LITMIR.BIZ

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before.

      She looked back down at her list. The items she was choosing for if she opened her own bakery. For if she had to leave Roasted so she could get away from Zack.

      She was starting to hope she wouldn’t need it.

      Clara put a pan of twelve cupcakes into the oven and closed the rack with her foot. They were pineapple cupcakes which she was intending to pair light, whipped frosting and candied mango on top. They might very well taste like a Caribbean vacation gone wrong, but she was feeling risky.

      She was also feeling restless and sad.

      It was Monday and normally Zack would come over for a football game neither of them would pay attention to. He would bring takeout, she would provide all things baked and sinful.

      She missed that. And she wondered if the status quo hadn’t been so bad after all.

       Right. Because you were such a sopping, sad mess you made his wedding cake even though it destroyed you to do it. And you’ve barely had a date since you met the man.

      All true.

      She growled into the empty room and turned her focus to whipping her frosting. That, at least, was physically satisfying. She dipped an unused spoon into the mix and tasted it. She hit Play on her kitchen stereo system and turned to the pantry humming while she rummaged for a can of pineapple juice.

      She heard a sharp knock over the sound of her acoustic-guitar music and she stopped rummaging. She frowned and walked over to the door, peeking through the security window at the top.

      Zack was there, looking back down the hall, like he was thinking about leaving. He had a brown paper bag in his hand, his work clothes long discarded in favor of a gray T-shirt and a pair of dark fitted jeans.

      Her heart crumpled. Seeing him was almost painful. A reminder of how close they’d been physically. How far apart they were emotionally.

      She braced herself for the full impact of his presence and opened the door.

      He turned to her, smiling. “Hi.”

      “I thought you were busy.”

      That wasn’t what she’d intended to lead with, but it had sort of slipped out. Things just seemed to be “happening” around him without her permission a lot lately.

      “It turns out it could wait.” He slipped past her and stepped into her apartment, depositing his bags of food on the counter and pulling white boxes from it without even asking for permission.

      “Why are you … here?”

      “It’s Monday.”

      “And?”

      “Football.” He shrugged as he opened the first container, revealing her favorite, Sweet and Sour Pork. Like nothing had changed.

      It was comforting in a very bizarre way. And a tiny bit upsetting, too. She wasn’t sure which emotion she was going to let win. She’d give it until after dinner to decide.

      “Right.” She turned and made her way around the counter, taking plates and utensils out of the cupboard and drawers. Zack dished up the food and neither of them spoke as they took their first few bites.

      “You could turn the game on,” she said.

      Zack walked across the open room and took her remote off the couch, aiming it at the TV and putting it on the local channel broadcasting the event.

      “Who’s playing?” she asked.

      “No idea.” He tossed the remote back where it had been and crossed back into the kitchen, taking a seat at one of the bar stools that lined the counter.

      “Important enough to come over for, though,” she said, looking down at her plate and stabbing a piece of meat with her fork.

      “I missed you,” he said, his voice rough.

      “What … me? You missed me?”

      “Yes. We always get together Monday. And I found myself wandering around my house. Thought about turning the game on. But you’re right. I don’t really care about football, probably a side effect of coming down from the high of being the world’s most entitled high-school jock. I didn’t really want to watch sports, but I did want to eat dinner. With you.”

      “I missed you, too, Zack,” she said.

      His smile. His presence. His arms around her while she slept. But she wasn’t allowed to miss that last part. That had to be done. Over.

      As for their friendship … she didn’t know what she would do without him. But she didn’t know if she would ever get over him if he was always around, either.

      But she had to be with him, at least until she left Roasted. She would worry about the rest then.

      “Making cupcakes?” he asked.

      “They’re going to be very tropical.” She took a bite of fried rice and stood up, walking back into the kitchen to grab the can of pineapple juice she’d been after when he came to the door. “Not sure about them yet.”

      She punched the top of the tin and drizzled some juice into her frosting, stirring it in slowly.

      Zack leaned over the counter and stuck his finger in the bowl. She smacked the top of his hand. “I will frost your butt, Parsons. Keep your fingers out of my mixing bowl.”

      He held his finger near his lips and gave her a roguish smile. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” He licked his frosting-covered finger and her internal muscles clenched in response.

      She snorted. “No. I don’t know. You know what I meant.”

      “Yeah.”

      Her heart fluttered, but it was a manageable amount. “Behave.”

      He arched one eyebrow. “Can’t make any promises.”

      She rolled her eyes and sat back down to her dinner.

      “Heard anymore about the store in Japan?” she asked.

      That got Zack rolling on statistics and sales figures and all sorts of things he found endlessly fascinating. She liked that about him. Liked that his job sometimes gave him a glint in his eye that made him look like an enthusiastic kid.

      Then he launched into a story about the street performers that had been out in front of the restaurant tonight when he’d picked the food up, which reminded her of the time they’d been all but accosted by a street mime on their way to lunch one day.

      She really had missed this. Sharing. Laughing. She loved that he knew her, that he knew all of her best stories, her most embarrassing moments.

      The timer pinged for the cupcakes and she got up to check them.

      “Finished?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she said, pulling them out with an oven mitt and setting them on the counter. “But hot.” She nearly laughed at his pained expression. “I have some cool ones, though. I know you don’t bake, but if you want to frost them you’re welcome to.”

      “I think I can handle that.”

      “Bear in mind they are highly experimental.”

      He smiled. “Sounds exciting, anyway.”

      “Or a potential disaster of epic proportions, but we won’t know until we taste them.”

      She loaded up a frosting bag and handed it to Zack while she set her own up and got started on leaving little stars all over the surface of one of the cupcakes.

      Zack sneaked his hand past her and dipped it into the bowl again. She grabbed the spatula and smacked the back of his hand, leaving a streak of white frosting behind. “I said stop!” she said, laughing as he examined the mess she’d left behind.

      “But the frosting is the best part.”

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