Page 264 of A Taste of Vanilla

I nod.

She looks toward my truck. Toward the bags of things we saved. The pieces of herself that belonged to her.

Then she looks at me.

“I want to go home.”

The word sits between us in the rain.

“How would you like to get there?” I ask.

Her gaze holds mine. She knows what I’m asking.

Halston looks toward the road. Toward the dark, wet stretch of land between here and Baltimore.

Then back at me.

“I want you to take me home, Warren.”

twenty-five

. . .

Come for the Pastries, Stay for the Chaos

HALSTON

By the timeWarren turns onto our street, my hair has dried into, well, an interesting shape. I’ve eaten my entire bag of gummy worms in an order that can only be described as optimized for maximum emotional enjoyment.

Red and green first. Blue and green second. Orange and yellow third. And then finally, when I’m ready to feel disappointed, yellow and green.

The rain has softened by the time Bitter Bloom comes into view, but the street still shines with it, the black pavement reflecting Oliver’s red neon sign.

Everything looks normal from a distance.

Warren parks the car in the back, and it really sinks in that Penelope is gone. No more lying gas gauge or the familiar dent in the back bumper from when Marley backed into a pole and blamed the patriarchy. No cluttered little car waiting for me whenever I needed to get out.

She’s gone. Somewhere behind us, two hours away in Virginia, my terrible car was hauled toward a salvage yard with my old wedding invitations.

I expected the loss to feel bigger. Instead, it feels quiet.

Warren puts the truck in park but doesn’t turn off the engine right away. Heat hums softly through the vents, and rain ticks against the windshield. My saved things sit in the back seat.

The pieces of me that came home.

Warren looks toward the bakery and then at me.

“You’re home,” he says softly.

“I am.”

His hands stay on the wheel.

The back door to Bitter Bloom opens, and Marley steps outside. Her sweatshirt is wrinkled, her hair twisted into a messy knot, and her expression a mix of fury and relief. Oliver appears behind her with his arms crossed.

I reach for the door handle and then pause. “I need to go inside,” I whisper.

He bites his lip. “Okay.”