Life In Reverse(12)

“I think…,” I angle my head to the side, lips tilting in thought, “it’s adorable, but it’s not you.”

“Agreed.” He yanks on one end with his fingers until it loosens, tossing it into a nearby trash can. “I knew I could count on you to tell me the truth. Thanks, love.”

“Wait.” My head spins around. “What just happened?”

“Your sister happened, that’s what.” He chuckles, touching his neck like he can breathe again. “You know how pushy she can be. Not to mention the fact that I had to drag her away from those stores so I could get here on time.”

“Yeah, I have no idea how anyone can shop that much. But you already know how I feel about that topic.” I lower an apron down from the hook and tie it around my waist. When I look up at Troy, he’s leaning against the register, studying me.

“Spit it out already.”

“Okay, okay.” I take in a much needed breath. “I dreamt about Zack the other night,” I confess, frowning.

“Oh, Ems.” He steps closer and wraps his long arms around me. “You miss him, I know. I miss him, too,” he whispers, squeezing me tight. His words grow quieter. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t know what brought it on. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” I pull back from his hold and give him a weak smile. “I’m fine, though. Really I am.”

He grasps my hand in his, a softness in his eyes. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. The world isn’t going to think any less of you.” He lifts his hand from mine and taps a single finger against my nose. “Not that you care what the world thinks.”

We both laugh, right when the doorbell jingles and in walks Vance Davenport. That makes three times I’m surprised today. What is he doing here? I duck behind the counter like I’m ten years old and tug on Troy’s jean-clad leg.

“Can you handle him?” I whisper. “I’m going to see if Anna needs help.”

Troy stares down at me, a gleam in his dark eyes. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

“Troy!” I whisper-shout.

“Okay, okay. Run along. I’ll handle the angry man.”

With my back to the counter, I casually stand up and walk through the swinging doors that lead to the pastry area. Once they close, I slump against them and let out a sigh that earns me a chuckle from Anna.

“Afternoon, doll. You okay?” she asks over her shoulder as she opens the oven to take out a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls. My stomach rumbles in response, it doesn’t care that I had chocolate cake earlier. Anna sets the pan down on the center workspace and shoots me a knowing grin. “Come on over here. You can have a hot cinnamon roll and tell Auntie Anna what’s going on.”

I slink past the oven and grab a chair. “There’s nothing going on and absolutely nothing to talk about. Can I still have the cinnamon roll? Because—”

“Ember,” Troy peeks his head in, “that guy you were hiding from, Mr. Hot and Severely Angry, he asked for you.”

“Since when do you hide from anyone, Ember?” Anna chimes in, glaring at me. “Nothing to talk about, huh?” She blows her strawberry blonde bangs away from her eyes as I reluctantly yield and hop off the chair, replacing my awkwardness with a metal suit of armor.

I have a feeling I’m going to need it.





IT FUCKING PISSES me off that I’m sitting here. But the reality is, I acted like an * earlier and I do have a conscience.

The smell of this place jogs my memory; Sunday mornings and homemade cinnamon rolls, fights between me and Julian over which ones had more icing while driving Mom crazy. Now she doesn’t remember it and that makes my heart f*cking shrivel inside my chest.

The sound of a plate laid on the table drags me back to the now. I stare up at Ember who doesn’t look all that happy to see me. Not that I can fault her for that.

“One cinnamon roll and one hazelnut coffee.” Her words are clipped as is her tone. “You asked for me?” A lightbulb goes off in her eyes. “How did you know I was here? Did you follow me?”

“Follow you? No.” I pick up the cup, pausing before it reaches my lips. “You didn’t spit in this, did you?”

Her nose wrinkles but she’s still not smiling. “No. Why would I do that?”

I take a sip then set it down on the table. “Wow. That’s really f*cking good.”

“Anna’s is the best.” She fists a hand on her hip, still staring me down with those penetrating green eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh yeah, right.” I point around toward the back of her shirt with my index finger. “It says Anna’s Pastry so I just used some deductive reasoning and took a shot. Plus,” I add, unable to prevent my lips from twitching. “No Mickey Mouse.”

Ember lets out a strained laugh. It’s obvious she can’t tell if I’m being playful or mocking her. I think I’m teasing, but I’m so out of practice from having any normal interaction that it comes out uncertain. The sound of my own chuckle is entirely foreign that for a second I look around nervously and wonder where it’s coming from. I don’t want to laugh, because I don’t want to allow myself that simple pleasure.