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“I know what I asked for, Sweet Stuff.” He meets my gaze. There’s so much warmth there, just for me, that my chest squeezes. “One cake pop. Please.”
For a stunned second, I just stare.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter as I pull it out of the case. “What have you done with Dexter? You look just like him.”
It’s jarring, the first time I’ve said his name out loud since the police visit, and it makes my heart squeeze again.
“Do you want it to go?” I ask.
“I’ll eat it here.”
I pop the cat-faced cake pop on a plate and ring it up. He swipes his credit card like a sword through the reader.
Then he shoves the entire cathead in his mouth.
Whole.
Oh, boy.
I think he’d have a better time with a piece of solid uranium.
He winces as he chews, the sugar overload no doubt scraping his tongue, scorching his throat on the way down.
But somehow, he forces a smile as he chews.
It’s the most absurd, stupefying thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help it—I laugh like crazy.
“What… what the hell are youdoing?”
“Fair question.” He swallows and grabs the napkin, using it to wipe his mouth. “Shit, that was awful.”
“You were warned. You were never going to enjoy it.”
“Thanks for proving my point. There’s a lot a man can enjoy that isn’t always good for him. And a little sweetness never hurt anybody.” He glances at the staff crowding the door to the kitchen, sneaking looks at us while pretending they aren’t. “Step outside with me, Junie.”
I motion to Sarah to take the register and follow him.
Outside, the sun is shining, the traffic is light, and Dex leads me off the main street to the back alley, where the bins and the back door to the bakery are.
An empty wrapper blows past us, crinkling loudly in the wind.
“Wow,” I say, looking around. “This is so romantic. If you’re about to give me some spiel about the way we ended, can we not do it next to a dumpster?”
“I didn’t think you’d want this to be public.” He folds his arm defensively.
“Fine.” It’s a decent point, and even if we have garbage for a view, at least no one’s staring out the window at us. “Okay, talk,” I say, turning and looking up at him. “I’m here. You’ve got me. What do you want to say?”
“I’ve been a complete fucking wreck ever since I left the hospital, for one.” He laughs bitterly, looking like he’s winging it, though knowing Dexter, I’m sure he’s had this whole conversation planned out. “My mom practically made me stay home under armed guard. Doctor’s orders, laid up with this oversized papercut, and it’s given me a lot of downtime to think.”
“Dangerous,” I say before I can help myself.
“Right. Idle hands and all. However, in this case, it’s been useful. I’ve never had this much time off just tothink.”
Part of me wants to be furious he had all that time in the world to think and never once reached out to me, but that’s not fair.
He needed this time and space.
Frankly, I did, too, even if I didn’t want to accept it until now.
