That Girl (That Girl, #1)(9)

“Birthday girl goes first,” Alice insists.

The tray is so heavenly, stacked with all sorts of cupcakes varying in color from neon to pale hues, making my choice extra difficult.

My mouth begins to water. “Which one do you suggest, Alice?”

“Oh, sweet baby, they are like my own personal kids. I could never pick a favorite.”

Jeremiah speaks up, “Well, I can definitely help you on that end. I’d pick that one with the orange and pink frosting all swirled up. It’s Gram’s signature red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting. Just saying, if you don’t take it, I will.”

Jeremiah is a big, stout man. Very muscular and clean-shaven, he seems to be the perfect cupcake expert, so I reach for the one he suggested. I also grab a purple tie-dyed one, hoping it’s chocolate.

Jeremiah’s chuckles fill the room, and I freeze with embarrassment, fear, and I don’t know what else. It’s an odd feeling.

“It’s okay,” he says, “That was just my second choice.”

“Sorry.” I hand the cupcake over to him.

“Oh, no, Gram would paddle my ass. You enjoy it. In all honesty, I haven’t tasted something of hers that I don’t like,” he says, patting his belly.

Gram bustles into the open area, sits down a pitcher of ice water, and then proceeds to turn the open sign off.

Sitting down, pouring herself a glass of water, she begins to talk. “Now, tell us about yourself. What’s your name again?”

Not where I wanted the conversation to go. But what can I expect them to ask, considering I’m a complete stranger sitting in their bakery? So I nervously play with the dainty tablecloth while thinking of my reply.

“You a felon?” asks Jeremiah.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Alice spits and slaps him on the arm.

“Oh geez,” I blurt, “It’s okay. My name is Michelle, and I’m just spending some time here to make enough money to move.”

“Do you have family here?” Alice asks.

“No.”

“What made you settle here?”

“You writing a book, Gram? You can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s okay,” I chuckle.

The two are quite a funny combo. I’m not yet sure who could take whom in a wrestling match. I might put my money on Alice.

I fumble for an explanation to appease them without giving away my secrets. “I just didn’t have much to live for where I came from, so I’m finding a new place to live.”

“I think that’s fantastic,” Alice squeals, her face alight.

“So, what do you do for work?” Jeremiah asks around a mouthful of cupcake.

“Oh, I waitress at the restaurant down the road, clean rooms at Motel 6, and do a little yard work for a neighbor.”

Alice throws up her hands in disbelief. “Good grief, child. That’s too much for a young girl like you.”

“It keeps me busy,” I reply.

“Leaves no time for fun,” Jeremiah countered.

Having a feeling where this conversation is leading, I abruptly make a subject change to take the attention off me. I don’t need any awkward propositions by strangers.

“So, Jeremiah, what do you do?”

Instantly I know I’ve asked the wrong question, because all the oxygen is pulled from the room. Alice tears up, and he wraps his arms around her.

“I’m in the Army, and just home on leave. I’ll be heading over to Afghanistan here in a couple weeks.”

My hearts sinks at his words and the pain covering Alice’s face. Not knowing whether to say sorry or thank you for serving, I just slam another cupcake down.

“You’re my kind of girl, Michelle. I love to eat away my problems,” Alice says.

We all laugh and have another cupcake.

Four cupcakes later, Alice finally remembers my wrist.

“Jeremiah, take a look at her wrist. I’ll clean up in the back,” Alice says, getting up from the table.

I watch on high alert as Jeremiah comes around the table, crouches down on one knee, and begins to unwrap my hand. The look on his face tells me everything I already knew.

“I think it’s broken,” he says, looking up to me.

Finally building up enough courage to look, I peek down, and sure enough, you can see a huge bump bulging out the side. The pain has been intense, though the cupcakes and company have dulled it a bit. But now looking at it almost makes me want to scream.

“You have a high pain tolerance. I’ve seen soldiers with this same break crying and screaming like a baby.”

“I’m good at faking,” I say, feeling a bit faint.

“I don’t know your story, nor do I need to. Just know I came home to my wife and best friend in my bed, with my three-month-old daughter screaming from her crib in the next room. I’m not looking for anything, but I can tell you one thing; I’m a damn good set of ears.”

Tears fill my eyes. Squeezing them shut, I try to force the f*ckers back.

“I want a tattoo. I wanted a cupcake and tattoo for my birthday. It’s the one day of the year I celebrate living. I want a tattoo today.”

Jeremiah smiles. “Done.”

Standing up, he hollers, “Gram, I’m taking Michelle to Cody’s tattoo shop, and then the ER. I’ll give them your insurance info.”