He certainly hoped she did.
“My whole life just blew up,” Chelsea sobbed as she sat on a stool in Babycakes’ white tile and stainless steel kitchen, clutching a glass of cabernet in one hand and the last quarter of a double frosted fudge brownie cupcake in the other. Until now, she wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel anything but blissfully happy at Babycakes. Usually just breathing in the scents of vanilla and cinnamon, seeing the explosion of colors in the glass display cases, sent her mood soaring. But not tonight. Thank God the bakery had closed an hour ago. Customers didn’t want a side of crazy-woman-having-a-breakdown with their coffee and carbs.
Laurie took Chelsea’s wineglass and placed it on the counter, then handed her a wad of tissues and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Today goes down in the record book of bad days, for sure, but come on, your life hasn’t blown up.”
“Y-yes, it has.” She finished the last bite of the cupcake, and scrubbed the tissue over her cheeks. “Let me reconstruct the blast for you. The man I was involved with cheated on me and dumped me for the ice queen of HR, who also happens to be the mother of his unborn child. To spare myself the humiliation of watching them live happily ever after, I resigned from a job I loved, which ultimately may have been unnecessary, because after the stunt I pulled in the supply closet, I was likely to get fired as soon as the new owner found an excuse to boot me.” She crumpled the tissue. “God, when did I become such a loser?”
Laurie gave her a squeeze. “You’re not a loser. You picked a loser. There’s a difference.”
“Not to me. I’m tired of having my heart stomped on.” She tossed the
tissue into the trash. “I’m done with love.”
“Because of Paul Barrington? That’s like giving up cake because you had a bad Twinkie.”
“Paul’s a Twinkie?”
“The human equivalent. A Twinkie isn’t real cake, and what you had with Paul wasn’t real love.”
“If Paul was my only disastrous choice, I might put the blame on him, but he’s not. Look at my history. Chad Dunkleman ditched me at prom and took Tammy Ballsmore home in the white stretch Hummer I kicked in half the money to rent. We’d dated for three years.”
“Tammy had a well-earned reputation for living up to her last name, Chad was drunk, and you secretly hated the idea of giving up your V-card in the cheesy white Hummer. You can’t possibly regret holding out for something better than prom night with Chad Dunkleman.”
She shrugged. “So I held out for college, only to have my boyfriend spend a semester in Spain and elope with a girl he met in a Barcelona nightclub.”
“Hey, at least you didn’t pay for the trip.”
“No, but I spent hours tutoring him in Spanish so he’d qualify for the study abroad program.” She picked up her wine and took a long gulp, wishing she could numb her heart as easily as she could numb her face. “Every single one of my relationships follows the same pattern. I trust. I give. I get dumped. Well, I’m done. The universe has been trying to send me a message, and today I received it, loud and clear. I only had to lose everything to finally listen. No more men. No more dating. No more love.”
“You can’t take what happened with Paul as a sign from the universe. Love sucker-punches everyone at some point.”
“Not you.”
Laurie didn’t even try to deny it. “That’s because I know how to guard my heart.” She tapped a snowflake-embossed red fingernail on the stainless steel counter. “Not because I’ve given up on men.”
“I lack the heart-guarding gene.”
“No, you don’t. You simply haven’t learned to use it. Why would you? Your mom married her high school sweetheart. For her, your dad was Mr. Forever.” She made air quotes around the words. “Heartwarming, but not very realistic these days, yet you approach dating as a quest for Mr. Forever instead of a chance to have a little fun, bask in mutual attraction, and, ideally, enjoy entertaining sex with Mr. For-the-Moment.”
Chelsea propped an elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her palm. “That’s all you want from a relationship? Sexy fun with Mr. For-the-Moment?”
She shrugged. “Call me shallow, but yeah, that’s all I’m expecting. If a guy wants more from me, he’s got to earn it.”
“And how does he do that?”
“No one’s managed yet, but in theory, he proves he’s got more to give.”
“But if no man has met your standard, maybe you’ve set your standard too high?”
“I’m not the one crying into my wine tonight,” she pointed out. “You, on the other hand, leave your heart way too accessible, instead of making a man demonstrate he’s worthy of the emotional investment. You treat him like he’s the prize.” She poked Chelsea’s shoulder. “You’re the prize. Start treating yourself like one.”
She placed her wineglass on the counter and turned the smooth, slim stem with her fingers. “I don’t feel like a prize. I feel like a fool.”
“You’re not a fool, Chels, but you’re living your life by all the nice girl rules your mother drummed into you, and that’s not who you are.”
“I’m not a nice girl?”
Laurie poked her again. “You know what I mean. You’re a caterer.”