Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
--William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Scarlett
I stare at her in shock. Fred doesn’t cry. She’s all snark and strength. I’m the one who cries, and she consoles me.
It takes a few long seconds for me to realize this is actually happening and rush over to her, pulling her into my arms. She’s holding a small white paper bag and I take it from her and put it on the counter.
“Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt? Who died?” I keep hugging her and she, surprisingly, let’s me.
“It’s J-J-Jack,” she manages before burying her head in my shoulder and breaking into more sobs.
“Jack died?!”
“No!” She pulls back, yanking a tissue from a pocket and blotting her eyes. “He’s not dead. Yet. He caught my cold and then he…he broke up with me.” She sniffs. “It doesn’t make any sense.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me with bewildered eyes.
“He broke up with you because he got sick? There had to be some other reason.”
“It’s…he…we . . .” She shrugs helplessly before tightening her arms around herself, as if the physical act can contain the emotions from further eruption. “Out of nowhere he was done, like he woke up one day with the sniffles and decided he didn’t love me anymore.”
“What did he say, exactly?”
Maybe this is delusion brought on by too much cold medicine.
“He said he didn’t want to be with me anymore and I have to move out.”
I blink at her. “Just like that?”
She shrugs. “Just like that. No real explanation. We talked in circles for what felt like hours. Me asking what happened and him sort of answering but not. Does that make sense?”
“Not really.” I frown.
She lifts her hands in a futile gesture. “He kept saying he doesn’t want to be an us anymore. Which means he doesn’t want me.”
Anger on her behalf makes my jaw clench. “He’s the biggest fool in New York. You deserve better.”
She steps away from me, gazing out the order window with a blank expression on her face. “It’s just, it’s always been the two of us. And he’s always been weird, and I’ve been weird and I thought our weird matched, but I was wrong. Anyway, I have to move out. I never should have let him have control over all our things. But I thought, we were always a team, you know? And yeah, he’s been working more but I never asked for anything more, I was happy to be with him. To take care of him. He said I could stay a couple weeks to give me time to find something, but I can’t stay there, Scarlett. I have to get out as soon as possible.”
“Do you need a place to stay? You can stay with me.”
“No. I can’t do that to you. I can go stay with my parents.” She winces. “I might need to find a real job, though, so I don’t have to live with them indefinitely.”
“What would you do?”
She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, put me to work. I need to think about something else.”
She walks over to the sink and washes her hands. We step around each other in the truck, the routine taking over our movements, but Fred doesn’t stop talking.
“I can’t afford to live in this city,” she murmurs while loading trays of cupcakes into the Vulcan. She doesn’t even do her normal, “Live long and prosper” schtick. “I hate it here,” she continues. “I only stayed for Jack because I thought we would be together forever. I’m too strange. No one else will love me. What am I going to do?”
“Have you talked to your parents?”
“Yes. They still have a room for me. I only have clothes and incidentals at Jack’s. Pretty much everything else in the apartment belongs to Jack.”
“We can close up early. I’ll go with you and help you grab your things.”
“I don’t want you to lose business because of me.”
I rub her upper arm. “It will be fine, Fred.”
We open to get some of the after-lunch crowd, and while we’re handing out cakes and taking money and making change, Fred is constantly wrapped up in her thoughts and they’re coming out of her mouth.
“Why do we want love so bad, anyway? Is it really necessary? What is it about human beings in our biology that draws us to the promise of love and happy ever after? What if it doesn’t exist? Love songs. Love books. It’s always a subplot; I mean, look at Han Solo and Princess Leia, Cas and Dean shippers, et cetera. It never ends. Love is everywhere. We’re obsessed.”
I have no idea what shipping she’s talking about, but okay. She’s just rambling about her fandoms or whatever it is.
“We’ll figure it out, I promise.”
But her constant ramble is starting to prick at my own thoughts and insecurities about Guy.
Fred and Jack were together forever, and even though he wasn’t perfect, I thought they loved each other. If even people who are together for a decade can end in heartbreak for no good reason, how could I possibly stand a chance? I’m overthinking things again. I mean nothing’s even happening with me and Guy, we just kissed a little. We’re not even a couple. It would be ridiculous to already be anticipating our breakup.
“What’s this?” Fred asks when there’s a lull in business. She’s holding up the white bag I took from her when she first arrived.
“You had it when you came in. I thought it was yours.”
She shakes her head and hands it to me. “It was outside on the bumper.”
I take it from her and peer inside. There’s a chocolate croissant wrapped in paper and a folded note. I peel it open.
Can I take you to dinner later? I know a place that has fancy macaroni and cheese. Guy
I smile. His handwriting is perfect block script. That’s just like him.
“Why are you smiling like a dope?”
I drop the smile. “It’s a chocolate croissant. From Guy.”
She grabs the bag from me and chucks it in the bin.
“What did you do that for?”
She rolls her eyes, a little spark of her former self returning. “Scarlett, don’t be naïve, it probably has ex-lax or something in it.”
I bite my lip.
Her mouth pops open before I can even get words together in my head to tell her anything. “What aren’t you telling me? Have you been consorting with the enemy?”
“I don’t want to ruin your perfectly good mope, but I think the pranks are done. After the whole salt-for-sugar issue.”
I explain everything, how Guy helped with the wedding catering, and then sent Carson to be my last-minute savior. Then I tell her about dinner, and how he was with his sisters. I don’t tell her every little detail, as some of it is too personal and doesn’t feel right to share. But I give her the gist. “He’s like a whole different person than you would expect.”
Fred is quiet when I finish and I sort of expect her to deride the whole situation, especially after all the “down with love” monologuing that’s been happening for the past few hours, but instead she nods and says softly, “Maybe you should give it a chance. You and Guy.”
“You really think so? Even though . . .”
“Just because I suck at picking men doesn’t mean you should be lonely forever.”
“You don’t suck at picking men. You’ve only had the one. When you’ve made half a dozen bad decisions like I have, then we can talk. And besides, I’m not lonely.”
“Oh, Scarlett, maybe you’re not lonely, but you want love. You love love. Half your cupcakes are named things like Love Me Lavender and Romantic Raspberry. You’re obsessed with weddings. You want to get married and have a thousand babies to spoil. You can be strong and independent and still want a partner and a family. Don’t let your fear of getting hurt hold you back from your dreams, and from something that could be amazing. And Guy clearly isn’t the total cretin we thought. Maybe he acts like a dick sometimes, but he probably needs someone just like you to make him less of a douche nougat. I can’t think of anyone that could do a better job.”
I don’t know what to say after her speech. That’s the longest, most sincere thing she’s ever said to me. I move to stand next to her, leaning into her side. “Are you saying that maybe our weird matches?”
“Exactly.” Her smile is small but it’s there. I give her a hug and as we part, she glances out the window. “I think your weirdo is coming over to see you.” She nods in the direction of Decadence and my gaze swivels outside.
Guy stalks across the lot and my eyes devour him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Such a simple outfit that would be so much better on my bedroom floor. Oh no, there’s a pervert in my mind and he’s rasping out terrible pick-up lines. I banish the internal creep and swing open the back-door right as Guy is lifting a hand to knock.
His eyes lighten when they meet mine, but he doesn’t make any moves in my direction. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
He breaks our stare and rocks back on his heels slightly. “Did you get my note?”
“I did. I actually saw it a minute ago.”
“Oh. Are you free tonight?”
I glance behind me at Fred who’s stabbing a cupcake with a spoon.
“Rain check? I promised to help Fred.”
His eyes sharpen on me and his head tilts to find her in the truck behind me. “What’s wrong with Fred? Is she still sick?”
“No, not that.” I explain how she broke up with her long-time boyfriend and needs to move out quickly, hopefully before he gets home tonight so she doesn’t have to see him, and how we’re closing up early to get it done.
“We can do better than that. I can help.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “I have people.”
Fred appears next to me like a wired jack in the box. “Please, yes, help me. I need to get out of there, and I will take support from the devil himself if it means I can avoid Jack.”
“Give me the addresses for pick-up and delivery. What size truck will you need?”
Fred blinks at him a few times and then answers his questions.
I glance back and forth between the two of them, Guy clipped and efficient and Fred, slow at first but then responding with increasing briskness to match his tone.
“I don’t have much stuff, my clothes and toiletries and books. Some fandom merch. All the furniture and everything big belongs to Jack.”
Guy nods. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
And then he’s gone, and Fred and I stare at each other with wide eyes.
“What just happened?” she asks.
I shrug. “Guy Chapman.”
It’s more like twenty-eight minutes before he’s back. All I get is a quick smile and nod and then they’re both gone. I could have done with a quick kiss. Even on the cheek. Maybe a hug? Maybe he’s just not feeling it. I shove those thoughts to the side and continue to peddle my cupcakes and wait.
A couple of hours later, they return. Guy drops Fred off and then disappears. I squash a pang of disappointment that he didn’t come in to say anything. Not even a smile and nod, this time.
“What happened?” I ask Fred.
“He said Jack is an idiot.” Her eyes are brighter than they were this morning, her spark coming back in slow degrees. I owe Guy just for that. “It was epic, Scarlett. He took care of everything, I barely had to even think. I don’t normally enjoy being bossed around, but he made something I was dreading just so easy.”
I grin at her. “You’ve got it too, huh? The Guy Chapman fan club button.”
She snorts. “You have a bigger button. Carson is right, he likes you.”
I ignore that statement and the butterflies it ignites in my stomach. “Do you need any time off?”
“No.” She shakes her head and heads to the sink to wash her hands. “It’s better if I stay busy. Work will help.”
“Okay, well let me know if you change your mind.”
She finishes washing up and dries her hands on a paper towel, turning to face me. “My parents invited you and Guy over for dinner and I agreed on your behalf, by the way. He’s coming back in an hour to pick us both up.”
“He is?” I squeak. I’ve been working and cooking all day. The truck gets warm, despite the chill outside. I put my hair up in a messy bun hours ago. My face is probably greasy and gross. I probably resemble stomped butt.
“Hope that’s okay,” Fred continues. “My parents are going to be so annoying and smothering. I need a buffer, just for a night. You don’t mind, right?”
I shake my head no. I don’t mind.
I guess I’m going to dinner with Guy tonight, after all.