It was never my business to get involved in. Though, I have to wonder what is going to happen now. Hopefully, the man had a will.
“I should be making some brown sugar icing,” I admit and her eyes light up. As if she’s not predictable.
After giving herself a little shake, she refocuses and I find one side of my mouth lifting slightly. “But you’re not making anything,” she points out. Again.
Even though it’s obvious.
“You’re moping,” she gasps and points an accusing finger in my direction.
“I’m not,” I scoff. She just stares at me, the look on her face knowing. Far too knowing. “Fine,” I draw the word out, “I’m moping.”
Her voice goes soft, “Is this about Rook? You said he looked devastated when you saw him.” She pauses and her face screws up slightly. “We should have all gone to the funeral.”
“I don’t think he would have noticed,” I admit. I look away, not really seeing my kitchen, even though it’s my favorite place. “He looked so lost,” I whisper, admitting the part that’s been haunting me.
“And you want to fly in with the fairies and save him, and bring back the light to his darkest days,” she teases me.
The thing is…it’s exactly what I want to do.
I look at Gemma and she smirks at me. “You should do it,” she whispers like the devil on my shoulder.
“You’re a bad influence on me,” I try to deflect her words. But they’ve already wormed their way in.
“I’m just giving you permission to do what you already want to do. That’s not being a bad influence,” she insists, “it’s enabling.”
“You’re basically saying you’re the human embodiment of intrusive thoughts and letting them win,” I admonish her while trying to not laugh.
“Never in a bad way,” she deadpans.
She steps closer as I nibble on my bottom lip, the memory of Rook’s face flashing in my mind. Again.
I don’t like it. I’ve never seen that kind of pain on his face before. It was devastating in a way I could feel reverberate through me.
“If it was one of us, you would have already shown up with a bottle of alcohol and enough baked goods to keep us going for days.” Curiosity fills her voice, “Why not with him?”
“It’s different.” I wave my hand in her direction, and then off in the distance. “You all are you, but Rook is, well,” I huff out a frustrated breath, “Rook.”
“That makes no sense.” The look she shoots me is unamused, at best.
“What do you think I should do? I can’t just show up at his place with alcohol and pastry. That wouldn’t be appropriate. We’re not friends,” I try to explain.
“I think you’re just making excuses.”
My mouth drops open for a moment before I snap it closed. “I am not,” I gasp. “I’m being serious. He’s someone I work with, someone who is very important to the business because he’s willing to indulge my specific asks with the scale to deliver the quality I need. Like the blueberry farm and how I won’t use anyone else’s berries.”
“Iget what you’re saying,” she concedes. “What I think you need to do is look at it from a different angle, because right now this,” she points to my face and makes a circular motion, “isn’t working for me. You’re pitiful. No one eats your little treat experiments when you’re like this. You know how I feel about your delicious little morsels that you need my opinion on.”
I can’t help but laugh at the eager, pleading look on her face.
“So, really this is about you and your need for treats?” I stick my tongue out at her, my voice not even a little bit serious as I accuse her, “That’s kind of selfish.”
“If the shoe fits,” she singsongs without a hint of shame.
At least I’m smiling, even if the memory of how lost Rook looked still looms on the edges of my consciousness.
“What worries me,” her face turns serious, “is that you normally bake when you’re happy, sad, and every feeling in between. But you’re not baking now,” she says it again, as if it weren’t obvious.
“I just keep thinking about him. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and hug him, comfort him. But I didn’t. Now I’m regretting it,” I admit.