Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

I stood in front of the full body length mirror that I had in my bedroom. Trying to go for casual, I wore a fitted black t-shirt that hugged my chest and dark blue worn jeans. I kept trying on different wind breakers and I settled on a grey one that I felt matched well. I ran my fingers through my hair, staring at my face.
It was hard to know if I was attractive or not. I had dark brown skin that seemed closest to a warm chestnut and barely any hair at all. Kind of a fade that I was trying to grow into waves. My eyes weren't interesting, just brown. At least I had clear skin but that had more to do with genetics rather than my inconsistent skin routine.
I touched my face, wondering what Trace saw and if it was anything worthwhile. My phone started buzzing, and I fumbled it in my hands before picking up.
Trace's voice was smooth and low on the phone. "You really have to wake up early for this baking shit, huh?"
I smiled, checking the time. "It's not so early, only 6:15."
He groaned, and the sound had such a low tenor to it, my stomach flipped and my skin felt tight. "C'mon Darius, I was not built to wake up this early."
"Is this your way of telling me you're running late?"
"No, actually. I'm walking up the street now. I'll see you in a minute." Trace hung up and I picked up my things, tossing them into my satchel and hurrying down the stairs.
So. Yes. I lived in a unit above the bakery. The owner had put in three units above the store and around the time I applied there was an opening. The rent was at a good rate because the owner of the store wanted incentives to keep workers there. So, it was a win—win. Well, mostly.
I left the unit only to turn around the corner and enter the store through the back entrance, clocking in before putting my things away in my locker.
Afterwards, I walked into the kitchen and saw one of the front line staff putting all the boxes of goods into the back of the Sweets N Things travel van. It was what we used on the odd chance we delivered cakes or orders and the easiest way to transfer things for the Farmer's market.
Rick was putting the last box in and checking things off as he went. "Alright Dairy, I've packed everything up and the prices and labels are in the container in the glove compartment. The store banner is in the backseat, too." Rick's hair was a snarl of blues, reds, and oranges. He was effeminate, campy, and one of the most personable workers at the store. Sometimes, I thought of how much easier my life would be if I had half his confidence.
"Thanks Rick." I said, while helping position some things in the truck. "I'm meeting someone, so I just want everything to be ready."
Rick slapped my arm with a surprising amount of force. "No sweat off my back, D. It's been kitchen gossip that you're going on a date." He smiled. "I see that romance isn't dead. The farmers market shouldn't be too bad, you can put him to work."
I said bye to Rick and got into the van driving around to the front of the store, where I saw Trace sitting on a bench in front. He had a dark baseball cap over his face and was wearing a stylish sort of athleisure kind of wear. It could've been gym wear on anyone else but the blacks and whites on Trace looked runway ready.
I stopped in front of the store and rolled down the window, "Hey!"
Trace looked up, taking his AirPods out and giving me a wide, brilliant smile. He walked over to the driver's window. "Hey yourself."
He came around to the passenger side to hop in. Trace leaned close to me for an exhilarating second and I stopped breathing, feeling heat fly into my face. "What's your body wash? It smells really good."
"Uh, lavender." I stumbled. "I know it's kinda..."
"Kinda gay?" Trace teased.
"No." I laughed. "Kinda weird. Unexpected."
"I'm excited to get to know all the little surprising things about you." Trace said, squeezing my knee.
The touch startled me enough that I pressed a little hard on the gas. "Sorry," I said as the car jerked forward. "Touching is a bit..." I tried to laugh it off. "I need a warning sometimes."
Trace got quiet for a bit, "Shit," he said softly. "Sorry." It seemed like he was going to say more before reconsidering.
I parked behind our table, and then opened the van doors, so that the back of the truck backed up onto the back of the display. I reached across Trace to access the glove compartment for the box of labels and I pretended not to notice him inhale. I got out of the car gesturing for Trace to follow me.
The Farmers market was something like a walkway with different tables and booths set up for the morning. There was a cover set up over the table to block it from the sun and in case it rained. There was also a display case on the table and I organized the croissants, tarts, fritters, and other baked goods within the transparent display. Then I put the labels in the slots in front of each good, price tags, set the paper baggies to the side and put the tongs to the side as well.
—Imagine this.—
Trace was staring at me after I finished preparing everything. "Wow, everything looks so good."
"Thanks, I prepared the batter for everything last night and cooked things this morning."
Trace shook his head, surprised. "When did you have time for all that?"
I was unfolding chairs for Trace and I to sit behind the table while speaking. "Well, I've been up since four am, so it's fine." I'd gone down to the kitchens early on in the morning to personally bake the pastries, because I wanted to make sure things were perfect.
"No shit?" Trace said, plopping down into his seat.
"I mean, yeah, I had trouble sleeping." I'd slept on and off for maybe six hours, because the thought of this date had been plaguing me.
After I sat down, Trace reached over to touch my arm and then stopped. He looked torn. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, totally." I have crippling anxiety that doesn't let me calm down about anything ever. "I think I just need a new mattress." That, too.
People started to mill into the square and a few made a beeline straight for our table. I got up to stand by the cash register and Trace tucked both our chairs in and sat on the inside of the van, his legs dangling. I didn't like that he was behind me but I hoped I made a satisfying silhouette.
"What made you change careers?" Trace said eventually.
I'd cashed out a few people and moved to sit beside him in the back of the van. My feet scraped the floor as I shifted. "I couldn't do an office anymore or office politics. I just couldn't function anymore." Anxiety attacks nearly everyday, my hair had started to fall out. I'd fallen into a depressive episode because all I could think that I was going to spend the rest of my life behind that desk and equally as unhappy every day. "But then, I had a conversation with one of my friends and he said 'If you hate it, just quit.' And by that point it had been almost two years of me working there." I laughed. "I quit the next day." Then I'd had a breakdown, didn't leave my house for three months while crocheting everything in sight, and baking until everything had spoiled before repeating the process. All that had come to an end when one of my neighbours had thought I had died. The police had nearly broken down my door because of the 'welfare check' and it had been humiliating to have to explain away my unwashed dishes, overflowing garbage and my sudden agoraphobia.
The police had almost forced me into a psych ward and I still wasn't sure why they hadn't.
I zoned out for a bit while I remembered all of that and when I came back to reality Trace was giving me an odd look and a line was building. I got up to cash people out and eventually the morning rush came. It was mostly young families who lived in the area and I recognized a lot of faces. Because they were accustomed to how things worked no one was pushy and Trace replaced things that ran out as they were purchased.
In no time at all things were sold out and it wasn't even 10am yet. "Wow, new record."
Trace was looking at me a bit oddly. "Your store is a hit." And then he pouted dramatically, lower lip tantalizingly distracting. "I didn't get to try anything, though."
I was struck for a moment when Trace relaxed his face. His skin was so clear and smooth and damn was he pretty.
"I—" I said, "I made some stuff at home, if you want to try it. They're just some new recipes we're not sure about for the shop yet."
Trace grinned. "Cool, you live nearby?"
"Ah." This was kind of weird. "I live above the bakery."
Trace's brows raised. "Wow. Really?"
"Yeah, the rent is good, and it's close to work." I joked. The two of us packed up the display boxes, store banner, dirty utensils, along with any trash around our table.
"So, you live alone?" He asked. "No Fido or some other pet?"
I laughed, thinking of Maureen's illegal pit bull. "No Fido. What about you?" I lead the way towards the van, unlocking it and  gesturing for Trace to get in.
A bit of red rose up on his cheeks and it mystified me that Trace was blushing. "I live with my sister." he admitted, while strapping in his seatbelt. "We're twins actually."
"Woah!" I said, staring at him, before forcing my eyes back to the road. "So, there's another whole you out there. Do you look alike?"
Out of my peripheral I noticed Trace shrug. "Kind of, she's a little lighter than me, a little smaller."
"I don't really know a lot of twins."
"Yeah, she's kind of my best friend. She knew I was gay before I knew I was gay. Then again a lot of guys find it weird that I live with my sister."
"Why would they find it weird?" I said, driving back to the bakery along the street that was still pretty empty for a Saturday morning. I wished me and my brother had a good enough relationship to be willing to live together.
"Cause I'm twenty-eight and I live with my sister?" Somehow he didn't sound self conscious at all.
"You're twenty eight?" Trace could've been twenty and I would have believed him. I'd assumed he was twenty-five at the most.
"Yeah, how old are you?"
"Twenty-six."
"Shit, you're twenty-six and you can bake like that? Dude, you're making me jealous here."
I couldn't conceptualize the fact Trace was two years older than me. He looked younger than me and not at all concerned that I was younger than him.
Eventually, we made it back to the shop and I let Trace sit in the store while I took care of things in the back. I let Rick know that I was back and picked out a few day olds from the back of the kitchen to get for Trace. I got my satchel out of my locker, clocked out and then met Trace at one of the tables of the shop. "Okay, wanna go up?"
He got up and followed me outside of the shop where there was a door that led to the front entrance of my unit. I went up the stairs first, although I wasn't sure if that was weird or not. Was he looking at my ass? Did my ass look good? What if he didn't think it looked good? What if he'd had a terrible time and he was just humouring me? What if he was just hungry?
"Darius?" Trace said once we got to my door. "Can you uh, unlock the door?"
"Right, right, right." I said, still standing there. I turned to him. "Listen, if you don't wanna do this, that's fine. Don't feel obligated to follow me up on my invitations."
Trace smiled, looking at me like I was doing something adorable and not like I was a nervous wreck. "I'm not feeling pressured. Just open the door, Darius, so you can feed me."
I unlocked the door. "You can just take off your shoes here."
Trace hesitated.
I was pushing off my shoes and hoping my socks weren't sweaty, but he still wasn't moving. "If you don't want to take off your shoes, I guess that's fine." Maybe he didn't plan on staying for very long.
"Okay." Trace sounded relieved. "I'll do that, then."
We went through my apartment and into the kitchen. It was bigger than it had any business being but it was what I needed. I gestured for Trace to sit at the kitchen island while I got plates and took out some things from the fridge.
"So, I was trying out a blueberry strudel doughnut with an apple crumble on top, this tiramisu cinnamon coffee cake, and this banana strawberry tart."
I put the three separate plates in front of him and Trace sighed. "Darius. This is too much, really. You have to eat with me." He patted the seat beside him.
I got an extra fork, and settled beside Trace. Our thighs touched and it felt like all I could focus on was the heat between us. He dipped his head to his plate, taking a bite. Trace closed his eyes, nodding and I noticed how long his eyelashes were. Like a girl's even if nothing else about him was remotely feminine.
He opened his eyes and caught me staring at him. "I can't believe you made this. It's seriously delicious, God, Darius, you're going to make me fat."
I scoffed, feeling warmed by his compliments. "You could never be fat."
He murmured while chewing, "The only part of me I want to be fat is my ass."
I had been drinking water and I choked badly, water flying out of my nose and mouth. I got up, getting a paper towel and wiping my face. "My God, Trace. I can't even drink water."
He was giving me a devilish smile. "Just being honest. Have you been tested recently?"
"Tested for..?"
"You know for sexually transmitted diseases?"
As bad as my anxiety was, my paranoia was worse. I hadn't been tested since breaking up with Jeremy. Considering he had been cheating on me I had nearly prepared myself for the worst. Being clean had been one of my biggest reliefs.
"I'm clean." I said slowly, "But, it's not like we're doing anything today. Obviously." I'd known Trace maybe a few days now. I didn't do hookups.
Trace took a beat to respond. "Obviously."
I froze. "I didn't invite you here so we could...I just wanted to show you the desserts."
"Oh!" Now, Trace looked uncomfortable, "No one really invites me to their place unless...I just thought desserts was like... a euphemism."
I stared at him for serval seconds, my mouth hanging open until I remembered to close it. "It wasn't a euphemism." Was all I managed to say.
Seconds passed and Trace nodded, even though I. "Do you want to go to a movie sometime next week?"
"What kind of movies do you like?" I asked, thankful the subject had changed.
He looked back up at me, smiling. "I'm pretty boring, I'll watch just about anything. But, I'm kind of a sucker for apocalypse stuff, survivalist genre, zombie shit, all of that." Trace sighed. "I mean the whole apocalypse genre is ableist as fuck but it makes you realize people are real pieces of shit."
I nodded in silent agreement before I broke off a piece of Trace's untouched donut with my fork and took a bite. "Have you seen Train to Busan?"
"Dude." Trace groaned, touching his cheeks with both hands in an adorable gesture. "Of course I've had my heart broken into about a million pieces. I was fucking bawling by the end. I watched it with my sister and I was a mess."
I had a habit of watching horror movies to convince myself that my life wasn't really that bad. It was addictive to me after an anxious day. "Do you want to watch an episode of Z nation?" I asked, it was a new show I'd started watching recently. I liked the comedy take on the horror, it kept it light hearted.
Trace hurriedly agreed and I was glad we passed over the awkward misunderstanding in the kitchen.
I brought the box of sweets to the living room and Trace followed me there. My living room was really simple; a tv that was too big and a couple comfortable sofas and arm chairs. I liked keeping the place cool so there were a couple throw blankets there as well. I didn't like to sit with my jeans on the couch so I hovered awkwardly.
"I'm just going to change." I said quickly, walking down the hall towards my bedroom. God, I hoped he didn't think that was a euphemism for me coming out in like, a thong or something equally ridiculous.
As soon as I got to my room I stripped out of my jeans and put on some comfortable terry cloth shorts, then I found another t-shirt to wear that was slightly baggy but still gave me some definition.
I hurried out into the living room where Trace was still eating the donut. He looked me up and down, eyes stuck on my thighs. Then, he his eyes darted away and he talked through his stuffed mouth, "Which episode are you on?"
I sat down beside him, leaving lots of space beside us. Trace scooted over until our thighs touched. "Uh, just the first two seasons."
"Cool, I've seen everything, I don't mind rewatching." Trace kept shifting and I thought he was uncomfortable until he pushed his hand down into the couch and pulled out my crochet styluses. "What're these?"
Fuck, how did those get there? "Uh. That's nothing."
He tilted them every which way. "These look like knitting needles." A small pause. "Are these your knitting needles?"
"No, I don't knit." The lie shot out between my lips so fast I hadn't even considered that one of the blankets I had on an armchair was a blanket I had crocheted. I shot it a guilty look like the inanimate object was about to expose my poorly concealed secret.
Trace surprised me by touching my arm. "I don't care if you knit, Darius. If you're worried about not seeming masculine or something I really don't give a fuck."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Okay, so maybe I crochet. I just— don't want to seem soft, you know? Me crying in the stairway, the guy being rude to me at the shop, you touching me and me flinching, working at a bakery, me not understanding how me inviting you to my apartment could be sending mixed signals, me crocheting...It doesn't add up to a very attractive image." I'd started mumbling half way through. If this was a date, it was going terribly.
Trace sighed and I finally looked over at his face. Lightly, he touched my arm. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
I shrugged. "I don't know, some tall black guy?"
Trace frowned. "Yes...and no. I see someone who talks to his coworkers with patience and kindness, someone who handles customers with respect. A little stuck in your head sometimes." He titled his head, analyzing me beneath his molten gaze. "Shy, maybe nervous. Awkward."
I flinched at that, hating how obvious it was that I was incapable of acting normal.
His gaze softened and tentatively, Trace touched my arm, fingers tracing out one of my tattoos, as though he was deep in thought. I nearly stopped breathing right then and there.
"Not that any of those are bad things, Darius. I think the fact you bake is cool, and the fact you crochet is cute. I've had a crush on you for too long for any new things I learn to make me like you less." The last sentence seemed to surprise him as much as it did me.
"You what?" I whispered.
Now, Trace really was blushing, his warm fingers leaving my arm to absently thread through his hair. "Ahh. I didn't mean to say that. I've been going to the bakery before work for almost half a year. I volunteer to get sweets for my coworkers on the way to the office." His voice was the softest I'd heard it, barely a whisper. "I... I've noticed you."
Wow. Trace noticed me. A warm glow settled within my chest and my nerves moved to the background. We were sitting so close, turned towards one another and the air felt charged.
Trace wet his lips, before they parted and he began to lean towards me. His eyes fluttered closed, and pulled like a magnet I moved towards him as well.