When We Touch

“I like it,” I say, taking a cleansing breath and stepping to the side to kiss the top of her head. “Mommy’s assistant.”

“So I should check the want ads?” Tabby teases.

“Of course not.” I shake my head and return to work.

Beside me are bags of lavender, pink, and green buttercream. My insides are still shaky, but I’m glad to have the distractions of work and these two. The wreath cake is finished and in the refrigerator by eleven, leaving just enough time to assemble one of the smaller, two-tiered rounds needed for this afternoon.

“I’ll take these down and leave a few more fliers at the hotel front desks,” I say, tying them together. “If you see my momma, tell her I took Coco with me.”

“It’s so hot.” Tabby walks with me to the door. “Think you’ll make it without them melting?”

Coco is on my hip, and I lean into the glass, looking up the scaffolding. My insides are tight, but I see it’s empty. The porch is also empty. No sign of him.

“I’ll move fast.”

She follows me out, and we quickly load the cakes in my front basket. “If orders like these keep coming in, you’ll have to invest in a car.”

“No.” I quickly buckle Coco into her seat behind mine. “I’ll figure out a way to make Dixie work. See you tomorrow.”

“Are you coming back here tonight?”

Chewing my lip, I look at the scaffolding again then up to my open balcony. “I don’t know.”

She nods, and I stand in the pedals to get momentum. I’m pushing hard, doing my best to pick up speed when a tall form emerges from the poboy shop.

My heart plunges, and I push harder. We fly past, making our way quickly through the four-block garden district, past my mother’s house on the corner, and onto the trail leading out to the strand.

I leave nothing but dust on the road behind us.

* * *

Both of my new customers are impressed and bragging about their cakes when I leave them. They offer to recommend me to friends in the area, which I desperately need to keep my business growing. I also get permission to leave fliers at two of the more expensive resorts. I take business cards for the head chefs at the restaurants, although I’m repeatedly told they handle desserts in-house.

“Ups and downs,” I say with a sigh, holding Coco’s hand and walking to my bike Dixie. “Nobody said starting a business was easy.”

Coco back in her place, I pedal us a little closer up the coast to a portion of beach hidden from the tourist traffic. I park Dixie and unpack the picnic lunch Tabby made for us while I decorated the cakes.

Sitting on my towel, I can’t help remembering how I know this little cove. Jackson had taken me here. It’s where we’d meet when we didn’t want to go all the way out to the strand.

I watch Coco running up and down, chasing the waves rushing in and out, and my mind travels to when it would be me out there in the surf, dancing to show off for him in my itsy bitsy bikini. He’d sit on the sand, dark skin shimmering in the sun, looking like a god. He’d smile, and my stomach would flip.

I’d dance up in front of him and kick the sprays of water. The little drops would hit his heated skin, and he’d be up on one fluid movement, chasing me. I couldn’t outrun him, and he’d toss me over his shoulder, carrying me out into the swirling cold breakers. I’d squeal as if I didn’t love it, and he’d lower me. Our lips would meet, and it would be salt water and cinnamon. Bathing suits pushed aside, thumbs sliding back and forth across beaded nipples. My breath would catch as hard muscle met slippery heat…

Coco runs into my arms like a little bird, and I slip bite-sized crackers into her mouth. She only stays until the edge is off her hunger, then she’s right out in the waves again. She’s as much of a water bug as I ever was.

I thought I could depend on Jackson in those days, but he broke me. He ripped out my heart and left me bleeding and devastated. Resting my cheek on my knees, I watch my daughter play and do my best to blink away my tears, to put the memories in the past where they belong.

I owe Coco stability, a mother who can’t be broken.

I have to be strong.

It doesn’t matter if he’s back.

* * *

It’s late when Coco and I arrive at my mother’s house. The sun is hidden low in the trees, and blue-green shadows stretch over the sidewalks. Hopping off the bike, I maneuver it through the white fence surrounding the yard, keeping a hand on my daughter.

Taking her out of her seat, I leave the bike parked at the gate. Her sleepy head is on my shoulder, and her arms and legs go around my waist. I can’t help thinking of a baby koala, and the warmth filling my chest soothes that old wound.