I sigh. “In a little bit. I need to at least finish this order.” I need to get a better system with orders. Right now, people order on my website, and depending on the size of their order, I give them up to seventy-two hours for it to be done. When I first started, the seventy-two-hour timeframe was enough time. But now since I’m getting busier, some days I’m in the kitchen from morning until night.
The small business cafés around my area are the ones who have the biggest orders. Anything from sourdough bread, bagels, scones, muffins, or cookies. You name it, I do it. And if I don’t, somehow, I still make it happen.
I rarely cooked growing up. Hell, I hardly cooked when Zayn and I first got married. We were a young twenty-two-year old broke couple bouncing from apartment to apartment. At one point, we had to buy food from the dollar store because we were so broke. It’s crazy how far we’ve come.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“I know, but I’m behind on orders.” It’s hard for Zayn to understand how owning your own business works. He does his nine-to-five as a mechanic, and then he’s done for the day. Yes, I can make my own hours, but sometimes those hours give me twelve-hour days. Like today. But today I’ve already surpassed twelve hours.
“Do you want help?” he asks.
Eyeing him, I’m confused, because he will hardly ever help me with my orders. Something about him being in the kitchen—he just hates it. He hates cooking too. Some days I’m swamped, and I have to beg him to help me pack orders. This business has gotten us further ahead in life, so it’s not like this is a hobby that is making us nothing.
“W-what?” I stutter, eyeing him.
He steps closer to me and glances at me. “Do you want me to help you?” he repeats.
“You hate helping me.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I feel bad that you’re this behind, knowing that you didn’t really want to go to Vegas.”
“I still agreed to it, though.” He was more on board to go to Vegas than I was. “It actually didn’t turn out as bad as I thought. I had fun,” I say, smiling at him before grabbing another mixing bowl. “Did you have fun?” I ask, narrowing my gaze at him, and I catch him swallowing the lump in his throat.
That’s weird.
Does he feel guilty for being one of the ones that wanted to go to Vegas? It was mainly him and Rya who wanted to go.
“Yeah, I did,” he says, eyes flickering away from me.
“Next year, we should all plan a trip to the beach.” I mix the dry ingredients in one mixing bowl and keep the wet ingredients in the other.
“Yeah, we should,” he mumbles, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His gym shorts hang low off his waist, showing off his sex lines. This man can eat whatever and still have those sex lines. He never gains weight. I know his work keeps him moving all day, but the shit he eats at work never catches up to him. I always tell him he eats whatever he wants, and I gain the weight.
I stare at his face, my brow furrowing as I try to make sense of his expression. Something must be on his mind with his uneasy demeanor.
“Well, I’m going to head to bed if you don’t need my help,” he says.
“I should be good. I’m going to finish up this batch and then be done,” I say, looking back down at my cookie batter I’m mixing.
“Okay, good night.”
I tilt my head to give him a kiss, the nightly kiss we always give eachother . I narrow my gaze at his back. He’s already walking away. “I love you. Goodnight,” I say.
“I love you too,” he says over his shoulder.
He’s been off lately, ever since we got back home from Vegas. Everyone was quiet on the way home from our trip. I thought it was because we were all exhausted from all the partying we did. Even now that we’re home, he still seems distant from me. I’m not going to think about it too much; he’s probably exhausted from our trip too.
I’m happy we all had fun, even though, for some of us, partying in Vegas wasn’t our first choice It turned out better than I expected. Rya and I shopped and lounged by the pool, while the guys played golf, gambled, and found other ways to keep busy. Every evening, all four of us would come together, have dinner, and then go off to the club.
“This week dragged,” I say as I take a sip of my water, the coolness soothing my throat from the long week.
The soft music in the restaurant fills the air. I glance across the table at Zay, who’s swirling his whiskey around in his glass before taking a sip.
Tonight is date night. We always try to have one date night a week where we go out and enjoy a nice dinner. Sometimes Rya and Ez join us, but tonight they wanted to stay in.
“Tell me about it,” he says, sipping on his whiskey. He’s wearing a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, and his forearms lay rested on the table next to his drink. “Work has been nonstop.” Zayn works for a mechanic shop called The Garage. He’s been there ever since high school. He’s worked his way up to being their top mechanic. Now people come in and request for him to work on their cars.
I lean back in my chair, regretting getting this dressed up. I wanted to wear my new burgundy heels that strap around my ankle and have a bow in the back. I bought them in Vegas and wanted to wear them out, so I paired them with a flowy, long-sleeve beige dress. But my feet are throbbing from being on themfrom morning to night all this week. And to make matters worse, I haven’t broken these heels in yet. “At least we made it to date night. I’ve been looking forward to a night off from baking.” I chuckle lightly. Luckily, I got my orders all made before our reservation.
