The Sweetness of Forgetting (32)

I suddenly feel like I’m talking to a therapist, and I don’t like it. “Never mind,” I say. The coffee pot is only half full, but I reach out abruptly to pour Gavin a cup as I change the subject. “You’re earlier than usual this morning.”

I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that it sounds like I’m keeping track of him. My cheeks heat up, but Gavin doesn’t seem to notice.

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to see how your search was going.”

I nod and take this in as I pour a cup of coffee for myself.

“Are you going to Paris?” Gavin asks.

“Gavin, I can’t.”

The timer on the oven goes off, and I can feel Gavin watching me as I slip oven mitts on and remove two trays of Star Pies. I set the temperature fifty degrees lower for the croissants I’ve already rolled out and shaped, and I head out to the front of the bakery to see whether anyone has come in without me hearing the door chimes. The shop is empty. Gavin waits until I’ve slid the croissants into the oven before he speaks again.

“Why can’t you go?” he asks.

I bite my lip. “I can’t afford to close the bakery.”

Gavin takes this in, and I sneak a glance at him to see if there’s judgment on his face. There isn’t. “Okay,” he says slowly. I realize he hasn’t asked why, and I’m glad. I don’t want to have to explain my situation to anyone.

“Can’t someone run it for you for a few days?” he asks after a moment.

I laugh and realize the sound is bitter. “Who? Annie’s not even old enough, technically, to work here. I don’t have enough money to hire someone.”

Gavin looks thoughtful. “I’m sure you have friends who can step in.”

“No,” I say, “I don’t.” Yet another one of my many failures in life, I add in my head.

We’re interrupted by the front-door chime, and I head out to help my first customer of the day. It’s Marcie Golgoski, who has been running the town’s library since I was a little girl. As I pour her a cup of coffee in a to-go cup and package a blueberry muffin—her usual—I hope Gavin stays in the kitchen. I know how it will look to her if he’s in back with me, and I don’t like anyone in town making assumptions about my personal life. As much as I love it here, this town is as gossipy as a high school.

The timer on the oven goes off just as I’m ringing Marcie up, and I hurry back to the kitchen after she leaves, afraid that I’ve slightly overdone the croissants. I’m surprised to see Gavin setting the tray of croissants gently on a cooling rack.

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods and slips the pot holders off. “I have to get going,” he says. “But you’re wrong.”

“About what?” I ask, because if I’m going to be honest with myself, I’m sure I’m wrong about lots of things.

“About not having friends,” he says. “You have me.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. My heart is suddenly racing, though, and I can feel heat rising to my cheeks.

“I know you think I’m just the guy who fixes pipes and stuff,” he adds after a moment.

I can feel my face heat up. “I’m a mess,” I say finally. “Why would you want to be my friend?”

“For the same reason anyone wants to be anyone’s friend,” Gavin says. “Because I like you.”

I stare after him as he disappears out the front door.



Annie is miraculously pleasant when she arrives in the afternoon; she’s in such a seemingly good mood that I don’t bring up the Internet search I did or my conflicted thoughts about Paris, because I can’t bear the thought of another argument. She’s heading back to her father’s for the evening, and as we wash dishes side by side in the kitchen after closing, she breaks our companionable silence with a question.

“So are you, like, dating Matt Hines or something?” she asks.

I shake my head vigorously. “No. Absolutely not.”

Annie looks skeptical. “I don’t think he knows that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The way he looks at you,” she says. “And talks to you. All possessive-like. Like you’re his girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m sure he’ll figure out that I’m not.”

“How come you never, like, date?” Annie asks after a pause, and from the way she’s staring into the sink instead of meeting my eye, I get the sense that she’s uncomfortable with the conversation. I wonder why she’s bringing it up.

“Your dad and I haven’t been divorced for that long,” I reply after a moment.

Annie gives me a strange look. “So what, you want to get back together with Dad or something?”

“No!” I say instantly, because that’s not it at all. “No. I think it’s just that I didn’t expect to be single again. Besides, you’re my priority now, Annie.” I pause and ask, “Why?”

“No reason,” Annie says quickly. She’s silent for a moment. I know her well enough to know that if I don’t press her, she’ll say what’s on her mind—or at least a version of it. “It’s just weird is all.”