Melody

Dinner? He wants to do dinner? I restrain myself from shutting the door on him.

“What…were you sitting in your car the whole time just now thinking about that?” I ask him, not understanding why he wants dinner.

“Ah. No, I mean, Dad was on the line so I was talking to him just now.”

“Oh,” I say awkwardly, a flashback of his teasing coming up.

You burn cupcakes, nah, nah, nah, nah. Your cupcakes taste like rock cakes. I temporarily freeze, letting the childhood memory pass through. “Did I say something wrong? Are you not free?”

Does he even remember the things he said to me back then? Although it’s not like I never had dinner with him, because he was always popping up at our Sunday Cramer dinners like clockwork.

I put my arm down, hoping the sweat patches under my arm don’t show through. “No, no, you’ve just thrown me for a loop. I didn’t expect to see you.” I pause for a minute thinking it through.

We’re both in the same boat, so it’s not a big deal if we have dinner together, right? I don’t have any place to hide, and he’s giving me a look that shows he expects me to say yes.

Rolling back my tired shoulders, I bob my head. “I mean, all right, we can catch up. Can’t hurt, I guess. I’m going back, you’re going back. You’re right.”

“Okay cool, what about Roscoe’s Wings and Beer? They’ve got a great pool section going on.”

“Oh yeah, I know it. I can meet you there.” Because there was no way in hell I was about to have my bro’s best friend pick me up from my house. Ick.

“Okay, tomorrow night okay? Say six o’clock?”

“Sure. See you then, Mark.”

He breaks out into a cheesy smile, and I don’t know why. Is he plotting something?

I watch as he walks away to his car, then I turn back inside to the tornado that is my life.

Standing in the middle of Cramer Delights with a Boston sunrise on the way, I ring my comfort blanket of a person—my mother.

I turn on my Facebook Messenger, because I don’t hide anything from Mom. That’s why there’s a knot in my stomach in omitting my failure as a cupcake store owner.

I sit down slowly, perching my chin in my hands. “Hey Mom,” I say glumly. My mother—who’s aged like a fine wine with glossy dark brown hair, very few grays, sharp hazel eyes, and a happy smile that sometimes annoys me—answers.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong. Why the long face?”

Massaging my shoulder, I cringe before I tell her. “I’m coming home.”

I watch as she licks her fingers holding up her famous cheese dip with a giggle and bright smile. “Oh yes honey, I know you’re coming home! We’re all looking forward to you being here for Founders’ Day.”

I hold back the tears because what I really want to tell her is: Mom, I’ve failed, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. “Founders’ Day…are you and Grandma going to enter the cupcake bake-off again?”

A deep-seated tsunami of nausea floods through me as a nasty memory from the past resurfaces. “Isn’t she a Cramer? Her cupcakes look rock hard! There’s no way you’re a Cramer. She oughta be ashamed of herself,” is what the judges muttered under their breaths.

I had the audacity to enter the local cupcake bake-off at fourteen, but I was used to Bessy, our tried-and-true dinosaur of an oven. I knew her settings by heart and she never let me down. But I wasn’t prepared for the new fandangle ovens that the contest owners had us using.

The same crispy, burnt plumes of smoke that ended my closing down cupcake sale were the end of my demise in Dulver Springs, and to top it off with sprinkles—the contest was broadcast to all 5,500 homes, ensuring that everybody witnessed my public humiliation.

For the next couple of years I became the laughingstock of Dulver Springs…

“Of course we are. You have to enter! Oooh, it will be so good. I cleaned your room the other day, so everything is still in its place.” I watched my mother rush down the hallway, shaking my head with a smile.

She spanned the room with her camera, and I frowned. The room looked exactly the same and all my little trinkets were lined up exactly like I left them two years ago.

“Thanks Mom.” I smile weakly. “I just wanted to say hi, tell Grandma hi for me and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

My mother poked out her bottom lip. “You’re logging off so soon? You must be baking huh, for tomorrow’s trade?”

My heart skips a beat, and I chuckle nervously. “Yeah, you know it.”

“Okay. I’m so incredibly proud of you. I tell everyone here how well you’re doing. I say, that’s my baby girl. Doing the thing in Boston.”

Please don’t. Tell them nothing. I will her to stop the praise in my head, but I keep my lips clamped shut.

Another time. “Gotta go Momsy.”

“Okay. Talk in a couple of days sweetheart, I love you.”

“No problem.” I end the call quickly, wishing I’d never called her in the first place. Now I feel even worse.

Oh well. You’re not the only one. Mark’s going through it too…

The next night I show up to Roscoe’s in my casual boyfriend jeans and a cute lavender sweater with a jacket layered over the top, because Boston’s autumn is a little lethal, nothing like the mild all-year-round weather back home.

I see the back of Mark’s head sitting up at the bar, but I can’t understand why there’s a weird feeling in my stomach.

Probably because it’s your big brother’s bestie. Not like you don’t know the guy.

Dismissing any inhibitions, I pull out the stool next to him, checking out the patrons in the bar. It’s half empty, and I’m thankful I’ll be able to hear myself speak.

“Hey, I’m here.” I sigh.

“Hey, good to see you. Still packing up?”

“Sure am. It’s so sad, I don’t know how to feel.”

“Yeah, must be hard. Drink? Beer?” He gestures to the beer tap and instantly I nod my head.

“For sure. I need a whole jug,” I confess, but gasp at myself. “Sorry, I’m not a sloppy drunk. I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t tell Carlos.”

“Hey, ease up. Carlos isn’t here, and I wouldn’t tell him anyway. Does he know you’re coming home for Founders?”

“Not directly, but I know Mom and Granny will tell him.”

“Dulver Springs. They should really rename it ‘Gossip Springs’,” Mark says bitterly as the bartender hands over my beer.

“Gossip Springs? No, no, they should rename it ‘I-will-crush-all-your-hopes-and-dreams town.’”

Mark high-fives me with a wide grin, and I don’t know why it’s got my cheeks flushing. I forgot how handsome he is, especially when he smells like woodsy, sexy musk.

Your brother’s bestie. Don’t even.

I keep my distance, but our childhood trauma bonding is coming up trumps, and the beers start flowing as the cue stick comes out.

“Top pocket, purple, bigs,” I slur with a tipsy giggle.

“Oh yeah? You’ve missed the last two shots. Pool might not be your game.” Mark sways a little with his pool cue standing upright.

“You should talk. You’re swaying like those weeping willows on Backstone Bridge.”

Mark’s eyes open wide. “Backstone Bridge? You remember that place? The tire swings?”

“Yup. I sure do. It’s the same place where Peter Laney and Darcy Andrews got caught.”

Mark laughs hard. “Town scandal…the mayor’s daughter…wow. Dulver Springs is something else. I don’t think I can go back there empty-handed.”

I bend forward, snapping my pool cue back and aiming for the top pocket and hitting it.

“Whoo-hoo! Told you so. You owe me a beer, buddy!” I turn into a rockstar, aiming my finger like a make-believe pistol at him and ignoring what he just said.

“And so I do. Wait, wait, I got it.” A jug of beer splashes as he pours it into an empty glass.

“Here we go.” A small window of adulting returns as I frown. Or at least I think I’m frowning. “Umm, I think I should stop drinking. It’s hazardous for my health.”

“I can Uber with you to your door. I won’t let you go home alone. Don’t worry.” Mark sips on his beer. “Do you want me to get you some water? I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to get you drunk. My bad.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m just stressed about telling my family I failed. My mother keeps telling people about the cupcake shop and it’s freaking me out. I don’t want to disappoint them. It’s like the cupcake bake-off disaster all over again.”

Mark throws up a hand in agreement. “That’s what I mean. Like we can’t go back empty-handed. You got another shot, right?” His red cheeks are super cute, but maybe it’s the four beers I consumed.

It’s not a lot for some, but I’ve always been a lightweight. “Hmm. What are we gonna do then?”

I play the shot, missing terribly, thinking I’m a little past beer goggles only to see Mark staring at me with a keener interest than normal.

“What? Do I have crumbs on my mouth or something?”

“Umm, no, but I’ve got a crazy idea if you wanna roll with me on it.”

“Crazy idea,” I say glibly. “At this point anything goes. What is it?”

“Ahhhh, nah, maybe it’s stupid. Could work, though. Ease the blow for us both for a while.”

I stop Mark from playing his shot, putting a hand on his arm. “What? Tell me!”

“What would you say to a fake engagement for a little while. Like a distraction so we don’t let our families down? Just until Founders’ Day is over, and we can both find our feet.”

I stand stunned, blinking hard. This is so damn crazy of a plan, it just might work…