The Boss Deal

His head twists in my direction, lids lowering angrily. “Did you do this?”

“Do what, Nick?” Throwing my arm up, I lean my hip against the counter.

“Bring her here? Did you tell her to come?”

Rolling my eyes, I take a step toward him. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s easier this way. Because with her here you don’t need to face how you really feel.”

“What? Why would you even think that? We had an agreement. We both knew what was coming. But no, I didn’t bring her here.”

He grunts, his head bobbing as he looks back in the sink. “Whatever. Why should I believe you? You act like you don’t feel anything between us, like this is just fun sex and nothing more. You might be able to lie to yourself, Misty, but you can’t lie to me. I know you feel something too.”

“Look, this was your idea, and we talked about it.”

“No—” he says, quickly cutting me off. “I didn’t—”

The kitchen door swings open, and Vanessa walks in. We both stop talking, and the silence is so heavy I’m sure she can feel it too.

But she keeps moving, not stopping, oblivious to the tension between me and Nick . “Everything looks great, I’m seriously impressed you two. Lewis has nothing but great things to say. You both made this happen. I can’t thank you enough.”

My heart aches, I feel like I betrayed my friend. She likes Nick, she told me she likes Nick, and now whatever happened between us here has to end. It’s over. Besides, it was just a fling, that’s it. It’s not a big deal.

Nick is quiet, he’s not acting like himself at all. And I’m a nervous mess. I’m trying so hard to pretend like I’m not hiding anything from Vanessa. Like Nick and I haven’t fucked every night since we’ve been here. Like we haven’t held hands while out to dinner, or snuggled while watching a movie.

My hands are shaking as I point out the new pictures we’re adding to the menu and the chalk board I ordered for the employees to write the weekly specials on.

Nick keeps pacing back and forth, running his hands down his face and over his head. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t find the words. Every so often he sucks in a large gulp of air, and Vanessa and I look up at him, but he lets it out slowly, and goes back to being silent.

“You all right?” Vanessa asks him as she stands up straight.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’ve just had a headache all day. I’m going to go back to the hotel and pack.”

“I packed already, my stuff is ready to go, and in the car,” I say awkwardly, as if Vanessa’s questioned our sleeping arrangements.

“Okay.” Vanessa peers at me from the corner of her eyes, her voice more alert, but not sure what she’s listening for.

Nick barely looks at either of us as he stalks by. The kitchen doors swing back and forth, and the front door jingles as he leaves.

“What’s going on with him?” she asks, pointing in the direction he went.

“I—”

“Hello?” I hear coming from the front as the bell goes off again. “Is anyone here?”

Poking my head out the door, I see the woman and the small boy from the other day. “Hey you guys. How’s the birthday boy?” I ask, making my voice as cheery and upbeat as possible.

This should be a good experience for this woman and her son, and I need to keep it that way.

“He’s good,” she answers, looking down at her son and ruffling his hair. “We’re super excited to see how the cake came out.”

“I can’t wait to show you. Give me on second, I’ll go grab it.”

“Who’s that?” Vanessa asks, her brows dropping hard. “We’re not even open yet, who took a cake order?”

“I know, I know, but they came in, and you know as well as anyone you should never turn down the chance for home grown advertising.”

“True,” she says.

“So. . .” I pause, and step into the walk-in fridge.

Coming back out, I’m holding a giant, three layer, swirly blue cake. The frosting looks like the ocean, full of light and dark blues, with white caps on the ruffled edges. Using fondant, I created a rice crispy whale that’s spouting a sugar glaze water stream from the air hole.

“I made this.”

“You made that?” Her jaw hangs open as she comes to my side and examines the cake. “Jesus, Misty, when was the last time you baked? College?”

“No,” I say mockingly, and casually shrug a shoulder. “I’ve made a few cakes over the years for people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make a little boy’s day.”

Pushing the door open with my butt, I spin around. “What do you think?” I ask.