Page 105 of Frosted Fakes

Elliott opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. The words felt like they were stuck somewhere around her sternum, refusing to cooperate.

"I need," she said finally, each word extracted like a splinter, "help."

Shay's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. "I'm sorry, did Elliott Sinclair just ask me for help? The woman who once tried to remove her own stitches rather than go back to the doctor?"

"That was different. That was a medical thing."

"It was insane, is what it was." But Shay was grinning now, delighted. "Well, well. Makes a nice change, you asking for help. I should mark the calendar. Frame this moment. Tell my grandchildren about it."

"I'm working on it," Elliott muttered. "Being… better. At that."

Shay's expression softened. She reached across the table and squeezed Elliott's hand. "I know you are. And I'm proud of you. Even if you do look like you'd rather be asking for my kidney than asking for my help."

"Yeah, well, this isn’t in my natural skill set." Elliott took a breath. "It's about Julia."

"Shocking absolutely no one." Shay settled back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Go on, then. Unburden yourself. I'm an excellent listener when I'm not distracted by my own romantic disasters."

"I was wrong. About everything. She was trying to help me with the cookbook, and I treated her like she'd stabbed me in the back. And now I need to apologize, but I don't know how, because I'm terrible at this, and also I might have feelings for her. Actual feelings. The kind that don't go away when you ignore them, and believe me, I've tried. And I have no idea what to do about any of it."

The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other like they'd been dammed up too long. Which, to be fair, they had.

Shay was staring at her. "Elliott Sinclair. Did you just admit to having feelings? Out loud? With words?"

"Don't make it weird."

"It's already weird. You've made it weird by being emotionally honest. I don't know how to process this." Shay leaned forward, eyes bright. "Are you sure about her? Julia, I mean. Really sure?"

Elliott laughed, though there wasn't much humor in it. "No. How am I supposed to be sure? Being sure implies I have any idea what I'm doing, which I categorically do not."

"Okay, different question." Shay tapped her fingers against her mug, thinking. "Does she make you feel like you could change the world? Like you could do anything?"

Elliott considered this. "No."

Shay's face fell slightly. "Oh."

"She makes me feel like changing myself, though." Elliott stared at her untouched coffee, trying to find the right words. Words had never been her strong suit. That was what baking was for. "Like… becoming a better person. A more open person. Someone who doesn't push everyone away because it's easier than risking getting hurt." She shrugged awkwardly. "She makes me want to be the kind of person who deserves someone like her."

There was a long silence.

When Elliott looked up, Shay was blinking rapidly, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Are you crying?"

"No." Shay wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her cat dressing gown. "Shut up. I have allergies."

"It's November."

"Seasonal allergies are unpredictable." Shay sniffed loudly. "That's even better, you know. What you said. Wanting to change the world is… that's ego. That's about you. But wanting to be better? Wanting to deserve someone?" She shook her head. "That's the real thing, El. That's what actually matters."

Elliott felt something in her chest loosen, just a little. Like a knot she hadn't known was there had started to come undone. "So what do I do?"

"Keep it simple." Shay leaned forward. "Go to the bakery. Tell Julia exactly what you just told me. All of it. The apology, the feelings, the wanting to be better. Don't overthink it, don't plan some elaborate speech, don't try to protect yourself by keeping something back. Just… be honest. Completely honest."

"Honesty," Elliott winced. "That sounds terrifying."

"Yep, it definitely is." Shay grinned. "Now go. Before you lose your nerve and decide to move to Scotland and become a hermit."

Elliott stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "Scotland's not a bad idea, actually. Good whisky. Nice mountains. Very few opportunities for emotional vulnerability."

"Go."