Melody

Why does he have to be here when my whole wide world is falling down? Why?

I’m still laughing about him trying to take me down over my ailing cupcake store, but I know my victory is short-lived.

Carlos. It has to be Carlos that told him I’m here. Of course. It’s not like I didn’t know Mark was in town, but in my mind I hoped never to run into him, yet here we are.

“Soooo, I guess my cover’s been blown,” Mark replies sheepishly as his loud friend steps back in the now shorter line. I’ve got my shitfest of an oven to thank for that.

“Yeah, I guess it has been. So, what are you doing here?” I ask, doing my best to avoid the green in his eyes. If I look too hard, it might become obvious I’m staring. He’s the only one of the Lennons with those colored eyes and it’s infuriating.

I mean why does he have to look so good? A sweeping thought clouds over me. My pits, do they stink? Can he see how flustered I am? My rosy cheeks. Shit. This isn’t good.

“I ah—heard from Carlos you were running this place and I don’t come on this side of town very much. Wanted to drop in type of thing,” he states casually, but I have so many questions.

Namely, why the hell is he dropping out of law school. “Why aren't you in law school anymore?”

“I umm, well, it’s ah complicated,” he mumbles, his eyes closing over the floor, giving me a good view of his short, cropped hair. He used to wear it longer, and I used to admire the strands of his sandy flecked hair. But now that it’s cut short it’s harder to see.

If there was a love child for Abercrombie and Fitch and The Gap, Mark would be the perfect poster child.

I fluff around at the counter, shuffling cupcake flyers I created for my last day, and my body’s on fire. Why did you have to come and stick the knife in a little further? Why Mark, why?

There’s a slight vindication in that he’s also awkward as hell. I feel compelled, flustered, and damn right out of my mind at his presence. “Complicated how?”

Mark blows out a breath. “I guess it’s not. Law school isn’t for me.”

Gasping in shock, but aware of customers in the line, I drop my outrage at him. “Wow. Your father, he’s going to kill you,” I blabber, tucking flyaway strands of sweaty hair behind my ear.

Mark shifts his eyes to the closing down sale sign. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got problems of your own, right?”

A wave of shame hits me as my head bobs forward. “Yeah, I have, but still your father is going to kill you.”

The Lennons and the Cramers. Locked together across decades of time, and more importantly the founders of a town I grew up in—Dulver Springs.

The Lennons are the lawmakers and media communicators of the town. In fact, most of them work at the town newspaper and are civil lawyers.

The Cramers are different. We’re proud bakers and quilters of the town. Somehow the founders were best friends, traveling and exploring together and whatnot, they discovered this little pretty mountainscape of a town and decided to stick their flag in—declared it home.

“Don’t say anything about it all right?” Mark asserts sternly, his eyebrow shooting up.

“Ah, listen I’ve got my problems to deal with. I’m not about to be tattletaling on you back home. Does Carlos know you’ve dropped out?”

Mark’s cheeks start to flood with color. “Yeah, he knows. He won’t say anything. Anyway, I can see you got a line here. Let me take one of those raspberry lemon swirl cupcakes and a lemonade if I can.”

“Fine,” I quip, not wanting him to think we’re getting friendly. “It’s the last one too,” I exhale, boxing up the cupcake and handing it over. I can’t cook anymore and there’s still a hint of burnt cupcake lingering in the air.

Damn him for coming in. Cramer’s Delight was good when it was good in the first year. When I first opened I barely slept, excited about new recipes and flavors my grandma and mother wouldn’t let me try back home.

The first six months were steady, customers streaming into the freshly painted and revamped corner shop with sweet treats. I even started with a coffee machine because coffee and cupcakes go together.

I hired staff about seven months in and if I could have ticked back the hands of time, I surely wouldn’t have.

Only two staff, Bethanie and Holly. One, a student at Boston University, the other a girl from the neighborhood who walked dogs.

Holly seemed sweet enough, and that’s where the problems started. My small-town, rose-tinted glasses were on.

I serve the next customer as I think about the slow and steady decline of Cramer’s Delights.

The small mistakes began to add up a little too much, until they became unbearable.

“Holly, you’ve been late six times this month, and if it continues, I’m going to have to let you go.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ve been dog walking so much this week and it’s been crazy. I’ll promise I’ll do better. I just need a little more time to get things sorted out.”

Safe to say I didn’t have enough of a backbone then, and it cost me. Cramer Delights had a certain demographic.

Sweet little grannies babysitting their grandchildren for the day, to early morning commuters ready for their coffee fix, to midday stragglers moseying through the town’s streets.

What the demographic did not consist of was emos with no jobs playing loud slasher music through their laptops and scaring the conservative locals.

These were types of riffraff Holly started bringing in. “Holly, you have to get them out of here! They’ve been here for two whole hours and not purchased one single cupcake!” I remembered shrieking at her one time.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. You’re acting eighty-five when you’re only twenty-three. You’re only a couple of years older than me.”

Gasping at her back talk, I’d found enough courage to fire her. “That’s it. You’re fired. I can’t have you working here anymore.”

The thing was, it was too little, too late. A baking critic from the Boston Sweet Spot happened to be in the store the same day Holly’s rogue friends were causing a fuss.

I’d never had so many complaints in one day after that. It was as if the events were a catalyst for my business to flounder.

A couple nitpicky customers, and what I suspected were fake Yelp reviews, sent my business plummeting downhill, and the steady stream of customers died off over the following months.

I frown with contempt as out of the corner of my eye I watch Mark settle in and look out the window.

I stamp my foot down in a huff, hoping to will him telepathically to leave. Why are you staying here? Get out! Get out!

A man waving in front of my face stops my train of thought from going too far. “Helllooo, umm, I want that last cupcake in the window.”

I shuffle my thoughts back into the present. “Yessir. Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Well, can you get undistracted? I don’t want to miss out. It’s three bucks, right? Half price?” he asks with urgent callousness.

“Yes, it’s three dollars, but there’s no need to be rude,” I snap back. I’m sick of it and between the liquidators calling, Mark’s triggering teasing, and losing out on my childhood dream, I’m done.

Tears begin to well in my eyes as I sniffle, grabbing the oblivious man's cupcake.

“Hey, leave her alone. It’s her last day, have a heart.” The man throws his money on the counter as my mouth parts, listening to Mark standing up for me.

That’s the last customer and as soon as the man walks out the draught from the open door and the end of my cupcake days chills me to the bone.

“Thanks, but it’s okay. You didn’t have to do that,” I mutter, feeling sorry for myself as I drop the coins in the register.

Is that empathy in Mark’s eyes? It can’t be that, can it? “Yes, I did. You looked like you could use a little help.” Mark’s poor-you eyes are enough to drive me to scoop all the icing sugar left in the mixer bowl and binge eat it, but I save my dramatic emotional eating plan for later.

“No. I don’t want your help, thanks. It’s best you leave anyway.”

“You know why I really came?” Mark protests, skimming a hand over his cropped sides.

“Beats me, maybe to gloat? But from your position, I don’t see why you would. Although, hey, you had the option to drop out,” I ramble, knowing I sound bizarre.

“You’ve got it all wrong. Founders’ Day is coming up, and I’m going home for good,” he blurts out.

I crumple up my face in disgust. “What? Why would you do that?”