He takes my mouth with his, a hand grazing my throat like a warm, rough necklace.
"Touch me," he breathes onto my lips.
My hands slip under his shirt, over his abdomen, his muscles tight and warm against my fingertips. I touch the places on him I'...
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A Wednesday in August, 3:16 PM
Follow the recipe, measure carefully, and everything turns out just right. I wish life could be as straightforward as baking.
Yesterday's upheaval gnaws at me, but I shove it aside as I work in the familiar haven of Middlebridge Mart's Bakery. I need this slice of time to collect myself.
I measure one last 1/3 cup of flour for my next rye loaf and think about Grey. He's back at work today, tinkering with what he can, one good hand and all.
The bakery side door swings open and in prances confidence I hadn't seen in someone so small. The little girl marches in, her rich brown skin a contrast against the neon green of her skinny jeans and the silver sparkly shirt she wears. Two puffs of dark coily hair bounce with each step she takes, and the way she smacks her gum fills the space.
"What's this place?" she says more than asks, surveying the bakery with big brown eyes. "Smells weird."
That would be the yeast, a weird smell indeed. I grin, wiping my hands on my apron.
"It's a bakery," I say, amused by her boldness.
She turns that critical gaze on me. "Shouldn't it smell like cookies?"
I shrug. "In an ideal world."
She looks at Keiko, smacks her gum, and says, "You could try smiling, you know."
Keiko's jaw hits her shoes. "Excuse me, child?"
The little girl pops a hip, hand on her waist. "I'm six, so I'm not a child. You look twelve."
Keiko's gasp is audible, but before she can recover, the girl turns to me. "I'm Mabel Bello. You look good at adulting. Ever run with scissors?"
"Duh, of course," I say. "And once, a hacksaw."
Her dark eyes light up. "You got one of those back here?" She cranes her neck, trying to peer behind the work table.
Keiko, attempting an authoritative tone, asks, "Are you lost?"
Mabel scoffs, inspecting her pink-painted nails while chewing her gum. "Puh-lease. I'm an explorer." She dismisses Keiko with a flick of her wrist. "You're lost."
Keiko's cheeks flush a deep shade of red. "Listen here you little shit—"
"Ah!" I say quickly, shooting Keiko a look. "No, no."
I move to the ovens, the warmth searing into my shirt and jeans. I sleeve on a mitt and pull out a lemon poppy loaf, its aroma light and sweet.
"Want to try?" I ask Mabel.
"Yes please, miss," she says, her grin spreading wide.
Keiko scoffs, mumbling, "Little shit."
I take off the mitt and gloves and slice a piece of the pale yellow, warm loaf with a serrated knife, mindful to keep the blade away from Mabel's curious gaze.
