“You’ve got to feel sorry for someone if they can’t even enjoy a cupcake for what it is.” I kicked off my shoes. My feet were killing me. “Why has society made things so complicated?”
“Girl, if I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t be working in a cupcake store in downtown Destiny, Mississippi. I’d be selling the answer to that on Amazon and charging people five dollars a piece.”
In a world that had gone crazy with free everything, my business was built on old-style baking delivered in a fresh, creative way. Chocolate cakes with gooey chocolate ganache covered in a sheen of flawless toffee. Classic vanilla with rich butterscotch chunks and sweet peanut brittle. Rich, red velvet sponge with a melt-in-your-mouth buttercream. I didn’t do free. My business plan was built around enjoying the decadence of a good ol’ fucking cupcake.
I knew it wasn’t for everybody. But those who liked the idea came in droves.
I smiled and slid my feet into a pair of slippers I kept behind the counter. I hated driving home in my work shoes, preferring the fluffy comfort of my well-worn Target loafers. “She said something really weird, though.”
“Weird? How so?”
“Something about pregnancy hormones going to my head.”
“She did? Did you ask her what she meant?”
“Yeah. She mentioned me rubbing my stomach a lot. Oh, and added, you’re either pregnant or you’ve been eating too many of your cupcakes. If you’re not pregnant, you really should go sugar-free.”
“Uh-hmm, Shorty got herself a mean girl mouth,” he said dramatically. But then shrugged. “Crazy out of towner. Don’t you worry about her. You look gorgeous.”
He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as he swooped past me to the display cabinet and began packing the leftover cupcakes onto a tray. We baked everything fresh first thing in the morning. Any leftovers were dropped off to the homeless shelter on my way home.
“I’m beat. Are you okay to close up and drop those at the shelter?”
“Of course. You got sexy plans with that hunky baby daddy of yours?”
I gave him a pointed look. “You know we don’t do that anymore,” I said, hanging my apron on a hook on the wall. “I’m just tired is all. They say you’re supposed to lose the fatigue after the first trimester, but I think this baby wants me to stay home with my feet up. I’m exhausted.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He gave me a wink. “You go.”
It was just getting dark when I got home. Caleb wasn’t home and it was funny, but even after living with him for such a short time, the place already seemed empty when he wasn’t there.
As I placed my handbag on the kitchen counter, my phone buzzed with a message.
Caleb: Not going to be home til late. Don’t wait up.
Me: That won’t be a problem. I’m beat. Going to soak in the tub and then head to bed.
Caleb: Bad day?
I thought about the moody lady with whisky-colored eyes and auburn hair. Usually people loved my baking, so when I got an unhappy customer it really left me bothered. But tonight I felt even further unsettled. A strange feeling lingered inside of me when I recalled her comment about my pregnancy. She had brushed the comment off with some reasoning about me rubbing my belly, but something still felt a little off. I sighed. Maybe she was right. Maybe my pregnancy hormones were affecting me and it was nothing more than an accurate observation. I let it go and flicked Caleb another message.
Me: All good. Have a good night.
And he replied straight away.
Caleb: You too. See you tomorrow.
We hadn’t touched each other since we’d agreed to keep things platonic. But it didn’t mean I had lost my lust for him. I was so wildly attracted to him it was crazy, and the way I was in a constant state of arousal for him was pathetic. But I refused to show it. Caleb seemed unfazed by our no-sex agreement. He never pushed. And his easy-going nature was comforting. Some nights when he got home late I wondered if he had been with other girls at the clubhouse. He never mentioned anything and I refused to ask. If this was going to work, it was important that we kept things separate—he had his life and I had mine. We were in this for the baby only.
Yet the thought of him driving that big cock into anyone else made me nauseous. And sometimes I questioned how much I wanted to keep things platonic, or if somewhere along the way I was going to want more.
CALEB
I hadn’t lived with a woman since living at home with my mom and sister. I was used to living with men. Beasts of men who drank and smoked, and who worked out in the gym and left their stinking clothes on the floor in their room. I was used to testosterone. Grease. Dirt. And the smell of sweat, spilled liquor, and stale weed.