Page 85 of A Taste of Vanilla

The ovens are heating up and the espresso maker hisses softly as it comes alive. Outside, the morning light slides over the sidewalk, pale and gold, catching the blue trim around Bitter Bloom’s front windows. The tables still have chairs stacked on top of them, and the pastry cases are all bare, waiting for evidence that I am a functioning adult and not a woman who just had life-altering sex with a stranger before making muffins for the local church.

My body feels warm in places I do not want to discuss with myself.

Not pain, exactly. Definitely not the endometriosis pain I’m so used to. The hollow, cruel ache that turns my organs into an active hostage situation and leaves me bargaining with God, my heating pad, and whatever scientist invented extra-strength ibuprofen.

Instead, it feels like the dull ache of longing. A memory. One you know you’re never going to experience again. His hand onmy waist and his mouth against my throat.

The man’s tattoos under my fingertips and the way his muscles flexed as I traced them.

The pierc?—

“Oh my god.” I drop the note like I just got burned.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

MARLEY

Be there in a few.

I stare at the screen.

Marley King.

My best friend. My human emergency siren. My fellow chaos demon. The woman who pulled me into her arms in my car less than a week ago and told me making an apology croissant for a cheating man did not make me stupid.

Marley, who has gossip. And needs caffeine.

Marley, who will absolutely know the second she looks at my face.

I type back: Sounds good.

My fingers shake. Just a little.

But don’t make it weird.

Her reply comes instantly.

What? Why are YOU making it weird? What’s going on?

I’m normal.

Halston.

Bring yourself caffeine. I have coffee but I am spiritually unavailable.

Oh my god. WHAT HAPPENED.

Nothing.

I’m leaving now. Also my brother finally got to Baltimore this morning and is being annoying about breakfast plans, so I told him to meet me at your place.

I freeze.

Her brother.

Right.

Marley’s mysterious, rigid, trained at a German baking school, apparently emotionally constipated older brother is in Baltimore, today of all days.