Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

L aura

I swirl the finishing touches on my kransekake and step back to admire the towering confection. Not too bad for a day of massive, crushing self-doubt. My eyes keep falling back on the small paper bag from Moe’s, filled with stuff I don’t need. Okay, I always need more pastry bags, but still. I was just trying to be neighborly, not pushy or clingy. If Jesse didn’t want a little common courtesy, why move to St. Olaf? He could just as easily have stayed in Grump City or whatever antisocial town birthed him. I never even got my darned lollipop, and even though I’ve spent the rest of the afternoon bathing in sugar, I can’t erase the urge for the sweet-tangy treat with the gum in the center.

My phone buzzes with a text from my mom, asking me for my ETA.

I wash my hands before typing out my reply to her.

Maybe I’ll stop off at the pharmacy after dropping the kransekake at Dr. Sieber’s office and get my lollipop there. I’ll end up buying an entire bag of the suckers, but oh well. It’s nearly impossible to satisfy a craving this deep. Not just for the hit of nostalgic sugar, but for the comfort, for the pleasure of eating it. I can fantasize about that all day.

My phone buzzes again, and my spirits momentarily lift when I see the ID. I swipe the bar to answer the call. “Hey, Daph.”

“Hey, hon.” My best friend, Daphne Sieber, yawns loudly. “How’s life?”

“Not bad.” My chest feels lighter for the first time in a while. “How are you?”

“Chicago’s fun. You should come visit.”

“I’d love that.” I have no idea when. It’s difficult, finding time away from the bakery. “How’s work at the hospital?”

“So frustrating. I don’t even want to talk about it. I feel like I’m always post call lately.”

“Are you looking for a new job?” The hope around town is that Daphne will return to St. Olaf to help out at her dad’s practice, but I know that’s never going to happen. It’s not even worth bringing it up.

Daphne yawns again. “I want to hear about you. Any new fancy cake ideas?”

“I’ve been working on a new blueberry muffin series. Almond flour, citrus. Sort of a cross with key lime pie.”

Daphne makes an orgasmic kind of sound. “Seriously. Send me a batch. Please.”

I shrug. “They aren’t really working out so far. It’s not quite what I was hoping. I made one but it worked better as a crumble.”

“I still want to try it.”

“I’ll send you some.” I stare over at the pastry bag. “I spend too much time fantasizing about sweet treats.”

“That sounds like toxic Chris junk.” Daphne’s voice is stern.

“Maybe.” I pause. “He’s been texting me.”

“Girl. No.” I hear the creak of Daphne’s sofa as she sits upright. “Absolutely not. Tell me you don’t respond.”

“Of course not. I delete them. They’re nothing horrible, just odd. Things like he misses my smile, or has been thinking of me…”

Daphne blows a loud raspberry into the phone. “It’s bullshit. He’s trying to drag you back down with him. Don’t let him. You’re finally free.”

“You’re right.” I’m ninety percent sure this is true.

“I am. Know your power, Laura. It’s a relief you broke up with him. Maybe you just need to date someone who can actually find your erogenous zones. I doubt Chris ever did, even with a highly trained tracker dog and detailed GPS coordinates.”

When he asked if I could “just whip up a quick brownie” after the first time we had uninspiring sex, I should have dumped him. But no, there’s the people-pleasing Laura, the Laura who listens to the town gossips who shout their lamentations of my single status.

“I know,” I say simply.

“I know people in town always say ‘having someone is better than being alone.’ But we know that’s complete and utter shit. Right?” That’s Daphne’s doctor voice, minus the swearing. Stern and chiding.

“Right.” Now that she mentions it, it’s easier to remember the bad times. “They never had to clean up after Chris after one of his ‘exercise’ sessions. Halfhearted walking in front of the TV, dropping his water bottle on the ground, and sweating in a way that requires a clinical diagnosis.”

“Exactly,” Daphne says. “No one ever knows what people are really like on the inside. This is a chance to change. Be a new Laura.”

“You’re right. No more sweet Laura, trying to be everyone’s good girl. No more clingy Laura.”

Daphne groans. “Ugh, I really hate Chris. You’re not clingy.”

“In some ways, he was a good learning experience.” Like that I hate dating man children. “I attach too quickly and too completely, and it blinds me to the faults of my partner. That’s how I let that poohead at Moe’s get to me.”

“Wait, what?” Daphne’s voice perks up. “What poohead? There’s someone new in town? This is huge news.”

Alarm bells clang in my stomach. “Oh. Yeah. There’s someone new working at Moe’s. He’s kind of a jerk, though.”

“Wow. He didn’t go to May Day? Or hot ham and rolls? I fucking love hot ham and rolls.” There’s a hint of nostalgia in her tone. She hasn’t even visited St. Olaf since she left for medical school.

“No, I guess he’s been keeping his crankiness to himself.”

“Why did you even go to the hardware store?”

I sigh. “I’ve had a lot of trouble lately with Lucretia Borgia—”

“Fab name, by the way,” Daphne interrupts.

“Exactly. So I was feeling a little down, and Moe always has those really great bubblegum lollipops at the counter. But he wasn’t there. It was this new guy.”

“Is he hot? Even if he isn’t straight, it would be nice to have someone pretty to look at.” Says the woman who lives in one of the world’s coolest cities.

It’s not difficult to remember Jesse’s handsome features. “Sort of. He’s like a super grumpy lumberjack. But he smells better.”

“Ooh. Intriguing. If anyone can soften him up, it’s you.” There’s a buzzing on her end of the phone. “Shit. I’m getting called by the hospital. Again. Talk soon, hon? I’m sure you have a kransekake to deliver.”

“Absolutely.” Daphne hangs up before I can ask if she wants me to say anything to her dad. She probably doesn’t, but why else would she call on his birthday? I’ll tell my mom we talked, and she’ll speak to Dr. Sieber. That’s probably the best way to manage it.

I box up the kransekake. This is the most harrowing aspect of my job: transporting finished baked goods to a destination. I have every possible gadget in my old hatchback to make it possible, but there is always that fear lurking in the background. If I drop one of the cakes, that’s it. There isn’t another. I have spares in my freezer, but when people custom-order something, they want that . They crave it, the same way I crave a cherry-red bubblegum lollipop.

I manage to package the cake successfully in the back of my car and go back into the bakery for my purse. I built this place from the ground up, my siblings helping out when they could. Mom and I went shopping through antique stores up and down the length of Lake Michigan to find mismatched old plates and silverware. I love this café. The front of house is dim; the chairs are stacked on the tables. Monday morning’s dough is ready and proofing, the yeast scenting the air. It’s quiet and peaceful.

Exactly what I don’t need. No wonder the town council—otherwise known as Dryden fixers, each and every one—didn’t approve my liquor license. I want this place bustling until the wee hours, or what passes for them here in St. Olaf. Nine p.m. at least during the winter months.

Who am I kidding? New-in-town hot grump Jesse is right about me. I am all bluster and no warmth.

Sighing, I lock the door, and at the last moment grab the paper bag from Moe’s. When I toss it onto the front passenger seat, the bag whispers an unexpected crinkle. Pushing aside all memories of horror movies my sister Frannie made me watch, I open the bag with my heart in my throat.

But when I reach in and my hands close around the object, I know exactly what it is, and a strange, bright sensation sparks in my chest.

A cherry bubble gum lollipop sits in my hand, bright and cheerful.