Chapter 14

Evelyn

Still reeling from the moment with Shawn and his scars, I go to my room to change and throw on a pair of comfy jeans and a plain t-shirt.

I can’t believe I’m going to a cake-tasting with my supposedly dead husband for a wedding I’m having with another man. I’m still irritated that James isn’t coming to this. But there’s nothing that can be done.

I walk down the stairs and retrieve my purse and keys by the door. Shawn is already waiting for me.

I turn to him. “Ready?” The question is clearly superfluous, but I ask it anyway, feeling the need to say something.

He nods and holds out his hand.

I look at him, confused. Does he want me to hold his hand?

“Give me the keys, Evelyn. I’ll drive.”

“I can drive there just fine, Shawn,” I say as I clutch the keys tightly to me. “Plus, it’s my car.”

He chuckles. “That’s beside the point,” he replies. “I want to drive us. Please.”

He has a sincere look on his face. I know he isn’t going to drop this. He used to always insist on driving in the past, too. I always loved that about him. He wanted to drive and let me relax in the passenger seat.

He’d always rest his right hand on my thigh while his left steered—I shake myself. Thoughts like that aren’t productive, Evelyn.

“Fine,” I tell him as I toss the keys to him. He catches them without blinking, and his lips quirk into a small smile.

Honestly, he’s always been the better driver, anyway.

We leave the house and hop into the car. Soon, we’re driving through town, heading towards the small bakery, where the cake tasting is taking place.

I’m humming along to a song as the wind blows through the windows of the car. My hair is blowing all around my face, but I don’t care. The breeze feels amazing.

I glance over at Shawn, and he’s smiling as he looks at me briefly before directing his eyes back on the road.

“Why are you smiling?” I ask him.

He gives a bemused shake of his head.

“You were just humming along to the song,” he replies. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard someone hum so excitedly. Then again, it is your favorite song.”

He’s laughing by the end of his statement.

“How do you know that’s my favorite song?” I ask quietly.

He seems slightly confused for a second. The furrow between his brows is present again.

“I don’t know how I know it’s your favorite,” he finally says. “I don’t remember hearing you ever humming the song before. I just said it without thinking.”

We sit there quietly. I’ve tuned out the song now.

I used to hum the song all the time when it came on. Whether he was in the car with me or not, but most of the time, he was in the car with me.

After he was presumed dead, I never hummed along to the song again. I didn’t even listen to it. It would always depress me because it reminded me of happier times.

When the song came on a few minutes ago, I didn’t even think about changing it or get depressed when it started, I just started humming. I hummed as if everything was back to how it was before Shawn “died.”

Shawn pulls the car into a parking space out in front of the bakery and turns the engine off.

He turns his body towards mine and looks at me. I look into his eyes. Those eyes seem familiar yet different from what I remembered.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I reply.

I don’t say anything else. I don’t say how off-balance I feel at the moment. I open my door and jump out of the car.

Shawn holds the bakery door open for me. We walk into a store filled with the rich and sweet smells that only a bakery can have.

We’re greeted and then led back to a room specifically reserved for consultations and tastings. The baker lays out ten different samples in front of us.

“I’ll leave you, two, to taste the cakes and talk over which you would like for the wedding,” the baker explains to us with a wide smile on his face.

Then he looks directly at Shawn. “Whatever cake you and your future bride pick, I can assure you that the cake will be perfect down to the last ingredient. I know how important it is for everything to be just right for both of you, but especially the bride.”

I blush. The baker doesn’t know that Shawn isn’t the groom for the wedding the baker will be making the cake for. I’m just about to correct him when Shawn’s voice prompts me to shut my mouth.

“Thank you,” he replies as he throws his arm around the back of my chair, effectively bringing him closer to me. “I know the cake will be delicious, no matter what, and we’re excited to figure out which one to choose for the wedding.”

We’re looking at each other even though Shawn is addressing the baker. Shawn is looking at me lovingly, as if this was our wedding, and not mine to another man.

God, I always loved when he looked at me that way, as if I were the only woman in the world. As if he can’t stop looking at me or believe I’m with him.

A longing for what we had rises within my chest. All those years he was gone seem to melt away, and now, it’s just the two of us.

But those years can’t just be wiped away. They happened, and now we’re both stuck in a confusing situation, trying to figure out what to do.

I break away from his stare. We’ve been looking at each other so intensely. I didn’t even see when the baker stepped out of the room to leave us to the tasting.

Shawn gives a slight cough. “Right, why don’t we start from one end and make our way down the line,” he finally says. “I’ll make notes for you as you go.”

He grasps the pen and paper provided for us on the table.

I reach for the first cake, but Shawn beats me to it. He takes a chunk out of the sample with his fork and then holds it out to feed the cake to me. I go with it and open my mouth.

He does this with each sample.

We arrive towards the end, with only three cakes left, when Shawn feeds me a decadent chocolate cake layered with the lightest peanut butter mousse I’ve ever eaten. It’s sweet—but not to the point that it would be overwhelming or make you feel sick after a few bites.

I give a little moan of pleasure.

Shawn is smiling at me when he hears me moan. “I think it’s safe to say this one is your favorite,” he chuckles. “No other cake has gotten that response.”

I smile back at him. “I don’t think there’s any contest between that one and the others,” I reply. “But I still need to try the last two to make sure.”

“Of course,” he says.

He feeds me the last two samples. Neither one comes close to blowing the chocolate peanut butter one out of the water.

“Should I just tell the baker now that you want the chocolate peanut better cake?” Shawn asks.

I smile, but then it falters.

“What?” Shawn inquires. “What’s wrong? Did you want a different flavor?”

“James said he wanted red velvet,” I answer.

Shawn looks confused. “Why did he back out of the tasting if he wanted a say in the cake choice then?”

That’s a damned good question. I sigh.

“He has strict demands and opinions on everything involving the wedding, but he never comes to any of the appointments,” I explain. “Comes with having so many obligations—he’s too busy to pull himself away.”

It bugs me that James doesn’t come to the appointments, but I get why he can’t. If he can’t make it, then he can’t make it.

“James insisted on red velvet cake for the wedding,” I continue. “It’s not a bad cake. None of these cakes are. The baker is the best in town by far, so none of his cakes are terrible.”

Shawn shakes his head.

“But red velvet isn’t your favorite,” he points out. “It’s your wedding, too, Evelyn. You should have a say in it all, as well. Besides, you’re here tasting the cakes, and James isn’t.”

He’s right, of course, but I don’t know if I should ignore James’ wishes completely.

The baker walks in then.

“Have we decided on a cake?” he asks us both.

Shawn speaks quickly, not allowing me to speak.

“Yes!” he says excitedly. “We’ve decided on the chocolate peanut butter one. She couldn’t stop talking about how amazing it was. None of the others came close to getting the same reaction.”

“Excellent,” the baker replies happily. “Chocolate Peanut Butter it is. Now all we have to decide on is how much cake you want and how you want it decorated.”

“That’s all you, Evelyn,” Shawn directs at me. “You pick whatever you want. Whatever will make you happy.”

I look at him and smile a little. There’s no way he’s going to let me change the flavor—and I can’t be happier. It’s the cake I want, after all, not the plain old red velvet. I’ve never been a big fan of red velvet anyway.

I turn towards the baker and start discussing with him how much cake will be needed and how I want it decorated.

Shawn and I walk out of the bakery a half hour later. As we walk to the car, I realize I haven’t felt this happy or carefree in a very long time. Only Shawn has ever made me feel this way.