Myra
The air was a thick soup of humidity—wet wool, yeast, and the relentless, cloying scent of the "Broken Heart" sugar cookies Tony had started frosting in the back. Despite the storm, Tony was still determined to turn the bakery into a romantic Mecca.
The red and pinks, the foil hearts and cut out cupids, it was like an assault on my anti-Valentine senses. Every item that Tony put in the display cases was themed for the grotesque and superfluous holiday. Pink frosted cupcakes, donuts with little heart shaped sprinkles, raspberry filled “love letters”. The cakes were frosted in white and red, and his new extra dark truffle was displayed on white lace doilies.
I hated Valentine’s Day. I hated the expectation of it.
I hated the inevitable disappointment that I felt, year after year, s
