“It’s great to have her here, Mom, next time, just, you know, check with me first?” Putting my daughter down, I wrap my long brown apron over my denim cutoffs and white tee knotted at my waist.
My daughter walks around the large, open space while I face my mother, waiting to see if that’s all she has to say. Again, she hesitates a few moments in silence as if she’s waiting on me to do something.
“Is that all? Because I’ve got five cakes to make this week, and I need to get to work.”
Her brow lowers, and she turns on her heel headed for the door. “I have to run a few errands. I’ll come back and get her for lunch and naptime.”
My jaw tightens at her words. “You don’t have to. I can keep her and have her home after supper. Unless she gets too hot. I’ll text you.”
Standing at the door, she shakes her blonde hair. “I’ll be back.” With that, she leaves, and I exchange a glance with Tabby.
“Keep an eye on her just a second.” Apron off, I jog to the stairs leading up to my apartment.
Throwing open the closet, I drop to my knees and dig in the box of toys I keep for days like this. I need to shop for new ones now that she’s started preschool. Still, a plastic bucket of assorted play-dough molds is inside—perfect! I dig deeper, pulling out several Ziploc bags holding different colors of the squishy stuff.
Hopping up, I hear the muffled sound of voices coming from below. It’s early on a Monday, and I can’t imagine who it could be. One is Tabby, but the other is deeper, a man’s voice. Is Wyatt here?
Could it be the fellow who wanted the fruit tart?
Hurrying down, I’m at the bottom of the steps reaching for the door. I’m in the dim-lit hall, my hand grasping the cool metal knob, when the world shifts into slow motion.
That voice…
Momentum carries me forward and I push the door aside and my eyes lock with his.
I can’t breathe. All the air disappears from the room. I grip the door handle. My knees are liquid… I’m going to fall.
The plastic bucket slips from my grip, and it lands on the wood floor with a loud crash and a rippling clatter as everything spills out.
“Play-dough!” Coco cries, oblivious to my distress.
She dashes across the room to retrieve her toys, but I haven’t looked away from Jackson Cane standing in the middle of my bakery.
Last night he was in my bed, in my dreams.
He’s only ever been in my dreams—for more than ten years.
Now he’s standing in front of me, flesh and bone, in the middle of my store.
Like he can just walk back into my life…
Out of the past…
Just like that.
He doesn’t move. He only blinks at me, seeming stunned. He reaches up and slowly pulls the cap off his head. He cut his hair.
All of these things happen so fast, until my daughter’s words break the spell. “Can I play, Mommy?”
Jackson’s blue eyes move down to her and up to me again, down and up as if putting us together.
“Yes,” I say softly.
She scoops up the plastic bucket, marching to the large table like nothing is happening, like I’m not spiraling through space. In my peripheral vision, I see Tabby’s hand cover her mouth, but my brain still hasn’t recovered from the lightning strike. It takes a few more breaths before I’m able to speak.
We both speak at once. “What are you doing here?”
His voice adds a depth to my softer one. It’s a vibration that echoes in my core. My breath comes in pants, but from somewhere inside me rises a strength I didn’t know I possessed.