When We Touch

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this building takes him a week to finish.”

Her teasing is making me furious, and I pull her closer over the table. “Why are you being so flip

pant? I thought you were on my side in this.”

“I’m always on your side,” she hisses. “I just bumped into him at the store, and he told me something I didn’t know.”

“What?” I step back and fix my eyes on the table.

She shrugs. “He didn’t tell me much, but I think the two of you need to have a conversation.”

Pressing my lips together, I try not to growl. “What did he say?”

“What if Jackson thought you were the one who left? What if he was given the same line as you?”

“I wasn’t given a line. A line would have been great. I wasn’t given anything.” I storm over to the mixer and pull out the large glass bowl. “I got radio silence.”

My KitchenAid mixer was the first appliance I ever bought, and it wiped me out for three months. Still, I don’t regret the decision. Reaching for the flour, baking soda, and eggs, I start the process of making the cake.

“I’m sorry,” Tabby says, carrying the cocoa to where I stand. “I should have asked your permission first.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I only want you to be happy, Em. I remember what it was like when you were with Jackson. You were pretty young, but still… you just glowed.”

Heat fills my eyes, and I blink it away quickly. “I’ve got more important things to worry about now.”

“You have to make time for your needs, too.”

“I have to think about Coco and what she needs and this store and what it needs.”

“You need to prioritize you. Remember that thing about putting on your own oxygen mask before helping someone else?”

Arching my eyebrows, I look up at her. “You’ve never been this philosophical as long as I’ve known you.”

“I don’t want to see you end up with Bucky Pepper.”

“Oh, God,” I groan, wiping a tendril of hair off my forehead and focusing on the batter. “Hand me that spoonula, would you? Start mixing up the buttercream. I’ll let you run this over to the strand once it’s done. And keep half for yourself. It’s time I started paying you.”

She grins and sashays to the refrigerator. I can never stay mad at Tabby, and shit, a wriggling part of me says she might be right.

* * *

Lemon zest cupcakes made, lunches eaten, I purposely prolonged the decoration of the round dessert cake until I’d seen Jackson climbing down the scaffolding and briefly glancing in the window. Of course, I quickly turned my back.

Tabby took the order in her car and headed out to Oceanside Beach. I carried my sleepy toddler to the bike and pedaled her home along with her box of Yellow Monster Number Fours.

Now I’m back at my place dusting on makeup and trying to drum up the smallest bit of interest in Bucky the deviled-egg-smelling taxidermist. My phone rings, and I hit the speaker button.

“Where is he taking you?” Tabby’s voice fills the open space.

“He didn’t say, but I’m guessing it’ll be Tuna Tiki. He seems to love it there.”

“It’s the live music.”

“And the cheap beer,” I add, outlining the corners of my eyes.

“I’m going to Thelma’s party, but I’ll slip out and head over after about an hour.”