Page 48 of Then and Now (The Edge of Retaliation 3)
Callie smiles, a small, but genuine smile. “She sounds like she was a truly wonderful person.”
Tanner nods. “She was. Fuckin’ incredible.”
“She was lucky to have such a great family.”
Before Tanner can answer, Madeline comes into the shop, giving Callie and I a small smile before walking over and taking Tanner’s hand, then leaning down to kiss him. Callie looks away, her face pained. I feel for her, so much so I just want to scream because I know how much she’s hurting right now.
“It looks amazing, babe,” Madeline says, leaning over to look.
Tanner glances at Callie, and she locks eyes with him, and god damn, so much passes between them it makes my heart ache. I wish they’d get the chance to talk, to just be together and get this all out in the open. It’s clear they both need it.
“I should go,” Callie says, her voice soft. She stares down at the tattoo, and murmurs, “Happy birthday, Celia.”
Then she turns and leaves.
Dammit.
Why can’t this just get easier?
Fucking why?
18
CALLIE
Ugh.
I can’t ice cupcakes to save my damned life. I didn’t learn these life skills, and I can’t even blame prison for being the reason I can’t—it’s mostly because my mother wasn’t the motherly type and she didn’t teach me a damned thing about baking. I’ve figured out the cake part, that much I’m okay at, but when it comes to icing … Nope.
“Dammit!” I snap, throwing the piping bag across the kitchen.
I’ve been in here for three hours baking this mass amount of cupcakes, and now it seems like I’ll never get them done because I can’t ice the damn things. Frustration bubbles in my chest and I make an angry sound as I lean against the counter and exhale.
Breathe. You’ve got this.
I don’t even know why I’m trying to do something so nice for Tanner when he’s been nothing but a dick to me since he got here. It’s not really for Tanner, anyway. It’s for me. It’s for Celia. It’s to celebrate a life cut short.
“Not made for icing, hey?”
I look up and see Ethan walking into my apartment. I’m shocked, to say the least. I’ve been wanting to talk to him for days, but he’s been avoiding me. To see him here is quite the surprise.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, adjusting a few cupcakes.
“My turn to hang with you while the others go searching for information. Guess you’re stuck with me.”
I glance at him, say nothing, and lean down to pick up the piping bag. I stuff it full of icing again and am about to attempt to put it on another cupcake when Ethan says, “No no no. Stop. You’re going to ruin them.”
He walks over, taking the bag from my hand and tipping the icing out. He stares at the icing, scrunches his nose up and says, “What is this?”
“It’s icing.”
“It’s not icing. It’s a mess, is what it is.”
I huff. “It’s what the recipe said.”
“Never follow recipes, they lie. Here, watch out.”
I move and he cleans the bowl of my terrible icing and starts again, mixing and blending, until he’s presented with the nicest damn icing I’ve seen. Thick and creamy, it’s perfection. Damn him. I’m being shown up by a damn man. That’s not something to be pleased about.
“How do you know how to make icing?” I ask him, watching as he fills the bag with the pale pink icing and starts swirling it onto the cupcakes.
“I’ve been to a lot of homes, I learned. But Celia taught me well. I used to help her bake each year. I’m guessing that’s what you’re doing here?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Not doing a great job at it.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he continues to ice the cupcakes.
“Did you used to go and hand them out with her?” I ask him.
“We all did. She loved it, but it was seeing how happy it made the homeless families that really got me. She brought light into their lives, a speck of joy in an otherwise dull world. She had that affect.”
“I wish I knew her,” I say softly. “I wish I was making these because I remembered what she was like …”
“Don’t matter if you knew her or not, you’re doing it for her and that’s all that matters. Since she died, her birthdays have been painful and avoided. You’re making it so that isn’t the case. That’s something else.”
I smile, because that means a lot, it really does.
I stare at Ethan, and I wish I could tell him how much I’ve missed him, how many times I’ve wished I could call and talk to him, to hear his voice, to tell him my problems, to hear his problems, to have the friendship back that I left behind.
“How have things been with you?” I dare to ask, because he’s here and I haven’t had a chance to make conversation with him since he’s been here, and … I don’t know. I need to.
