Chapter 12 – A List of Names
Bea’s Fancy Cakes was located in an older part of downtown that was now a few blocks off the major pedestrian thoroughfares. The owner, affectionately known as “Aunt Bea,” had provided cakes to downtown businesses and residents for almost thirty years, but her sales had dropped as traffic patterns had rotated away from her address.
When she contacted me about helping her market a new line of cupcakes, my enthusiasm lifted her spirits so much, we’d become friends as well as partners. It also earned me a free sample every visit. Today, I hoped it would land an early payment on my invoice, but I knew I had to approach the topic gingerly. She was old-fashioned, and I hoped not overextended.
“That one’s a new recipe,” she said, sliding over my cupcake du jour as she assisted a customer. “Candy corn. I’m testing it for the Halloween market.”
Aunt Bea was a fabulous baker, and adding a trendy cupcake line had been a stroke of brilliance to solve her location woes. We simply had to remind the public she was here and convince the downtown foot-traffic to take a slight detour on their way back to the office after lunch. Extending her business hours also picked up after-work employees who’d forgotten a birthday, or Valentine’s Day, or their anniversary. We’d watched with glee as the clientele had grown from one or two customers a day to tens and twenties. I smiled, satisfied as I lifted the little orange, yellow, and white candy off the top of my confection. I’d helped somebody during my time here in a meaningful way.
“It smells exactly right,” I said, inspecting the golden-yellow ombre frosting before taking a bite. “Mmm…” I couldn’t stop a groan of delight as the lightly sweet, toasted-butter flavor filled my mouth. “It’s perfect!”
Bea grinned and pulled out a pink and white polka-dot box for the waiting male customer. “Saw the recipe in one of those parent magazines and just tweaked it a bit,” she said. “I might make an entire cake from it.”
“This will fly off the shelves.”
My trip to the desert had coincided with Labor Day, which meant Halloween season had begun. Black and orange ornamentation, cats, and pumpkins were popping up everywhere. It was my favorite time of year with the air growing cooler and the leaves changing colors.
Elaine’s return home had put her in full back-to-school mode, and I hadn’t talked to her since we’d parted at the airport. I wondered how things were going with her and Patrick, and immediately, I considered sending her a box of this heaven.
“Three red wine velvet, and three tiramisu,” Bea repeated, making a note of the waiting customer’s order before filling the box. “So what brings you downtown?”
Chewing my lip, I waited as she rang up the fellow, who took the box and hastened to the door. Aunt Bea was short and round, and with her little bun, she actually did resemble the television icon she was nicknamed for.
We were alone at last, and I had to act quickly before another customer entered the bakery. But I didn’t want to rush her into a no. “Well,” I started, swallowing my heart down. “I’m moving back to Wilmington.”
“What!” Her thin eyebrows pulled together quickly as they rose. “I don’t understand. What about…?”
“It’s sort of a complicated situation. You see, Sloan and I are getting a divorce.” I played with the wax paper lying flat at the base of my half-eaten cupcake.
“Oh, honey,” Bea walked around the glass case and pulled me into a hug. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually,” I inhaled her sugary scent and just said it. “Well, I hoped you might be in a position to pay the invoice I sent over a little early.”
For a moment, we were both quiet. Her lips pressed together, and I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back.
“I’m so sorry to ask you,” I continued. “It’s just that I’m not sure of my new address, and it would make wrapping up my business here… easier.”
She shook her head. “I hate to see you go. Mr. Reynolds was such a good man, and you seemed like a perfect addition to that family.”
A lump rose in my throat. Sloan’s elderly father had been revered as something like a saint by all the downtown residents. He’d held local business in the area through economic ups and downs, and he was a kind man. Despite his son.
But more than that—her words brought me healing. For so long, I’d blamed myself for being a fool, for not seeing the real Sloan before I’d married him. After the incident, I’d assumed I’d been blinded by his family name and the luxury of the life he’d offered. But Bea’s words confirmed what I’d believed six years ago, in the beginning. Sloan’s father had been kind. I had seemed to belong. At first.
I’d never dreamed such a dark underbelly could be lurking on that idyllic family life. In that moment, I got a bit of my self-esteem back.
“And I know you would be a great partner in downtown development,” she continued. Her voice was tentative. I knew she was trying not to offend me. “I hate to lose my best publicity girl.”
My heart filled despite its inner turmoil. Her words were so kind, and I was sure if my situation weren’t so bleak, she’d be right. My life might be so different here. But it wasn’t, and I was ready to leave this place.
Her words also reminded me why Sloan went on the attack when I’d said I wanted a divorce. Why he was so worried about what public accusations I might make, and why he was so ready to shift the blame for all of it to me.
He had the most to lose in this town, and he knew better than to shit where he ate. If my story became The Story, it would ruin him. He was on the defense, and it was a scary place to have him. He was wicked when cornered.
“I know,” I said quietly, adopting my usual line. “But it’s just not working out, and we’ve decided it was a mistake. We’ll be happier apart.”
She pressed her lips into a smile as she squeezed my upper arm. “Well, that’s too bad.” I watched her walk back to the register, quietly holding my breath, hoping she’d help me. “Would you be able to give me a week? Is that a problem?”
I quietly exhaled, small tears touching my eyes. “No problem at all!” I did my best not to dance around her bakery—she wouldn’t understand. “And thank you so much. I hope we can continue working together.”
“How could we do that?” Her face lined.
“It’s the digital age! You’d be amazed what all I can do from the comfort of my laptop.”
She shook her head, but immediately smiled at the female customer walking through the door. “These computers. They’ve changed everything.”
“Thanks so much, Aunt Bea.” I gathered the rest of my cupcake as I headed for the door.
One week. One more week, and I’d be gone. I could feel my lungs straining in anticipation. Soon I’d be able to breathe freely again.
After that, I was in full apartment-hunting mode. I focused my search on small condos near the beach. The chances were great I wouldn’t find anything I could afford, but I was optimistic. I even started collecting moving supplies.
I’d only seen Sloan once, naturally when I was about to carry two broken-down boxes up the large staircase to my room. I tensed, waiting for how he would respond. The muscle in his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word. He simply continued to his study and closed the door. I quietly jogged up the steps and then hurried to my solitary quarters in the east wing.
We hadn’t dined together, we hadn’t had a single conversation since the one in my bedroom the night I’d returned home. I was not complaining. If I never spoke to him again, it would be too soon. But I was nervous. He hadn’t agreed to let me go, and he didn’t like being crossed.
My nerves were tied up and confused between my growing anticipation of freedom combined with the tension of watching for anything from Sloan. Before Scottsdale, I’d been used to the nonstop pressure, the invisible weights pushing down on my shoulders all the time. But that week-long reprieve had shown me how toxic Baltimore was, and it was all I could do to stay here and wrap up my business.
Alone in my room, I opened a spreadsheet to compile a list of names. I’d started this once before, back when I was first launching my freelance business. My potential client list. A few of the entries from those days might still be interested in working with me, but the chances were better after all this time they’d established relationships with other providers. Still, I’d send them all my contact information once I’d set up my new identity in Wilmington.
Thinking of possibilities, my eyes drifted to the Internet browser window. It had become a guilty habit of mine, a nighttime indulgence. My eyes flickered to my door—no one was coming in here tonight—I clicked on the icon and hastily typed in the now-memorized address. Two clicks, and Derek’s face appeared on the screen, jolting my heart with a dose of happiness.
I was like a teenage girl gazing at pictures of my favorite boy band. My cheek rested on my hand, and I reached forward to trace the line of his face with my finger as joy pulsed through me with each heartbeat. I still remembered his scent. Closing my eyes, I could still feel the touch of his lips against mine. Only a little time had passed since he’d nuzzled his face into my shoulder, kissed my neck, lifted me against his firm torso. His kiss was my moment, the thing I held onto that helped me know this pain wasn’t forever. My lips warmed with longing for the day when I saw him again, when he’d cover my mouth with his and take me.
Rolling onto my back, eyes still closed, I allowed my memory to conjure the sensation of his mouth searching every part of my body. Instantly, I grew wet. My hand slid between my legs as my core filled with heat remembering his mouth being where my hand was now, tasting, exploring, pulling my smaller lips with his. My upper arms pressed my breasts together, and I took us back to our little box. The night he’d held me on his lap, entering me from behind, huge and full. His enormous cock pressed inside, thrusting deeply, rubbing every sensitive place between my legs so well. Driving me crazy.
His hand gripped my stomach, holding me firmly against his chest, easily lifting me up and down. Oh, god, he’d felt so good. A shiver moved through me as my fingers followed the path his larger ones had taken. His phantom whiskers tickled my back, warm lips moving from my neck to my shoulders. He pushed faster, harder, filling me completely, thrusting deeper… a little moan slipped from my lips and my thighs shook with the orgasm his memory provoked. Rolling onto my stomach, I moaned again into the pillow, but a hollow ache reminded me how much I missed the real thing. Memories were nice, but nothing matched his body against mine, his lips on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me.
Several moments passed as I waited, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Calm gradually returned, and with it came that flicker of hope I held so dearly. The hope I’d held when we said goodbye outside the resort.
Mist was in my eyes and my stomach tightened at the memory of his words. He’d take my call anytime. Did he think of me this way? Was he waiting for my call, dreaming of our reunion the way I was?
Moving back to my still-open spreadsheet, I quickly typed fourteen letters and ten digits. At the top of my list of names was his.