Dear Life(38)

“I do. I love baking. When I was living with Grams, we would spend the whole day baking and then take baskets around to the different firehouses in the area to thank them for their hard work.”

Carter has his arms folded across his chest, his hip leaning against the counter, and an inquisitive look on his face, those deep brown eyes intensely observing me from under his jet-black hair. I’ve enjoyed his company, but I’ve also felt very exposed the entire time, not from his questioning or his posture, but by the way his eyes thoughtfully study my every movement.

What’s he thinking? Not that I’m very good at reading people, but I would like to at least see some kind of tell from him. Does he think I’m funny? Dorky? Insecure? Could he see me shake when I dumped ingredients in the bowl? Could he hear the waver in my voice when I spoke about the recipe and how to not overmix the batter? Can he sense how nervous I am around him?

I invited Carter over to grow my support system, to make friends. I really put myself out there, broke past some fears of mine to have him over and yet, all I can think about is how incredibly handsome he is, but not in the typical sense. He’s different, dark, very mysterious, and the complete and total opposite of my personality.

I’ve tried to keep myself from staring at him, from leaning in to smell his intoxicating cologne, and getting too close, breaking his personal space, but it’s been hard. I’ve felt very awkward around him. I hate that. I hate that I can’t be one of those confident girls when talking to a man.

But I shouldn’t be worried about that. He’s supposed to be my friend and nothing else. I’m not in this program to try to fall for the first guy I meet, I’m supposed to be discovering a new me. My priorities aren’t straight. Today was supposed to be about growth for myself but instead, I’m acting like a teenage girl around a cute boy. Or at least what I think that is like. He’s so worldly wise, he can probably tell how nervous I am.

“Snowflake, you’ve been scrubbing that bowl in the same spot for a minute. Pretty sure it’s clean.”

Startled from my thoughts, I jump in place, the bowl clattering around in the stainless steel sink.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Um, yup,” I say, startled. “Just thinking about the program.”

“Yeah, not really looking forward to the meeting this Thursday.”

“Why not?” I ask, rinsing the bowl now. “I like going to the meetings. Marleen has such inspiring things to say.”

“Inspired is not what I’m looking for,” he answers, looking out toward the window in the dining area.

“What are you looking for then?”

“An out.” His voice is grim and before I can respond, Amanda pops through the back door, purse in hand, coffee mug from the morning in the other.

“Hey Daisy, how—oh, I didn’t know you had company.”

With a polite smile, she takes in Carter. My cheeks heat up immediately, as if I’m being caught doing something bad.

“Welcome home, Amanda. Uh, this is my friend Carter.”

“Carter?” Amanda asks knowingly then turns to assess him one more time. “Daisy’s mentioned your name. It’s nice to meet you.”

Wincing, I turn to Carter who’s dropped the casual stance and is now standing ramrod straight. I have a feeling he’s no longer comfortable. Was he ever comfortable? I like to think so, but with Amanda here, I’m sure he’s feeling quite awkward, especially with the way she keeps looking him up and down.

“Hey.” He nods in her direction and then turns to me. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the baking lesson.”

Without another word, he goes to the entryway and from the sound of it, starts putting on his boots.

Heat crawls up my neck, embarrassment and humiliation swallowing me whole. Not knowing what to do, I turn to Amanda who waves her hand in Carter’s direction, telling me without words to see him to the door.

I dry my hands on a dish towel and head to the entryway where Carter is already putting on his jacket. Jeeze, he’s quick.

Twisting my hands in front of me, I ask, “Do you want any cookies to go?”

“That’s okay,” he answers without looking up.

Goodness, did I do something wrong? I try to think back to a few minutes ago and recalculate everything I said. Was any of it offensive? I don’t think so. Did I pester him too much? Dive too much into his personal life? Not really.

Is it me? Does he just not want to hang out with me? Did he not have a good time? Sweat starts to prick the back of my neck. I thought I did everything right. I was kind, polite, I took his jacket, I made conversation, and I showed him how to make cookies. But was that not enough? Did I stare at him too much?

The notion of him noticing my wandering eyes makes my stomach roll. Please don’t let that be it. How humiliating.

Grasping on to anything, I say, “I hope you had a nice time.”

He finishes buttoning up his jacket and tucks his helmet under his arm while putting on his gloves. His eyes dart up to mine, dark to light, our eyes opposite, our personalities completely different, our outlook on life not even close to matching.

There is a slight tilt to his head, a small smirk to his lips, a small lean in his posture when he says, “I had a nice time, Snowflake. Thanks for having me over.”

“Then why are you leaving?” The words escape me before I can stop them, surprising me. I clamp my hand over my mouth and shake my head, so terribly embarrassed. “Don’t answer that,” I say quickly. My stomach flips, sweat coats my upper lip, and saliva starts to rise in my mouth. “Um, I need to go. Please shut the door when you leave.” Before he can say bye, I run up the stairs to my bathroom where I quickly grab on to the toilet, my eyes watering.