Semi-Sweet (4 page)

Stephen had given her the look over his glasses that always reminded her of a professor.

Don’t say it,
she’d ordered.
I know what you’re thinking. You wanted them to get married, too. It wasn’t just me. You hated them living together without
being married just as much as I did. I’m only saying, the way things have turned out, maybe it’s as well they weren’t married.

It mightn’t have happened if they’d been married,
Stephen had pointed out mildly.
He might have thought twice about running around then.

Or he might still have done it, which would make Hannah a deserted wife now. At least this way she can make a clean break.
She’s well rid of him, if you ask me.

I thought you liked him. You always said you did.

Well, I don’t anymore,
Geraldine had answered crossly.
Whose side are you on?

Ours, of course.

Stop defending him then.

I’m not defending anyone. I was just saying you liked him. We both did.

Well, now he’s gone, so we don’t like him anymore,
she’d said, and Stephen had wisely allowed her to have the last word.

Except, of course, that it wasn’t the last word.

How dare he walk out just like that?
She’d grasped the poker and attacked the fire angrily.
Hannah’s devastated. How’ll she be able to open that shop after this? It’s less than a week away.

Of course she’ll open the shop. It’s just what she needs to take her mind off things. And won’t you be there anyway, to help
out? She’ll be fine.

Her heart won’t be in it though.

Maybe not—but that won’t stop customers from coming in.

She had her whole future planned around that man,
Geraldine had said.
She’s nearly thirty-three—most men her age are married.
She’d stared gloomily into the fire.
She’ll have to get a new housemate in—she can’t afford that house on her own, especially now with the shop.

She’d replaced the poker and reached for the TV remote control.
Remember how happy she was when she signed the lease? I could kill that man.

After several seconds of silence, Stephen had risked lifting his newspaper again, and Geraldine had thrown him an exasperated
glance before pressing the “on” button.

Hannah held out her glass and Adam emptied the last of the wine into it. “Should I open another?”

“No.” She tilted the glass and watched the red trails slithering downward. “Not on my account. Mornings are miserable enough
these days without a hangover.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t getting easier to do without Patrick, but she was getting more used to feeling
horrible all the time. Maybe that was some kind of progress.

“I’ve nearly phoned him, you know,” she said. “Loads of times. And I’ve typed umpteen text messages, but I haven’t sent any
of them.”

“Good,” Adam said. “Don’t. Keep reminding yourself what a bastard he is.”

She swirled the liquid again. “I’ll try. But there’s so much I want to know.”

“Why? What good would it do? Just let him off.”

“I know, I know. You’re right.” She set her glass abruptly on the coffee table and sank her head onto her knees. “Two days
to go,” she groaned. “I wish I’d never signed that lease—I’m dreading it now. Is it too late to change my mind?”

“Cut that out.” Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it. “This is what you’ve always wanted, remember? Your own shop, selling
all your own stuff. I’ve been listening to you going on about this for God knows how long, and it’s finally going to happen.
Don’t let this guy take that away from you.”

“It’s not just Patrick—I’m still petrified,” she said, her words muffled. “What if nobody comes in?”

“Of course they’ll come in.” He lifted her hand and counted on her fingers. “One: It’s the first dedicated cupcake shop in
Clongarvin. Two: It looks fantastic—no small thanks to me. Three: The location is perfect. Four: Nobody bakes cupcakes like
you do. Five: You’re giving them away free.”

She raised her head and looked at him. “One complimentary cupcake with every order is hardly giving them away free. And anyway,
that’s only on the first day.” She nibbled a nail. “What if nobody comes back for more? Or what if someone says they got food
poisoning? What if—”

“Stop that,” Adam said. “I’m living proof that your cupcakes are impossible to resist, and not at all poisonous. You’ll be
the talk of Clongarvin within a week.”

Hannah smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

“A word of advice,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t try selling leftovers the day after. They won’t keep, and you’ll lose your reputation.”

She slapped his arm halfheartedly. “Nice try. You know very well they’re good for at least three days. Leftovers will be half
price, and that’s that. For the last time, you will not be getting a steady supply.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said gloomily. “You’ll be so busy baking for the shop that I’ll never get to taste them again.”

“You could try buying a few, like everyone else. I’ll see about giving you a small discount. Although I feel I should point
out, darling” patting his generously proportioned stomach—“that you could do worse than laying off the cupcakes for a while.”

He grinned. “That’s better. You’re beginning to sound like your old bitchy self.”

“I’m going to be baking all night and selling all day—I’ll be too wrecked to be a bitch.” She rested her head on his shoulder
again. “God, what possessed me to think of opening a shop? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Yeah, like you’d have listened to me for a second. Anyway, the one to blame is your granddad—it’s all his fault for leaving
you that money. But like I keep pointing out, you don’t have to do it all on your own—you can take someone on part-time.”

“And like
I
keep saying, pay them with what? Granddad’s money bought the lease, and most of the paraphernalia, and not much else. You
know I’m already up to my neck in debt…” She trailed off. “Did I tell you that the new stand mixer cost almost eight hundred
euro—and that was on sale?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that more than once. You’ll remember I nearly collapsed the first time.” He shot her a stern look. “And I’m
sorry, but I have no sympathy with your being broke when you still haven’t put that ad in.”

When Hannah said nothing, he added, “You haven’t, have you?”

She reached for the remote and flicked on the TV and watched a herd of elephants thundering across some wide open space. “Stop
nagging.”

Adam took the remote from her and pressed the “mute” button. “Who’s nagging? I haven’t mentioned it in two whole days. When
are you going to do it?”

She shook her head miserably. “I don’t know—next week, maybe.”

Too soon, too painful. “Person wanted to share house” meant accepting that Patrick was definitely gone, like bundling a dead
person’s clothes into black plastic bags for the charity shop. Like taking people’s names off the company roster when they
found other jobs. Six days without him felt like six years, even if he had been a bastard, but still it was much too soon
for a new housemate.

There was a short silence. Adam stretched his arms above his head. They watched a man in a safari suit mouthing silently into
the microphone he held, but Hannah’s thoughts were miles away.

She’d lost count of the times she’d found Patrick’s name in her phone and almost pressed “call.”
Who is she?
she wanted to demand.
When did you meet her? How long was it going on? How dare you do this to me?

But when she was lying alone in the middle of the night, the silent questions changed:
When are you coming back? Don’t you know I’ll forgive you? Can’t we try again?

“I suppose,” she said sadly, “I’ll survive. At least I’ll be too busy to mope.” She reached for her scarf. “I’d better be
off. I’m trying to get to bed early these nights, so the new schedule won’t be too much of a shock. You don’t have to come,”
she added as Adam took his feet off the coffee table and reached for the leather jacket that was slung across the arm of the
couch.

“Right—and when you’re mugged, your father won’t string me up for letting you walk home alone.” He shepherded her toward the
door.

“Come on, Kirby,” he said, and the black Labrador lying in front of the fire raised his head and looked at him. “Come on,”
Adam repeated, and Kirby hauled himself to his feet and plodded after them.

The evening was clear, stars studding the sky. Hannah tucked her arm into Adam’s as they walked the streets toward her house,
Kirby padding along behind. Anyone looking at them would think lovers, or at least boyfriend and girlfriend—a couple of some
kind anyway. It had taken Patrick, and most of Hannah’s other boyfriends, quite a while to feel comfortable with her having
a male best friend.

“You know what’s just occurred to me?” Adam asked as they walked.

“What?”

“Today’s the eleventh, so you’re opening on the thirteenth, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And my birthday’s on the thirteenth of August.”

She looked at him. “So?”

“So it’s exactly seven months from the day you open.”

“And your point is?”

“My birthday,” he said, “can be your deadline. Whatever happens in the meantime, give yourself at least seven months to make
a success of it.”

“Even if I go broke in the first week?”

“Yes. Even if you have to sell your house to keep it going.”

She stopped dead and looked at him in horror. “Sell my house? You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” He nudged her along. “I just think it would be good if you had that date as your watershed.”

“My watershed?”

“You know what I mean. The date that you can finally say, ‘I’ve made it.’ The date that you renew your lease for another decade.”

She laughed. “Actually, the lease is for a year, and it’s not up till December.”

“Forget the lease, then—you know what I mean. You agree not to give up before my birthday? Promise?”

“I…suppose so.” She hesitated, then caught his eye and added, “I mean yes, I agree. I won’t give up before your birthday.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. We’ll have the mother of all parties then, two things to celebrate.” They approached her house.

“I told you to leave a light on,” Adam said, frowning at the darkness beyond the glass panes in the front door.

“I know—I forgot.”

They were almost exactly the same height. They’d been friends for more than twenty years, since they’d signed up for the same
swimming class at the local pool. Hannah still swam as often as she could, and while Adam’s interest had waned somewhat around
the time he discovered girls, he’d migrated by then to Hannah’s circle of friends, and over the years the two of them had
grown closer.

Funny how they’d never been drawn toward one another romantically. Hannah loved Adam, but he was a brother, not a potential
partner. The thought of being in a physical relationship with him had simply never been an option for her, and she was fairly
sure it had never occurred to him either, thankfully. If they were both romantically involved at the same time, they might
go out as a foursome, but other than that, their love lives didn’t intersect.

“You busy this week?” she asked.

“A meeting tomorrow, hopefully some new business. Other bits and pieces to finish off.” He designed Web sites, working from
the small flat he’d invested in around the time Hannah had bought her house. “I’ll be in on Wednesday,” he said, “to collect
my free cupcake.”

“Only if you buy some,” she reminded him.

“God, you’re hard. You’ll go far.”

They reached the door, and he put his hands on her shoulders. “Best of luck—not that you need it. You’ll be great, I know
you will.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

He hugged her, enveloping her in the leathery scent of his jacket, kissing her cheek loudly. “Night-night. Put the chain on
the door.”

“Yessir.”

The house was cold. Now that the heating bill was Hannah’s alone, she had to economize. She filled a hot-water bottle and
set her alarm for eight. The next couple of days would be busy; shopping for ingredients, organizing her kitchen, setting
everything in place for Wednesday morning, when her new life would begin. When she’d rise at three in the morning to make
and ice 144 cupcakes for the first time.

She’d practiced, she’d timed everything. Four trays into the big oven at a time, four dozen cupcakes baking for twenty minutes
while she put the next batch of mixtures together. The first batch cool enough to ice by the time she’d filled the last of
the second batch of paper cups and made up the various icings. Eight varieties each day, fifteen different tastes rotating
as the week went on.

Five hours from start to finish every morning, breakfast grabbed somewhere along the way, as soon as she was awake enough
to feel hungry.

Load the van, drive to the shop, and unload. Fill the cupcake tree that sat on the counter with one of each variety. Arrange
half of the 136 others in the display cases, leave the rest in the back until they were needed. Open at nine, close at five.
Bag the leftovers, drive home, eat dinner, and get to bed by nine at the latest. Up at three to start all over again.