100 Days of Cake Read Online Free PDF Page B

that—” But I’m not sure how it is, the whole thing is such a swirl.
    â€œMolly, you don’t have to go out with anyone you don’t want to. You don’t owe any one that,” Dr. B. says. “At the very least his behavior sounds extremely immature. The fact that you feel bad about it just shows what a thoughtful person you are, but these are his issues.”
    I know it’s pretty crappy that I threw Alex under the bus like that, but I’m fighting a smile. What Dr. B. just said is a compliment, right? Am I supposed to thank him? Feeling myself turning tomato again, I look down, and suddenly, all that stuff with Alex and T.J. doesn’t seem like that big a deal anymore.
    So I change the subject. “You know, I think the reason I work at FishTopia in the first place is because of my father.”
    â€œHow so?” Dr. B. leans in. He always seems really interested in talking about my parents.
    â€œWhen we lived in Miami, he used to take me to the aquarium all the time and show me the fish. It was very important to him.” For the rest of the session, I tell him stories about how my dad used to point things out to me—how he loved to talk about all the bright colors and weird shapes. “He always said he could spend days there.”
    â€œDoes that make you happy, that you have that connection to him?”
    â€œDefinitely. It’s great to feel connected like that.”
    At the end of the session, I hand him my co-pay, and he asks if we can meet on Monday instead of Thursday next week. “It’s my fiancée’s birthday, and I was hoping to get down to Miami and surprise her.”
    â€œThat’s so sweet; of course.”
    Like I said, me crushing on Dr. B. = utterly harmless.
    I stop in the bathroom again on the way out, and Dr. B. must finish up a few minutes later, because he’s on his way into the parking lot when he sees me unlocking Old Montee.
    â€œYou rode your bike here?” He points at Old Montee. “In this heat?”
    Shrugging, I tell him, “I’m a driver’s ed dropout.”
    He chuckles and asks if he can give me a ride home. “If you died of heat stroke, it would probably reflect poorly on my skills as a healer.”
    We put my bike into the trunk of his Honda Accord and slide into our seats. It’s a little weird, and I’m kind of jumpy, being alone with him in such a small space, but when he starts the engine, of course the nineties radio station starts blaring, which makes me laugh.
    And we talk about how he used to listen to all these songs on CDs and (gasp!) cassette tapes.
    â€œThose rectangles with the two holes in the middle?” I joke. “I think I saw one in a museum once.”
    â€œI’m telling you, Molly, you’re missing out.” Dr. B. shakeshis head. “Making a mix tape for the girl you had a crush on was like a rite of passage in junior high.”
    â€œDid you make one for your fiancée?”
    â€œI might have burned her a CD when we first met.”
    We’re having such a good time, I almost forget to tell him when to turn onto my street of new houses, and into the circular driveway of the biggest one. It was the model home for the subdivision—the one builders show to potential home buyers, to demonstrate how great their house could be—and it has all these crazy upgrades, like a huge door and a three-car garage.
    â€œNow, that’s a house,” Dr. B. says, which is funny, since he’s the doctor and Mom is a single mother who cuts hair.
    â€œThanks,” I say, even though I had absolutely nothing to do with it.
    After my dad died, Mom moved V and me back to Coral Cove so my grandma could help out (weird, considering most of what Mom and Gram do is bicker). We stayed with her for a while, and then got a little house on the same street as Gram’s while Mom worked at someone else’s salon. Eventually Mom started her