Sweet Forty-Two(85)

“But if the outside should match the inside ... shouldn’t it be something Alice-y?”

She bit her bottom lip, smiling wider by the second. “That’s where we’re in luck. When Alice was on trial ... book not movie ... for the rose painting incident, the King was in a tizzy about Alice being there at all. Near the end of the trial, he blurts out, ‘Rule forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.’ So,” she shrugged, “I suppose they can all come here.”

“Nonsense,” I whispered to myself, smiling at Ember’s words, and the tone of my life over the last few months.

Georgia winked and kissed me again. “Exactly.”





Georgia

The grand opening of Sweet Forty-Two was more than I could have ever expected. Since I expected nothing, and ended up with a bakery that saw probably a thousand people in the first two days. Truly, though, it was magnificent. Regan told members of The Six, and they told all of their friends. Willow Shaw even plugged the opening during a radio show she hosts once a week.

While my friends at E’s were sad to see me go, they showed up in full force and traded one vice for another as they gorged on cookies and cupcakes. The classes I’d hosted for the two weeks prior to the opening were a hit, and I was already taking requests for more. Thankfully, Regan was finished recording with The Six, and had some time to kill before they started their regional tour, so he was just as busy as I was in the kitchen and helping me advertise.

It’s been two months since I made my first dollar from something I created, and, pardon the cliché, but it keeps getting sweeter. As I looked through the kitchen into the cafe area—which is what we call it now since that’s hip—my stomach twisted a bit at the thought of having to share my boyfriend with The Six once summer rolled around.

Boyfriend.

Such a simple, ordinary word for a relationship that is anything but.

Regan wiped down the tables after locking the door and turning the sign to Closed. He tucked his always-wild hair behind his ears as he cleaned the tables and benches, humming a song I didn’t recognize underneath his breath.

“See something you like?” he teased when he caught me staring, my lips slightly parted. Regan put the rag over his shoulder and glided toward me, pressing his hand on the small of my back when he reached me and giving me a warm kiss on the lips.

Maybe it was the unnatural long length of his legs, but he always looked like he was gliding whenever he moved by foot. A lot of tall people are awkward in their body, but Regan is awkward in nothing. He wasn’t thrown off balance when I asked if we could wait a while before spending the night together. It was part of my trust thing, and, really, there’s nothing more vulnerable than sleeping next to another person. Leaving yourself defenseless in their arms.

Tonight, though, that was going to change. I laughed under my breath about the card that slid under my doorway first thing in the morning. It looked as though he’d had help from Ember, or some other female, because it was quite crafty. It was on thick card stock and had all the suits of a deck of cards stamped along the border. I was invited, the letter said, to an unbirthday celebration in Regan’s apartment after closing time at the bakery that would last until the next morning. Seemed he didn’t want to come right out and ask me to spend the night in his bed. I appreciated the tact.

“What do you have planned for tonight, exactly?” I asked, kissing him on the nose once before lowering myself back to my heels.

“Oh, you know, cabbages, kings, bits of Cheshire running about.” Regan twirled his hand through the air with a crazed look in his eyes.

I smacked his chest. “I’m serious.”

He picked me up and set me on the large worktable behind me.

“Will you just trust me?” He grinned.

“Oh, I do. I really do. I was just saying—”

He laughed, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I know you do. And, I know it’s not easy. Thank you...” He trailed off, his eyes locking on my lips before moving back to mine. The look he got right before he kissed me was enough to seize every muscle in my body.

“What?” he asked, studying my face.

“That look in your eyes ... it’s so intense.”

He kissed me, letting his tongue trail the length of my lips once before pulling away. “Bad intense?”

“No,” I said in my exhale.

“Come upstairs with me.” Regan held my hand as I slid off the table and walked next to him up the stairs. My pulse thumped in my neck.

He opened the door, letting me in first. The usually bare interior of his apartment was alive. White twinkle lights were strung around the perimeter of the room and framed the picture window at the far end. The couch had been pushed aside, and in the center of the living room sat a small bistro table and two chairs, with a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting in wait.

As if crafted for a script, the timer on the oven dinged just as Regan closed the door. I whipped around to face him.

“How ... what? You were with me all day today.”

He ran his thumb across my cheek and kissed me on the forehead before walking into the kitchen. “Ember.”

“Oh...” I trailed off, watching him remove what looked like chicken parmesan from the oven, and pulling two plates from the cabinet.

“Fantasy is fun, Georgia. It’s how we met ... and fell in love. Being at the Mad Hatter’s tea party day in and day out in the bakery is a joy, and watching you handle customers in character with that theme is fantastic. But,” he brought the two plates over to the table where I’d been standing, “normal is underrated. Sit.”