Page 77 of Small Town Boy

Damn it, I need cake…

22

BRONWYN

The lighthearted sounds of Taylor Swift greet me as I gently shut the door to Oh, My Lard! behind me. The bakery café is quiet this afternoon, the only guests being the three women who are waiting on me, one of whom is glued to her phone.

“I thought you said it was a mandatory afternoon off?” I scold, dropping into the seat next to Willa. My raw emotions are still hovering just below the surface, so I fake some cheerfulness.

She quickly shuts off her phone, not bothering to finish whatever she was typing, jumping slightly, then placing the device face down. I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what on earth was on there that she didn’t want seen.

“It is. I was just texting a friend.”

“But she won’t tell us his name,” Sylvie informs me.

“Who says it’s a he?” Willa demands.

“Because the three of us are here?” Kenzie offers. “So unless you have another girl gang you’re not telling us about, it’s a he.”

Willa brushes her off with a wave. “Whatever. Bronwyn is here now, which means we can eat. Alice!”

A cute raven-haired woman in her thirties looks up from behind the counter, nodding at us. A second later she’s at our side, a large tray in hand. Sliding it onto the table, our eyes go wide, taking in all the different flavors. Alice must have a dozen slices on here, each one looking more delicious than the last.

Yeah, I really fucking need cake…

“Ready, ladies?” she asks, the tail end of her words cut off by a loud banging. “Just ignore that.”

“Is Z banging on the wall?” Kenzie asks, looking over my shoulder at the opposite side of the café.

Alice nods. “Your cousin is not a fan of my music, and his way of communicating that is to bang on our shared wall. He’ll deal. Anyway, here are the six most popular flavors. I can make you anything you want, but let’s start here and then we can narrow it down and adjust as you see fit.”

“Good thing I wore my stretchy pants,” Sylvie mutters.

“Oh goodness, where to start?” Kenzie asks to no one in particular.

“The raspberry champagne,” Alice stage whispers, pointing to a pale pink slice with white icing sitting in the middle of the tray. “It’s my most popular for a reason. If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh,” I speak up, not wanting to forget the top item on my list. Today has had enough upsets; no need to add that to the list. “I need to bring a dessert to dinner tonight, so do you have a recommendation?”

“Depends, who’s dinner with?”

“The Kellers.”

Alice clicks her tongue, giving me a wink. “I have a couple of mini hummingbird cakes that I just pulled out of the oven. Lucy Keller’s favorite. I’ll get it iced up for you and ready before y’all leave.”

I thank her, smiling as she makes her exit. Turning back to the girls, I find each one with a forkful of cake at the ready. Their faces are inquisitive, but no one says a word, leaving me feeling rather awkward.

Which is the last thing I need right now.

All I can hear in my head is the voice of those two old ladies and their judgment. Their off base unfounded assessment of me. Err, well, unfounded at least. They don’t know me well enough to be coming to any kind of conclusions. Nonetheless, the seed of doubt is now good and planted in my mind.

Because they aren’t entirely wrong.

I don’t fit in here in Hickory Hills. I am a city girl, and life in this small town has been an adjustment. I won’t deny that. I am not only the proverbial fish out of water, I’m a fish who’s trying to climb a tree while I’m at it. There’s more merit to the culture clash of north and south than I ever thought. It’s also a lot more subtle. No one is waving the stars and bars claiming the South will rise again, but as the newcomer, they don’t trust me either. Can’t blame them there—I don’t trust most people either.

I do trust Noel though. And I was thinking I could trust what’s between us. My feelings for him are stronger than I ever thought possible, and I was under the impression that it was mutual. Maybe not. If the town gossip tree is to be believed…

“We’re gonna have to drag it out of you, aren’t we?” Willa asks.