Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 5

"What are you doing here?" The question is out of my mouth before I have time to remind myself that I don't care what he's doing here, and haven't cared since the night of Brock Crawley's Spring Break Party, but the smell of bear claws and cheese Danish has momentarily gone to my head.

Or that's what I tell myself.

It has nothing to do with the tiny dimple at the corner of his lips, or how his muddy brown eyes have slightly darkened and sharpened.

"I work here," he replies, quirking his stupid lips again. "Part-time."

"I thought you were a lawyer."

"You thought I was a sell-out," he corrects, knowingly. My cheeks hurt with how hot they are. I touch one side of my face to make sure it's not actually on fire. "I dropped out about halfway through law school."

"Oh, well..." He waits for me to finish my thought, but I have no words. Are there any words that exist for this situation? I can't think of any. I rack my brain. All I can come up with is, "I'm a TV writer now – in LA."

Smooth.

I turn to leave, desperate and pastry-less.

"Wait," he says. I turn back around, willing myself to stay put and not sprint for the door. "Are you home for reunion weekend?"

I nod.

"Are you going?" I ask, hopeful. Mostly for my job, but for other reasons as well.

"I'm not sure yet," he says. His eyes scan my face. "Didn't you come here for a pastry?" He motions to the assortment of baked goods.

Yes.

"No," I say, casual.

"You really did it," he says, and he's not talking about baked goods. The stunning thing is, he looks impressed. Mystified. He reaches into the display and pulls out a cream horn. He wraps it in paper, then gently secures it inside a waxy bag. "On me."

I take it from him. My heart does annoying little somersaults, and I tell it to pipe down.

"My dad will appreciate it," I say, defiant. He raises a light brown eyebrow. "He loves cream horns."

"Okay," he says, his lips drawing together in a small smile. "Exactly what I was hoping for."

"You were hoping for something by offering me a cream horn?"

"A truce," he says.

"Truce?" My voice edges up in annoyance. "We haven't talked since the week before graduation, and even then, we weren't exactly friends."

A brief flicker of something flashes across his face. He narrows his eyes momentarily.

Don't say it. Don't say it.

"So that Facebook message doesn't count?"

"Talking requires two," I snap back. I want to crush the cream horn and throw it on the ground at his feet, truce denied, but I won't punish my dad for Mark's douchery. I whirl, walking briskly away from the bakery, leaving behind my tiny cart and a pound of my dignity.

I'm in such a fury that I nearly run headlong into the tall, blonde, knit-adorned body of Brie Baldwin.

"Ellie Jenkins?" She says my name like a question.

Brie: Best All Around.

"Hi." I smile.

Brie was always nice. That's how she earned her title, and how everyone described her throughout her high school career. Sweet. Nice. Thoughtful. She'd remember your birthday, always knew if you were going through a tough time and would find a way to make you feel less alone.