MADDIE
For the fourthtime in the past ten minutes, my gaze travels to the bakery display case – eyes lingering on the delicious looking cinnamon roll.
“No, Maddie. You don’t need it,” I say it out loud this time, like that might make a difference.
Except it doesn’t.
I only get these beauties in on Fridays and this batch looks extra gooey. And it’s the last one. And it’s already mid-afternoon so the breakfast crowd already got theirs. And there’s no one here to witness. And oh my god I don’t care, I’m eating it!
Decision made, I wipe my hands down my apron and slide open the glass door letting the scent of sugary wonder waft out.
My mouth is already salivating, and by the time I rip off the first piece of flakey, buttery, goodness I’m afraid to look down, sure I’m drooling on myself.
“Fuck me,” I moan, as the first taste hits my tongue.
I love Elouise. She’s my very best friend in the world. But sharing my one-bedroom apartment with her for the past several days – as she hides from Beckett – has been exhausting. And not even in a bad way. I’ve loved seeing her so much. It’s just that we’ve spent every night polishing off a new bottle of wine, watching every Drew Barrymore movie we can get our hands on, and I’m more than a little sleep deprived.
Elouise isn’t tall but considering I’m barely over five feet I insisted on being the one to sleep on the couch. She fought me the best she could, but she’s the one dealing with heartbreak, and I’m the one who’s too much of a light sleeper to share a mattress with another body.
Ripping off another chunk of my roll, I swipe it through the frosting pooling on the small plate before shoving it into my mouth.
Forcing the stress of calories out of my mind, I focus back on Elouise and her situation.
We’ve talked it over – Beckett’s supposed wife – and the more I think about it, the more it doesn’t add up. There’s definitely something fishy going on, but I think there’s a lot more to this story.
Elouise’s mom told her to go talk to Beckett before making any decisions, hinting that she knows more details about the situation. Elouise agreed that she would, but then her parents took their RV and left town the next morning and Elouise still hasn’t taken any of Beckett’s calls.
I need to convince her to talk to him. But I’m not sure how to do that.
Swallowing, I lick my fingers and reach for the pastry. I know I should savor this piece slowly, but instead I rip out the center coil, the very best part of a cinnamon roll, and shove it into my mouth.
It’s too big to eat at once, but there’s no going back now. So, I let my eyes fall closed as I chew.
Holy Crisco this is amazing.
The cinnamon sugar is beginning to become one with my soul when I hear the tinkling sound of the door opening.
Feeling like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, my eyes snap open. And then I freeze. Because it’s him. It’s Beckett. And he’s striding towards me, a mission clear in his features.
My hands fly up to cover my mouth, sure my cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk’s.
Oh my god, this isn’t happening.
I start to chew as fast as I can, way too aware of my face heating.
When he stops across the counter from me, I hold up one finger, then turn away, giving him my back.
Dying of mortification, I try to not actually die from choking as I frantically chew and swallow what’s in my mouth.
Wiping my lips off with the back of my hand, I turn back around and think that maybe dying would have been the better choice.
No wonder Elouise is running from him. He’s so stupidly attractive I don’t even want to look him in the eyes. But I force myself to, finding that his serious expression has softened with amusement.
“You alright?” he asks, and my blush reaches a whole new level.
I nod. Then nod again, “I’m good. Um, what can I get you?”
I glance over my shoulder, towards the menu board, but I already know that’s not what he’s here for.