Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

What should have happened next was simple. We should have kissed. I would have loved it, and it could be the start of something new. Instead, my mind started racing as time slowed to a grinding halt. Why is he about to kiss me? This was just supposed to be about dessert. I don't want him to think I want anything else. I'm not ready for this. It's too much, too soon.
And I stopped within a few inches of Trace's perfect lips before I jerked away. I'd forgotten I had the box of sweets on my lap and the sudden movement made it tumble to the floor.
"Oh no!" I exclaimed, moving off the couch and onto the floor, picking up the fallen pieces and pushing them into the box. "I'm sorry. Everything is ruined." I'd dropped them by accident but I was glad I did. My palms were already slick with sweat and my heart was hammering against my rib cage.
Trace met me on the floor, helping me put everything into the box. He was quiet and I felt like I'd offended him.
Unable to stop myself, I was blabbering. "I'm such a klutz. I'll personally redo each of these desserts and get them to you somehow."
"Darius—" Trace said.
But, I was just staring down at the icing smear on the hardwood. "And I'm sorry for being so weird. I should've paid more attention during the episode."
"Darius—" He said again.
"I don't want want you to think I just drop desserts because I'm careless. I'm definitely not a careless person. I mean, maybe I miss some obvious things sometimes but not usually."
Trace touched the inside of my wrist and I finally looked at him. He was frowning. "If you didn't want to kiss me that's okay."
I swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Trace said softly.
The mood shifted, and I stood up awkwardly, knocking my knee into the coffee table. Fuck, that hurt.
"Uh," I stammered. "Did you want water? I'm just going to get some water."
I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and Trace followed me there. "I think maybe I should be going now."
"Oh," I said feeling disappointed. God, I'd totally fucked everything up. Why couldn't I just be normal? My eyes burned but my voice was even. "Okay. I guess I'll..." My brain was just going double time and I had no idea what to say. I was going to have an anxiety attack, and I needed him to leave before I did.
"See me next Sunday for a movie?" Trace said, leaning in close to me and watching my face. He interrupted my line of sight and touched the inside of my wrist again, rubbing there for a moment.
"Okay." I said, feeling like I was out of breath.
"And maybe, ice cream afterwards?" Trace said quickly. He was looking at me so intently I felt like he knew each and every one of my insecurities. Sweat was beading on my forehead and my chest was in so much pain from my heart hammering.
"Definitely." I said, mentally trying to count to ten, while walking with Trace over to the doorway. Once we got there, it was awkward. He'd never taken off his shoes so we were just standing there. I unlocked the door and Trace went out into the hallway. I tried to take deeper breaths, rubbing at my chest.
I wasn't sure what was appropriate at the end of whatever this was. Trace was looking at me, and I was looking at him.
Trace smiled, and he touched my arm. "I had fun, Darius. Sorry if I was a little touchy."
"Sorry, I was nervous—" I started, gesturing with my hands. It seemed impossible to tell him that I enjoyed his touches even if they did make me nervous.
Trace's smile was gentle. "It's okay. See you Sunday?" He gave me a small nod, and then he was off, walking down the stairs and disappearing out of view.
I closed the door, feeling absolutely exhausted. My muscles were sore from being tense for so long and my mind was rewinding every awkward, humiliating moment. He probably thought I was mentally delayed or something, fuck. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and sat on the couch. My hand was shaking too badly and I tried to breathe, looking for air.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. But, it was too late, I couldn't push it away. The anxiety attack was as debilitating as it usually was, the feeling of the world closing in, feeling like I was going to have a heart attack, wondering what it would be like if I died in my apartment and rotted there for days, people would only discover my maggot infested body after the stench seeped into the bakery. It would be awful, people would see my crochet needles, find my blankets and scarves, and no one would understand it. How embarrassing. My thoughts continued careening in disordered directions and I just couldn't stop any of it.
I slumped to the floor, pushing my head between my knees and tried to slowly count to ten. It took time but eventually the breaths came easier and I was exhausted but I could breathe again.
Leaning back against the couch, I stared up at the popcorn ceiling and brushed my hands down my now sweaty shirt.
Fuck. I closed my eyes, relieved it was over. Now, what I needed more than anything was a shower.
Still thinking about Trace, I grabbed my phone and started googling 'how not to be nervous on a date' clicking one of the first links.  The longer I read the further I slumped onto the floor, wondering why I hadn't looked at any of this before the date.
Damn it. Who would even want to go on a date number two with me? I convinced myself Trace would want to cancel and to not be too disappointed when that inevitably occurred.
#
Depending on how many party and wedding orders we got during the week dictated how often I worked solely on cakes. That week I was part of a team for three wedding cakes we had to deliver on the same day within six hours of one another. We were familiar with the venues but that still made it tight, especially since we only had one delivery truck. Wedding cakes could be tricky because they were unconsciously large and required last minute touches on site.
Half my week sped by not giving me enough time to dwell on the terrible date. Trace hadn't called or texted and I imagined I was taking it well even if I was working a little hard. But, when I came in on Thursday, Mitchell and Maureen were huddled in her office which basically never happened.
They ushered me into the room, and both seemed to be bursting with excitement.
"Hey Dairy, something came in the mail for you." Mitchell slapped a manilla envelope down into my hands.
The envelope was gold, and addressed to me. I opened it slowly, uncertain why Mitchell was standing there with a grin plastered on his face. I pulled out a piece of folded cardstock paper.
"Dear Mr. Darius Nkrumah,
We are delighted to inform you that your application for the fourth season of Baking Beasts has entered into contention and you are one of the finalists to be on the show." I read the words slowly, understanding even less and less. I looked up to see a few workers peeking into the office, and even Maureen had a smirk on her face.
I frowned. "Close the door."
Mitchell closed the office door and the few stray workers scurried away.
A feeling of unease was sawing through my stomach. "What is this about?"
"We nominated you for the next season of the show." Mitchell wasn't really smiling anymore.
"Tell me you didn't." I groaned, a knot of anxiety only further tightening in my throat.
"You've got some great recipes, Dairy, and you're quick on your feet. That one time we ran out of apples you made a rhubarb pie that knocked everyone's socks off. You've got a real gift. You're an amazing pastry chef, with or without training. We want you to represent us."
I looked away from all the hope Mitchell was hurtling my way. "I need to think about it."
Maureen interrupted gently. "You know, why don't you two take the time to talk about this between the two of you?"
She shuffled out of the room and as nosy as Maureen was, I think she only left once she realized I wasn't happy with the situation as they thought I would be. How had they even applied on my behalf without my permission?
"The show is really understanding. You'd basically have to go to a competition hall once a week for six weeks. It would be filmed and taped on Mondays and the episode would come out Fridays. You get ten thousand dollars just for appearing on the show. And the winner gets funds towards a new state of the art kitchen, and two hundred thousand dollars. Cash." Mitchell's voice was hard now, "This is a brilliant opportunity."
All I could think about was being on film, meeting new people, and being out of my comfort zone. I started to sweat. "It just seems like a lot."
Mitchell leaned towards me. "C'mon Dairy, think about it at least. You can't keep letting this nervousness decide things for you."
My mouth twisted and I glared at the tiled floor. "Everyday, I try my best, Mitch. Okay?"
"I know you, you just play it safe. Your idea of going out of your comfort zone is going to a concert, or, having a glass of wine after work."
"Concerts have a lot of people, and I don't like to drink." Drinking made things impossibly easy for me, it made me feel normal. My thoughts didn't skitter around my head and I could actually interact with people. The fact alcohol gave me that made it such a dangerous thing I didn't drink more than once a month.
Mitchell put his head in his hands. "This is what I'm talking about. Maybe if you just got out there you wouldn't have all those breakdowns."
I froze, feeling like my skin was swarming with ants and my lips worked but nothing would come out. "You don't know what you're talking about." I spat out eventually. The words were meant to come out acidic but instead I just sounded sad. "I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend," Mitchel stressed, "That's why I'm trying to encourage you."
"It just feels like you're calling me pathetic."
"You're a twenty six year old man whose life is this bakery. Don't you want to have more going on in your life than that?" Yeah, he just made me sound really pathetic.
I rubbed my jaw. "Maybe."
"So, do this. Maybe you can start dating again, live life beyond the bakery."
"I went on a date this week." I admitted.
Mitchell absolutely grinned. "See what happens when you put yourself out there? Wouldn't he be so impressed if you were on the show?"
I thought of Trace, his easy smile and the way he seemed almost fond of my nervousness. I bet he was already tired of that. "Maybe, but I'm not going to make this decision for him. I need time to think."
I picked up the letter, beginning to read more intently. I left the office and started googling information on the show. But, I already knew more than enough about the show because it was one of my favourite reality tv shows. I'd watched, DVR'd and rewatched each of the three seasons that had aired and seen how people's careers skyrocketed after being on the show. It was truly a golden nugget.
I stuffed the envelope into my locker and tied on my apron before washing my hands, getting ready to start my day.
But, all I could think about was being on camera, in front of an audience, and potentially having an anxiety attack in front of all those people. I felt like throwing up. Why would anyone think I was capable of doing this? And winning?
Yes, I was obsessed with baking, breathed bread and dreamed dough but that didn't mean I could work in a high pressure environment. Sometimes, I could barely make it day to day. I lived around my anxiety, not through it.
The rest of my morning was on autopilot as I baked, cooked and constructed a topsy turvy gender reveal cake. Things between Mitchell and I were awkward but we still worked well together.
#
I went up to my apartment on my break, making an excuse and calling my close friend, Emmanuel. He'd been a childhood friend for as long as I could remember, turning from a neighbour to my closest friend. Emmanuel was one of the few people who hadn't called me crazy when I started working at Sweets N Things.
"Hey, Manny." I said after he'd picked up the phone. I heard drills and hammering in the background and there were a few seconds of noise until it fell into the background. He worked as a contractor supervisor so Manny was the guy you called when you were renovating your house or flipping a property. He had business sense and could find an affordable solution for any kind of issue.
"Hey, D. What's up? You don't normally call when I'm working. I've only got a few minutes."
I launched into a ramble about my uncertainties before bringing up the offer to be on Baking Beasts and I managed to slip in my insecurities about Trace as well.
Manny gave a long, low whistle. "Well, someone's been busy the past few days. I don't even know why you're calling me, bro, you know what you want to do."
"But-"
"C'mon D, level with me here. You know what you want to do. You just gotta figure out a coping method to last from Part A to Part B. I told you, you gotta start doing yoga or some shit if you don't wanna be nervous all the time. Confronting your fears is a part of that."
I breathed. "Okay, so I do want to do it. But, what if—"
"And so what if you come in last, or you burn a pie or you fuck up monumentally in some kind of way. I believe in you D, for real." The line cut for a second while Manny argued with one of his employees. "Joao you better close the God damned door. Can't you see I'm havin' a conversation here? Well shit, I can't even scratch my balls in peace. — Listen D, I gotta go. I'll see you at the gym tomorrow." Manny clicked off and I was left feeling nervous yet inspired.
I went down the stairs towards the shop and slipped on an apron, sliding up beside Mitchell, and picking up a piping bag to help him pipe fringe on a wedding cake. "Sorry, I got upset." I said, by way of apology.
"No problemo, man." Mitchell said dryly.
"Seriously." I said, stepping in front of him so he was forced to look up at me. "I trust you Mitchell, and if you think I can do it...Then I can."
Mitchell put down the piping bag, locking eyes with me. "Okay, good. Good. They're sending a representative in a couple days to interview you. You better ace it." He went back to piping but he didn't look angry anymore.
#
Later on that night, Trace surprised me with a call. I had been rewatching the season finale of the first season of Baking Beasts while crocheting some socks. My feet always seemed to get cold when I fell asleep, and having size fifteen feet sometimes made socks uncomfortable so I was always making more.
When my phone rang, I lowered my needles and the volume before picking up.
"Hey Darius," he said, "I've been thinking about you and our date for Sunday. Do you know what you wanna watch?"
I paused and my voice was small yet, surprised. "You still want to go out with me?"
Trace paused before laughing easily. "Of course, why wouldn't I? I think we're past first date jitters. I can send you the link of this place. It's not as big as the regular cinemas but I thought you'd appreciate something a little smaller. It's a little cheaper, too." My phone buzzed once and then again while I looked through the messages as he told me about his day, and how the intern was getting on his last nerves.
It was so nice and normal to be on the phone with someone, and I was considerably less nervous than I had been seeing Trace in person so that was a small blessing. It was so nice to just listen to Trace knowing he couldn't see me. The topics zigzagged to sports—Trace loved soccer, baseball, and cricket— to his sister, then back to me, always back to me.
Silence lapsed but I don't think either of us wanted to hang up.
I was wearing my earphones, and splayed across my bed while listening to his voice. It was soothing and a part of me wished he was there with me in the flesh. If I was normal then the thought of snuggling with Trace would be relieving instead of anxiety inducing.
"You know, I find you attractive right?" Trace said quietly, breaking the silence. "You're gorgeous. So, I'm honestly sorry that I tried to go further than you said you were comfortable with. I'm not saying that your looks are an excuse, but, I just...really wanted to kiss you. In future, is there anything that I can do to make you less nervous so that I don't cross that line?"
"Uhh..." I said, thinking of something to say. I wanted to ask how he found me attractive, and tell him he didn't need to apologize and that I was always going to be nervous. "My last relationship moved faster than I wanted it to. Instead of saying something at the time, I just let him take the lead. And I pretended things were okay when they weren't. I don't want that with you."
"So, when we go to the movies...if I lean on your shoulder and we share popcorn, that's okay?"
"Yes." I said quietly.
"And if I kiss you?"
"Maybe."
"Hand holding?"
I scoffed. "Who holds hands on the second date?"
"Really, Darius?" Trace teased, "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"
I snorted. "Too late for that."
"So, you're not a virgin?"
"You thought I was a virgin?"
"Maybe."
I couldn't help but laugh at how embarrassed Trace sounded at that admission. Being accused of being a virgin should have insulted my masculinity but the fact Trace thought I was some kind of delicate flower was hilarious. Was I an anxious mess? Yes. A delicate flower? No.
"Okay," Trace continued, "I can work with that. And just so you know, if you want to kiss me, I am more than okay with that."
Eventually, Trace yawned one too many times and we said our goodbyes. My heart just about leapt when he said he liked talking to me and he wanted to do it again soon.
Sleepy and comfortable, I fell asleep without even remembering to put my socks on.