Sweet Cheeks(93)
I rearrange the display case, wanting to keep my hands busy as I try to get used to the feeling of being watched. It’s almost as if they think I’m going to suddenly break down and confess to all of the horrible things their magazines say I did.
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Kisses
The delivery boy catches me off guard when he walks in the front door. At first I’m about to tell him to leave, mistaking him for a paparazzo acting as a delivery man just to get in the store somehow (silly, I know but I’m a bit paranoid with forty-plus pairs of eyes watching my every move), but then realize the package in his hand isn’t a camera bag.
I watch as he leaves, how the paparazzi go crazy clicking pictures as if he’s the secret messenger between Hayes and me. And when I open the package, I realize he is.
When I look inside the box, there is a cardboard partition that divides the box in half. One side is filled to the top with so many Hershey kisses I’m overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate. And the other side is empty save for a note taped to its bottom.
The box is half empty. I need the space because I plan on stealing a lot more in the future. -XO Hayes
My heart skips over a beat and a smile graces my lips as I do what any normal person would do. I pick one of them up, unwrap it, and eat it while I watch the photographers mill around outside. A thought forms but I shove it away. Disregard it.
But as I venture into the retail front and wipe down a few tables, see some of the tabloid magazines with my image on the cover left there, and overhear conversations about bragging rights over who got the most for each photo, I start to think my idea isn’t a half bad one.
“Dee, I’m heading back into the kitchen for a bit.”
And of course when I get to my workstation, there is another box. Another returned item from Hayes. And this time I know DeeDee or Ryder had to have helped him but I love that he went to this much trouble.
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10 Days
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Kisses
Time
I open the box to find an hourglass inside. My fingers reach out to touch it. I’m overwhelmed by the effort he’s put into these ten days so far.
I turn it over and watch the sand slide through the glass. Hypnotized by the sight, my thoughts drift. To how easily time passes. To Hayes. To not wanting to waste any more of it when it comes to being with him. Life is too short. When the sand runs out, the completed grudge cupcakes are visible through the curve of the empty glass.
Stop wasting time, Saylor.
I laugh out loud as pieces click into place for me. The paparazzi. They’re using me to make money. To sell the image they want of me. Why can’t I use them for the exact same thing?
Inspired, I grab my set of perfectly decorated grudge cupcakes and I waltz out of the kitchen, through the front of the bakery, and out the glass front door for the first time since I came home from my trip.
The awaiting photographers scramble and stumble over each other when they see me striding out of the store like a woman on a mission.
“You want a statement?” I shout out as they fumble to slide their cameras over to video mode to record what I have to say. “I’ll give you a statement. You want to know how I feel about everything that’s going on? How it feels to be accused and vilified and lied about when no one has a clue what the truth is?”
I set the box of cupcakes down with a resounding thud on one of the tables I have out front for customers. I pause for dramatic effect to make sure I have their attention and give them time to get the best angle.
“I get angry. But I don’t make up more lies and spread them around to make me feel better and to get more attention. I don’t call reporters, lie to them about where to find more gossip, and drop hints that aren’t true. No. Because if I did, you’d know I’m not the story here. Not in the least. But I have more class than that. More couth. Instead I bake. I eat chocolate. And I get out my anger by doing this.”
I pick up a cupcake, flash the top—make sure the One To Smash is showing to the cameras—and then I smash it between my hands á la the grudge-match cupcake war I had with Hayes. The photographers startle as cupcake shrapnel flies everywhere.
The image of Hayes’s bare chest covered in cupcake crumbs fills my mind and how I wanted to lick them off of him. And the thought is ten times more appealing than the slew of paparazzi in front of me but it makes seeing them that much more bearable.
“I make grudge cupcakes. Where there’s one for me to get my chocolate fix.” I hold up the one that says Oats To Sow. Take a small bite. Then hold up the One To Throw cupcake as shutters click. “And this one’s to get my frustration and aggression out.” And this time when I smash it, I earn a chuckle from them.
“So you see? Nothing important is going on here that you can take a picture of to sell, other than the ones you just took of me making grudge cupcakes and smashing them. But if you do sell the photos, make sure they’re accompanied with some ridiculous headlines like, ‘Saylor Rodgers goes crazy on a cupcake-smashing spree because Hayes Whitley has left her for Medusa’s little sister.’ Because if you’re going to lie, why not go all out, right? So print what you will. Say what you want. I know the truth. Hayes knows the truth. Jenna most definitely knows the truth. That’s it. I’ll just be in here making more cupcakes. I might even send a few out to compensate for your time since I’m not giving you any camera-worthy breakdown moments to sell. Everyone here like chocolate? Good. Sit tight.”