Page 16 of Let's Be Forever

“Sorry, what? Are you fucking with me?” I blink out of the memory.

“I told you we would need drinks.” He scrubs a palm over his beard. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. How do you know she’s here?”

“She owns Everything Everything.”

I think back to Harlow’s comment at the end of our last meeting and shake my head, disbelieving. “H-how do you know?”

“I went to the bakery because Gianna kept telling me how good it was. And she was there.” He slips his palm into his pocket and draws out a few business cards, sliding one my way.

I pick it up, reading everything the tiny card says, and feel an immense wave of pride.She did it. And of course she’d name it Everything Everything. Her name and another girl’s name is at the bottom, along with their socials, phone number, and email.

Anna did it.

“I know you’re probably dying to talk to her, but before you start making any decisions, I brought up your name and she didn’t want to hear it.”

“Oh…”

“So if you plan to see her, be sure it’s what you really want.”

“No, maybe I should stay away.” My brain is fighting against the words I spoke out loud, but she’s doing better without me. She doesn’t need me. I’ll only fuck up her life. “Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do.”

7

ANNA

I hold the piping bag,squeezing and holding it steadily as I write “Happy Birthday” on top of the cake.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, setting the bag down and picking up the straight spatula to scrape the orange frosting off.

I attempt to write it, but again, I mess it up. I squeezed too hard causing more frosting to spill out, making the words thick and wobbly. “Dammit,” I say a little louder than I intended to.

Em peeks her head from the window on the wall that divides our bakery. “You okay, sweets?”

Blowing a breath, I drop the bag and turn, leaning against the stainless-steel worktable. “Yeah.” I shove my glasses up the bridge of my nose, then squeeze and release my hands, shaking out the cramps. “Just needed to stretch my fingers, that’s all.”

She pushes the swinging door, strolling in with a knowing look on her face. “You have uttered the wordfucktwenty-six times and you’ve been working on writing ‘Happy Birthday’ for twenty minutes now.” She picks up the piping bag, pulls the tres leches cake toward her, and expertly writes out the two stupid words in perfect cursive.

“Thanks,” I mumble, dragging the pad of my thumb over my plain nails and noticing the orange food coloring staining them.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you going to keep sayingfuck?” She pads over to where the bakery boxes are and assembles one, placing the cake inside.

I head over to the sink to wash my hands, scrubbing them hard until they’re covered in foamy suds. I rub the tips of my fingers on my palm in circles, turning the soapy water orange. As I continue, I debate what I want to say and how to say it.

“Marc, the guy from earlier, played hockey for King’s Yard and now he plays for the Boston Arctic Owls.”

“Wait, so did you date him?” She zeroes in on my expression, eyes tracing over the features of my face knowingly.

“No, it wasn’t him. I dated his best friend.”

You’ve been warned. You come near Sylas again and he’ll make sure…

My throat thickens, and nausea threatens to slither its way up.

I try to burn the memory, bury the ashes deep beneath the part of my brain that keeps trying to keep it alive. But even on fire they remain, painful and heavy. They play on a loop, that moment and every other, alive and ablaze.

“Was it a…bad breakup?” she asks gingerly.