Lost In Me (Here and Now) (7 page)

“My mouth is watering just looking at all of it.”

Lizzy snorts. “You don’t touch it. Not a grain of sugar has passed those lips in at least three months.”

“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels, I guess?”

“Clearly the amnesia has wiped away all memory of your cheese Danish. Maggie declared it foodgasmic, and she’s not wrong. And your chocolate croissants?” She closes her eyes and bites her lower lip.

“You’re making me hungry,” I complain.

Her lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Good. I didn’t think you were capable of hunger anymore. Maybe the amnesia fixed you.” She leads the way past the glass cases and through the doors to the gleaming stainless-steel kitchen at the back. Ovens line one wall, and another has a row of walk-in coolers.

“Holy crap,” I breathe. “How did I afford this place?”

“You didn’t. You had some silent partner backing you, so money wasn’t an issue.”

“Silent partner? Who?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You were all mysterious about it. We thought it might have been Asher, but when Maggie asked him, he said he didn’t have anything to do with it. Mom thinks maybe it was Max, but that doesn’t explain why you’d be secretive about it. But
somebody
came in here and renovated the building and got you your little start-up.”

“It’s probably in my paperwork, huh?”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“I’m just surprised Mom didn’t try to talk me out of it. You know how she’s felt most of her life about my baking.”

“She wasn’t thrilled about your choice, but you could pretty much do no wrong in her eyes since you started dating Max.” There’s something snide about the way she says it, as if I dated Max and improved my relationship with my mom all to irritate her.

“I can’t believe I took the plunge. That doesn’t seem like me.”

“You haven’t seemed much like yourself for a while now,” she says, but I don’t think the words are for me. She shakes her head and waves away the subject. “You had a wedding last weekend while you were in the hospital. You’d already gotten the cake finished, so Maggie and I handled it for you, but you probably want to call the bride when she gets back from her honeymoon next week.”

The bride. Because I make wedding cakes.

“I’ve been taking care of the bread orders for the restaurants and grocers who contract with you. Drew has been keeping up with the baking for the front, but school’s going to start soon. She won’t be able to put in the hours she has been.”

“Drew?”

“Cally’s sister.”

I shake my head. “I know who she is. I guess I’m just surprised she works for me.”

“She started the week you opened. She’s a good little worker as long as you can keep her off her phone and away from the customers. Customer service isn’t her forte.”

I grin at the image of Cally’s know-it-all teenage sister struggling to be kind to sorority girls ordering non-fat, sugar-free, extra-hot, double-shot mochas.

“You have a wedding this weekend, so we’ll need to find time to get the cake made and decorated. I can try to help if you don’t remember, but honestly, the decorating part has always been your baby and I pretty much suck at it.”

“Wait. So you work with me?”

She lifts a brow. “I’m pretty sure you think of it as me working
for
you, but yes. I haven’t gotten a teaching job, and I work for my sister like a loser.”

“You work
with
me, and I think that’s awesome.”

She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, you have three meetings with upcoming brides this week.”

“Wow.” I turn a slow circle. “I can’t believe how quickly it’s taken off.”

My stomach twists as I scan the gleaming stainless-steel countertops. I’ve been so hung up on my new body and my engagement to Max, I haven’t had the chance to think much about this part of my life. How am I supposed to run my business if I don’t even remember what recipes I use or what clients I’ve promised cakes to?

“I don’t even know where I buy supplies,” I mutter to myself.

Lizzy’s cool fingers gently squeeze my forearm. “It’s going to be okay.” Her eyes connect with mine, and for a split second, it’s back—that connection between us flickers like lights in a storm. “You should come to Maggie and Asher’s with me tonight. Asher and Nate are having a jam session and they’re making a get-together out of it.”

“Nate who?”

“Crap. I guess you probably don’t even remember him. Nate Crane? You know, sexy rocker?” She frowns. “I guess you wouldn’t know. He was kind of an unknown before, but he’s been touring with Asher, and his single is really shooting up the charts.”

“Cool.” I shift. Partying it up at Asher’s doesn’t appeal to me right now. After my middle-of-the-night visitor, I just want to spend my evening with Max and reassure myself that everything is okay. “I’ll probably take a rain check, though.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. Really disappointed. Like she was counting on me. “Okay, well, that’s fine.”

And just like that, the flickering light of our connection is snuffed out again.

“What happened to us?”

“What?”

“You and me. Why are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Liz. This is us. Something’s not right.”

Lizzy shifts her gaze away. “Truth be told, you and I haven’t exactly been close lately.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You started dating Max, and it was okay at first, but then you were running all the time and you were losing weight and—”

“You stopped being close to me because I lost weight?”

“Jesus! No. Of course not. You’re the one who pulled away.” She cuts her eyes to the floor and bites her lip. “At least that’s how it felt to me, but I might have been uncomfortable with all the changes you were making. It just didn’t seem healthy, ya know?”

“Getting healthy didn’t seem healthy?”

She throws up her hands. “See? You’re so defensive about it! We could never talk, and when we did, all you cared about was Max and running, and I didn’t even recognize you anymore.”

My eyes fill with tears. “I thought you of all people would be happy for me when I finally got some goodness in my life.”

“Is it good, Hanna? Are you so sure?” She stares at me for a long time, that little wrinkle appearing between her blond brows.

The bell over the front door rings, ending our staring contest.

When we go out front, we find Mom and Granny behind the front counter, preparing themselves cups of coffee, Mom a flurry of anxious gestures in her pink business suit and Granny serene in her wrinkled cotton hippie skirt.

“Your first day out of the hospital and you’re already back at work,” Mom lectures.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“You’re not fine. You’ve had a bad fall and you need to recover.”

“The doctor said I could get back to my normal routine. She said it might even be good for me.”

Mom grins. “And you know what else will be good for you?”

“I can guess,” Lizzy grumbles.

“I have appointments scheduled with three different possible wedding venues,” Mom says. “I thought, what better way to recuperate than to focus on something that makes you happy? Something good.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“I won’t hear any objections. You’re my daughter, and I’m going to make sure you take care of yourself these next few weeks.” She tilts my chin up and moves my face side to side, inspecting my bruises. If she thinks those are bad, she should see what’s going on under my shirt. “I bet you’ll be healed enough for a wedding in as soon as a month.”

Lizzy chokes on her coffee, and I gape at my mother. “A month?”

Granny tsks. “Don’t rush the girl, Gretchen.”

“Why you would drag your feet when a man like Max wants to marry you is beyond me.”

“I’m not dragging my feet,” I object, but I kind of am. Because don’t I need answers before I can say my vows to Max? Don’t I need my memories?

“So it’s settled. We’ll spend tomorrow looking at wedding venues.”

“I can’t just set a date without talking to Max,” I object.

Mom waves away my concern. “It’s the wedding. All men worry about is the bachelor party and the wedding night. Besides, we need to know what dates the venue you want is available.
Then
we’ll talk about setting a date.”

I try to take deep breaths, but I keep thinking about the man in my apartment, about all the things I
don’t
know about the last year. My headache is back and nausea rolls over me. I brace myself on the counter.

“See, Gretchen?” Granny scolds. “You’re stressing her out.”

“I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. I need Lizzy to bring me up to date on work stuff and I’ll feel better.”

Mom rolls her eyes then sighs. “Fine. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon. Elizabeth, don’t you dare let your sister do any work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lizzy says, irritation clear in her voice.

The women take their coffee and push through the door. A hot billow of August air fills the store as the door floats closed.

“Come on,” Lizzy says. “Let’s get some baking done before you have to spend all your waking hours planning your happily-ever-after.”

My phone buzzes from the pocket of my apron. I wipe my hands on a towel and pull it out.

Appointment with Doc Perkins.

I frown at the calendar reminder. Do I know a Dr. Perkins?

I move to the sink and turn the water on with the back of my hand. Once it’s hot, I wash my hands with soap and water, dry them, and grab my phone again.

I have no idea how I managed to lose so much weight while doing this job. A single morning in my bakery and I’m jacked up on dozens of taste tests. A little bite of this treat, a sample of that frosting. I practically have a stomach ache. Thank God for my compulsive organization. It was relatively easy to find all my recipes. I was preparing gum-paste calla lilies for this weekend’s wedding cake when my phone buzzed, but I can finish up later.

The reminder doesn’t have a phone number or an address, so I pull up the browser on my phone and do a quick search. “Dr. Perkins New Hope” doesn’t get me any hits, so I try “Dr. Perkins Indianapolis.”

Dr. Perkins, MD, Psychiatry

A psychiatrist?

I scroll through my calendar, moving back through the past three months, but I only see one appointment with the doctor listed and it was a week ago. Was I going to start regular appointments? Why? For pointers on keeping brides calm? Or maybe the doctor is the silent partner Liz told me about?

Right. The relationship is a business one and you just happen to have a script for antidepressant in your apartment.

This doctor must have some answers to the endless questions that have taken up residence in my brain. I highlight the address in my browser and send it to my phone’s navigation system.

I’ve already grabbed my keys when I pause. I’m not supposed to drive. But I’m not sure I want anyone to know I’m seeing a psychiatrist, and how can I have someone drive me without spilling the beans?

“Liz,” I call to the front, pocketing my keys, “I need to leave for a few hours.”

I wait for her to ask where I’m going, but she just shrugs. Her disinterest is another reminder of the distance between us. I’m not used to this, but I don’t have time to think about it much. I’m too busy planning to break doctor’s orders and drive to Indianapolis.

By the time I get to Dr. Perkins’s office, I’m fifteen minutes late to my appointment. The receptionist’s eyes go big when he sees my face. “What happened to you?”

“I got in a fight with a flight of stairs. I lost.”

“Yikes.” He stands and ushers me through a heavy walnut door.

On the other side, a woman is sitting behind a desk, tapping at her computer. Her face lights up then shrinks in rapid succession when she sees me. “Hanna! What happened?”

“I’ll leave you,” the receptionist says.

As the heavy door closes, the doctor motions to an overstuffed chair and steeples her fingers as I sit. “Tell me what’s going on, Hanna.”

“You’re Dr. Perkins?”

Her tiny face draws into a tight frown. “Of course I am.”

“And I’m…one of your patients?”

Her frown turns to skepticism.

“I took a fall.” I motion to my face. I explain as briefly as I can about my amnesia, telling her I’m here because of the reminder on my phone.

“Oh, dear. I wish I would have known. I would have come to the hospital and consulted with your doctor.”

I’m glad she didn’t. I don’t think I want my friends and family to know I’ve sought out therapy. “I don’t understand.” I don’t want to offend this woman. She seems very nice. “It shows in my calendar that I’ve been here before, and I found a prescription for antidepressants in my apartment, but…” I’m not sure how to say it.

“Go on,” she prods.

“My life seems perfect. I have my own business that seems to be going great, and I’m engaged to marry an amazing man. I feel okay about my body for the first time in my life. Why would I need to see a psychiatrist? Why would I need antidepressants?”
Why would I cheat on my loving fiancé?