thing is… that doesn’t just happen.

There is no missing payment. No overdue invoices. No credit issue. No supply shortage that explains why Bitter Bloom is suddenly less secure than every other food business in the city. I check the order history anyway.

Paid.

Paid.

Paid early twice.

I look toward the front of the bakery.

Halston is standing at the chalkboard, one foot propped on the lower shelf, a blue chalk marker tucked between her teeth while she adds tiny angry eyebrows to the illustrated coconut beside today’s latte special. Her hair is half up in a pink ribbon. There’s flour on her cheek, and she’s wearing that sweater that drives me nuts because it keeps slipping off her shoulder and I can’t stop thinking of the marks my teeth left in her skin.

Dev is beside her, offering commentary. “More eyebrow,” he says.

Halston steps back, narrows her eyes, and draws the coconut a little angrier.

Dev nods. “Perfect.”

Oliver stands in front of the counter drinking a coffee and looking like the inspiration for the angry coconut.

“This is why I don’t let artists in my bar,” he muses.

“You have a framed painting of a crab smoking a cigarette in the men’s room,” Halston points out.

“The crab is cool as fuck.”

“The crab has lung disease.”

Lisa laughs quietly from the pastry case, and Halston grins.

The sound of happiness hits me in the chest.

She doesn’t know about the email yet, and I feel relieved.

I don’t want to hide it from her. I tell myself it’s not hiding if the information is incomplete. I’m gathering facts before presenting a problem that may hurt her.

I take my phone and step into the alley.