Page 3 of Uber Treats

“Pot meet kettle,” he replies. “You’re just as bad. If anything, I learned the art of turning my nose up at food from you, man. But, there’s one place I will recommend, and it’s for desserts actually. Your specialty.”

That piques my interest. “Yeah? What’s the name?”

He pulls out his phone, and scrolls, and the longer he does, the paler her gets.

“The, uh, Wild Flour Café…” His words trail off, and he chances a glance at me.

My brows furrow. “What?”

“Uh, never mind, I’ll find another place.” He types away on his phone, and his furious movements make me snatch his phone from his hands. I want to see what freaked him out. I go back a page, and after doing some scrolling of my own, I feel my own face pale. “She did it,” I whisper, looking at the mobile website for the Wild Flour Café.

“Ethan, I—”

I look up. “Did you know about this?” Why my tone is brimming with anger, I’m not sure. What I do know is that it has nothing to do with the woman I divorced, and everything to do with the woman a left behind in search of greener pastures. To date, it’s the worst mistake I ever made. Marrying Willah doesn’t even compare.

“About the café? No. But I did give Björn a call, in case…”

“In case what, Row? Why would you call him?”

He bites his lip, and then sighs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Because I thought he should know you’re back, okay? So he can warn—”

“Birdie,” I finish for him. I scowl, and stand. “Why would you need to warn her?”

Everything has been so tense, and up in the air, that I haven’t had all that much time to think about Birdie, and now that Row has brought her up, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop my mind from taking a trip to the past. To the woman I loved and left. Something in Row’s expression tells me he knows something I don’t, which prompts me to ask, “What haven’t you told me, Rowland? It must be something serious for you to contact Björn of all people.” They always had a love-hate relationship, and they had a fling of sorts while I was dating Birdie. But when I called it off with Birdie, Row and Björn took sides. Row took mine as my best friend, and Björn sided with Birdie because he is hers. He also hated me from the start, said he knew I was going to break Birdie’s heart, and when I did, I was sure he’d kill me. But I had no idea Row was still in contact with him, and if he has been all these years, does that mean Row has been in contact with Birdie, too?

“I think we need a drink for this,” he grumbles, pushing up from the chair, and walking over to the restocked liquor cabinet. He takes out two whisky tumblers, and downs a double shot before pouring himself another glass and a double for me.

“Björn sent me a slew of emails when we left for France,” he starts, and then downs his whisky. Pours another double, and, “and most of it was trash-talking you, so I didn’t tell you, but the other bits…” He shakes his head, and drops down onto the couch, his hands hanging between his legs. “The other bits were updates, if you can call it that, on Birdie.” He swallows the last of his drink, but won’t look at me.

“What did he tell you?” My heart beats a heavy thump, caught between wanting to know and not wanting to know. It’s not a time in my life I’m proud of, but I was bound to come face-to-face with it eventually, right? Despite what people think, Manhattan isn’t all that big. I just didn’t think I’d have to worry about running into Birdie. At least, not yet. I was hoping to get myself settled after the divorce, find my feet again and get through the holidays before I started wondering if I’d ever see her again. It’s obvious she’s still here. And it makes sense because she not only loves this city in a way I didn’t, but her brother is here too.

“None of it was good,” Rowland admits, lifting his gaze to me. “Björn hates you, but he hates what happened to Birdie after you left even more. And you know Björn, he’s not one to lie or sugarcoat shit. Birdie lost it when you left, Ethan. According to Björn, and to some extent Harlan too, Birdie fell apart. And it took her months to get over it. Harlan very nearly booked a plane ticket to France, but Birdie begged him not to.” I don’t remind him that Harlan beat the ever-loving shit out of me before we left, or that Rowland had to pull him off me because he was pretty intent on killing me.

It’s my turn to fall onto the couch and down my whisky. They say you never forget your first love, and you don’t. Not really. But sometimes, things just don’t work out and people get hurt and you make some really stupid decisions in the process. I asked Birdie to come with me, but her response was, “I won’t leave the life I love so you can run away from the life you hate,” and the moment she said it, I resented her for it. But only because she was right. It’s easy to block things out you’d rather not remember, but now it’s staring at me, and how it makes me feel isn’t pleasant.

“So if Björn had to warn her, then seeing me would…”

“Upset her,” Rowland says. “Maybe worse. I don’t know. But I had to tell him you’re home either way.”

“But it’s been a long time, Row. Surely she’s over it by now? Met someone else? Gotten married?” I’d rather poke my eyes out with a fork and cook them than picture Birdie with someone else, or even in a wedding gown, but that alone makes me the very definition of a hypocrite. When Rowland doesn’t respond, I kick his leg. “Right?”

“None of the above,” he replies. “I mean, over it, maybe, but as far as I know, she’s not married, and the last communication I had with Björn, he said she was dating again, after almost a year, I think, but it didn’t sound serious. Whether she’s dating someone now, I’m not sure. The few times I’ve seen her, she’s run the other way, and I had no idea she’d opened her café, either. She always said she’d do that with you, and then—”

“I left.”

“Yeah,” Row sighs. “And now she knows you’re back in the city. If Björn didn’t give her the heads-up, the release of The Naked Patisserie would have.”

With everything else going on, I completely forgot about that. The release of my newest recipe book, which is more of a collection of pastries, cakes, and desserts from years ago. Before I made it big in France. In fact, most of those recipes are from the time Birdie and I spent hours in the kitchen fooling around. And not just with ingredients.

I lean back, and pull my fingers through my hair. “Fuck.” Now the floodgates of memories open, and stopping the replay is next to impossible. Row stands, taking both our glasses to the kitchen before coming back. “What are you going to do?” he asks, tucking his hands into his jean pockets, his brows furrowed.

“Not a damn clue,” I admit. “She probably hates me, and let’s be honest, I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine to be around right now.”

“True,” he concedes. “But if given another chance, would you let her go a second time?”

I never answer his question, and by the time I’m able to pull myself out of my stupor, Rowland has left, and my apartment is shrouded in darkness, save for the Christmas lights Rowland had to turn on. My thoughts, however, are not, and before I can think better of it, I open Instagram on my phone, and search for Birdie. Either she’s changed her handle, or she’s blocked me because I don’t find her. I could argue that it’s for the best, simply because I don’t know what I’ll do if I do find her, but now that she’s in my head, I want to see her. Consequences be damned.