“Why would Nate buy a bakery for a woman he just met? And if I was committed to Max, why would I let him?”
“Girl, your life has gotten better than my daytime soaps. Days of Our Lives cannot compete with this shit.”
“Maybe I wasn’t choosing Nate over Max. Maybe I was choosing my business over Max. I mean, what if Nate does own it and he was going to sell it or something if I married Max?”
“That would be pretty dickish.”
“Yes, but he’s a spoiled rock star. Of course he’d be a dick about getting his way, right?”
She frowns. “That’s one big insult to his personality wrapped up in a clichéd assumption.”
“Even if there were no strings attached to our agreement, that’s gotta be awkward, right? What if Max marries me and finds out I’m in business with the guy I was once cheating on him with?” I gasp and throw my hand over my mouth. “Liz, Max and I are planning on living upstairs after we get married!”
“Shit,” she breathes. “You need to find out if Nate’s the silent partner.”
I nod. “And I need to find out before the wedding.”
“IT’S SO screwed up,” Drew says. “The whole town hates her and thinks she’s this total slut, but nobody really cares that it takes two, you know?” She scoops the cookies off the tray and slides them onto a cooling rack. “Can you imagine if we made all the cheating men walk around with a red A on their chests? No one would be ashamed. They’d just wear it all proud. Probably be embarrassed if they didn’t have one. I swear. I hate the world sometimes.”
I bite back my laughter. Drew’s junior honors English class is American Literature, and she has to finish The Scarlet Letter before school starts on Monday. Just yesterday, she was groaning about having to read “this stupid old book,” and now she’s so into it she can hardly stop talking about it.
“I’ve made my last latte,” Lizzy says, pushing into the kitchen. “I’m tapping out. Drew. You’re up.”
Drew groans but otherwise doesn’t protest before going to man the front of the store.
“Thank God,” Liz says when Drew’s safely on the other side of the kitchen door. “I had to get her away from you before you started getting a complex and embroidering an A on all your clothes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t even think of that, but thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“So did you make an appointment with the lawyer to find out about the silent partner?”
I nod. “I’m going in next week.”
“Good. Want me to go with you?”
I bite my lip and nod. “Is that pathetic?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. I’m, like, your assistant manager or some shit. What affects your business affects me.”
“Thank you so much. The lawyer’s in Indianapolis, and I’m not supposed to be driving.”
“And you’re a scaredy cat.”
“True fact.” I grab a hot pad and swat her with it before opening the oven.
The chocolate chip scones smell so delicious my mouth literally waters as I pull them out of the oven. I’ve been trying to be good about my eating. I haven’t even been home from the hospital a week, and I’ve already gained weight. Dr. Perkins doesn’t want me getting on the scale, but I don’t need a scale when it’s getting harder to button my jeans.
“Do it,” Lizzy says behind me. She grabs one off the tray and breaks a corner off to pop it in her mouth. Her eyes float closed and she moans. “Jesus Christ, Hanna. I don’t need a man. I just need your baked goods. All of your baked goods.” She grabs my forearm and squeezes. “Promise me you’ll never cut me off.”
I giggle and break a piece off her scone. The butter and flour practically melt on my tongue. “G
od, I’m good.”
“Are you sure you want to be eating that?” someone asks at the door.
Lizzy and I turn to find my mother walking into my kitchen with her old critical eyes on my baked goods. I’m not used to my mom looking at me with approval. She’s terrified of fat, extra weight, and clothing sizes in the double digits. My inability to keep my weight down was always a point of anxiety for her. And I always felt like a failure. Until I woke up in the hospital with my new body. Then all that disappointment was gone from her eyes.
It’s back now as she eyes the half-eaten scone in Lizzy’s hand.