Peace, Love, & Macarons QUOTES

1 " There was a familiar singsong ding from the front of the house and, not a half a second later, my mother called from the kitchen. "Oh, honey, can you get that? I have my hands full."

Of bullshit.

Utter bullshit. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

2 " What good does wallowing do?" I shrugged. "I mean there is science to this kind of thing. The actual pain of it only lasts a really short time. It's the obsessive wondering and what-if'ing and mourning for your loss that makes you shrivel up in a ball for weeks or months. I have nothing to wonder or what-if or mourn. He didn't love me enough. Case closed. Someday someone will. Or maybe some day a dozen or so cats will. Whatever. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

3 " French are good at baking," he said oddly, moving in front of me, his knee pressing between my thighs and pinning me against the cabinet. "There's another thing the French do well..." he said, voice trailing off as his hand slid behind me and grabbed me at the base of my neck, yanking my body against his just a second before his lips crashed down on mine.

The French could go suck it. No one kissed like him. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

4 " What's this?" I asked, putting her cup on the counter next to the plate.

"Rocky Road Bars," she supplied with a shrug.

"Is that some kind of message?" I asked, head dipped.

"Message?" she asked, her brows drawing together and proving that it wasn't.

"Never mind," I said, shaking my head, feeling a small wave of relief even if she was standing there wound like a clock for some untold reason.

Maybe that was the reason that when she shrugged at me and went to reach for her coffee, I reached over the counter, snagged her chin in my thumb and forefinger and leaned in to lick a small bit of chocolate from beside her lips from where she had smudged it. Her entire body stiffened then trembled at the contact.

It was all the encouragement I needed.

So right there, a dozen eyes no doubt on us, I framed her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers.

There was nothing sweet or chaste about it.

I fucking devoured her mouth, my tongue moving to invade, drawing a quiet whimper from her as her hands slammed down on the counter.

The sound was enough to remind me that I couldn't take it any further right then and there and better stop before either of us got too worked up.

But as I pulled away and her eyes fluttered open and all I could see was a deep desire there, I knew she was a little bit more worked up than I intended.

There were a couple chuckles and one brave soul let out a loud whistle as we pulled apart, making my smile tip up slightly, knowing I had just, whether I truly intended it or not, staked a claim. I let the whole town know that I was messing around with one of their favorite daughters.

"I hate you right now," she said, her voice airy, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen.

"No you don't," I countered, shaking my head. "You just hate that you can't climb over this counter and let me fuck you right here and now. Don't worry, you can have me all to yourself in just a couple of hours. If you can control yourself until then..."

"Control myself," she hissed, both looking slightly outraged and equally amused. "I believe you were the one half-mauling me in public."

"And I'm pretty sure it was your tongue moving over mine and your whimper I heard, right? Or was that Old Mildred. Hey, Milly..." I started to call, making Maddy's eyes bulge comically as she slammed her hand into my shoulder hard enough to send me back a foot.

"Shut up!" she hissed, making me let out a chuckle. "Alright fine. You made your point," she said, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee.

"What was my point, exactly?" I asked, curious.

"You just like... marked your territory or whatever," she said, rolling her eyes at the very idea, but a small smile pulled at her lips.

"So, what, you're mine now?"

"Oh, I, well... I thought..." she fumbled, shaking her head at her lack of explanations.

"Relax, sweetheart," I said, saving her from her misery. "Like I said last night, I'm in. You were the one who came in all anti-social this morning."

"That had nothing to do with you," she informed me, looking almost pained.

"Alice?"

"My mom needs to find some friends to talk to about sex, Brant. I can't take it. I can't," she said, looking horrified. "I thought I was a cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman. But when your mom starts talking about blowjobs, it makes you really, really want to stick your fingers in your ears and scream 'I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this' until she shuts up."

"Traumatized for life, huh?"

"He's coming over tonight. Did I mention that part? He's coming to dinner and then, ah, staying the night. Because apparently it's... serious. Do they still sell earplugs at the pharmacy? I think I might actually die if I have to listen to them doing it.''

I laughed at that, finding myself charmed by her embarrassment. "Tell you what, why don't you come to my place for dinner. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

5 " And stay the night if you want. My bed is on the other side of the house. You won't hear shit. And," I added, leaning forward slightly, watching as her pupils dilated when I was closer. She wanted me alright. "They won't hear anything either," I added with a smirk that made her cheeks heat up again. "You know," I added, wanting to see how red I could make a self-proclaimed 'cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman', "you could really get her back with a blowjob story of your own."

"Sh!" she said, looking around herself, all paranoid about being overheard. "And I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we haven't..." she said, waving a hand, eyes big.

"Well," I said, feeling my cock twitch at the very idea. "We will have to see what we can do about that, won't we?" I asked, watching her eyes get even more heated. Was there anything fucking hotter than a woman who got off on the idea of going down on you? Wasn't sure there was.

I watched as she took a breath, seeming to pull herself together, and gave me a saucy smile, her eyes wicked. "I don't know. Maybe. If you're lucky," she added, walking away.

I waited until she was about halfway across the room before I called to her. "I'll make dinner. You bring dessert. Something with some... whipped cream," I said, voice heavy with innuendo, loving watching the confident mask fall again as her eyes went big and she rushed out toward the back while a chorus of chuckles broke out across the space.

As she moved into the doorway toward the kitchen, she looked over at me, giving me a 'you're gonna pay for that' look.

Quite frankly, I was looking forward to it. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

6 " Rich, what are you doing here?" I asked, my gaze going over toward Brant, finding him watching and feeling almost guilty. Which was ridiculous because I hadn't invited Rich.

"Didn't have much of a choice after you blocked my calls and texts, Mads," he said, shaking his head.

"Didn't you maybe consider that was because I didn't want to talk to you?" I asked, lifting my chin slightly.

"The only possible explanation for that," he said, his charming boyish smile in place, "is because you have somehow forgotten how awesome I am. You can give me five minutes, can't you?"

"Because five years wasn't enough of my time to waste?" I asked, not caring how snippy that came off.

"I know I hurt you," he said, looking apologetic.

"Let's not romanticize it," I cut him off. "You proposed to me and then dumped me because your parents were going to stop paying your bills."

His head jerked back, likely not having expected that. "I fucked up," he admitted, shrugging. "I made the wrong choice."

"Yes, you did," I agreed, having no plans on sparing his feelings. He hadn't spared mine.

"Maddy, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Give me a chance here."

"A chance to what? Somehow try to make me think that dumping me and telling me to get my things out before you came home from work was not possibly the worst possible thing you could have done after I gave you five years of my life?"

"I was..."

"Insensitive and cold-hearted and money-hungry and a complete and utter asshole," I filled in for him.

"Maddy, I didn't even think..."

"That sentence was complete right there," I cut him off. "You didn't even think. Period. You didn't think about how much it would hurt me that you valued your money more than the life we had built together. You didn't think of the fact that I had nowhere to go but back to live with my mother. You didn't think that loving me and me loving you would be enough. You didn't think. And now what? You've finally given it some thought."

"I talked to my..."

He talked to his parents.

Ugh.

I had thought maybe he had grown a set and told them to take their money and shove it. Not that it would change anything, but it would have restored my faith in him being the decent person I had always thought he was.

"And what, Rich? Tried to convince them that I was good enough for them? I don't need their approval. And I don't want to be with a man who values their approval of the person you've chosen to be with so much that it changes your feelings for them."

"It never changed my feelings about you," Rich said, voice sad. And I did believe him. He had loved me. There was no way he had been faking that.

Again, the bitter truth was- he never loved me enough.

Now that I knew that, there was no forgetting it. And the fact of the matter was, I deserved to be loved enough.

"I don't want to be a decision, Rich. I want to be someone you love and are with because you can't not love and and you can't not be with me. Who you love isn't something you can flip-flop on. And I am thankful I found this out before I married you. Before we started a family. Before it could have begun to mean more than it already did.''

"What? You moved on already?" he asked, tone heavy with skepticism.

"Yes."

And I had.

Not just to another man who had the potential to really mean something to me. But to a version of myself that I had forgotten existed. To live somewhere that everyone cared for me. To be near my mother who I missed dearly. To do a job because I loved it, not because I was looking for adulation.

He couldn't factor into any of that.

And it was right about then that the door to the bakery opened and out walked Brant, holding his jacket and moving to slip it over my shoulders. "Figured you were cold," he offered, but his eyes also said: and maybe needed an escape.

He was right on both. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

7 " Once the warm jacket was on me, he moved to my side, slipping an arm possessively around my lower back, an action that certainly did not slip past Rich.

"Seriously?" he asked, looking a mix of hurt and almost... disgusted? "This is a thing..." he half-asked, half-declared, waving a hand at us.

"It's a thing," Brant said with a nod. "You fucked up and lost a good thing. I saw that good thing and scooped it up. And I'm not fucking it up. And you're not getting between. So I think that is all that needs to be said here."

Rich's head jerked back like Brant had struck him, but his jaw got tight and his chin lifted. "Knew you were a lot of things, Maddy," he said and I knew whatever was going to follow was out of hurt- hurt heart, hurt pride, but I honestly didn't think he had it in him to be so nasty. "But I didn't think you were a slut."

With that, he walked away, leaving me literally with my mouth hanging open.

"Five years with you and 'slut' is the best he could come up with?" Brant asked, shaking his head. Then his gaze moved to me, his fingers snagged my chin and tilted it up so he could catch my eyes. "You're not a slut, Maddy," he said, voice firm, brooking no room for argument. "I mean, I'm all for you getting slutty with me, but that doesn't mean you're a slut. He's just being a dick because you bruised his ego."

I knew that.

And I knew I wasn't a slut. Far from.

It was just startling hearing that accusation come from the lips of someone you thought you knew.

I gave Brant a slow and saucy smile, eyes going a little wicked. "Well, now that the drama is out of the way...I have an idea of how we can get good and slutty together later."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, smirking.

"Yeah, it involves pineapples."

And later, after we finished work, it did. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

8 " Is your name Google? Because you have everything I'm searching for. It's lucky I have a library card because I'm totally checking you out. Do you like raisons? How do you feel about a date? I know this seems like clickbait, but if you and me dated, you wouldn't believe what happens next! "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

9 " Tell me," he demanded as he pushed me further under the water so he could share it with me too. "Tell me what the look was about," he added so I couldn't use confusion as a stalling tactic again.

"It's nothing it's just..." I exhaled loud enough to call it a sigh as I shrugged a shoulder. "I'm... happy."

"Really?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Happy? That's what all the fuss is about? Pretty sure I wouldn't want you to be miserable around me, sweetheart."

"It's not that. It's..." I trailed off, uncomfortable. How do you tell someone that you had only known a couple weeks that being around them gave you a soul-deep kind of contentedness? I was pretty sure there was no way to say that without coming off as clingy or batshit crazy.

"I make you happy," he guessed, no inflection in his voice pointing at anything but understanding.

"I guess that's how I would put it."

"And that'd be a problem because," he prompted, reaching past me for a bar of soap and sudsing it up in his hands. When I didn't say anything, he reached out toward me and started soaping up my shoulders, breasts, belly. "Look Maddy, that's the point of being with someone, isn't it? To find some kind of happiness there?"

"Yeah, it just seems a little, I don't know... soon."

"Because of the break-up or just in general?"

That was a good question.

Maybe both.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked at my silence.

"Sure."

"We've known each other for weeks. Granted, the physical part of this is new, but we've talked about everything from food and TV to books and politics. How can this feel too soon?"

He had a point.

"I guess you're right," I admitted as his soapy hand moved lower.

"Good, now we got that shit out of the way," he said as his fingers slid between my thighs and up, working soapy circles over my clit until my hands had to slap down on his shoulders to stay upright.

So then he made sure I was thoroughly clean.

And then we went to bed and he made me dirty all over again.

I fell asleep thinking he was right; it wasn't too soon.

And while it was smart to be prudent, as Brant yanked me onto his chest and fell asleep with his hand in my hair because he had been absentmindedly stroking it when he passed out, I decided to remember that I couldn't let fear make me ration out my feelings.

I wasn't going to sabotage something that made me happy. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

10 " Why are you single? There isn't exactly a surplus of eligible men in town. The single women must be throwing themselves at you."

I realized that comment was a mistake pretty much the second after it was out of my mouth. Because his smile went wicked; his eyes danced. I knew exactly what was going to follow.

"Think I'm hot shit, huh?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, looking way too self-satisfied.

"I mean... by small town standards," I shrugged, hoping I was coming off as casual and collected plates to bring to the kitchen.

I had scraped the plate and was standing at the sink running water over it when I suddenly felt his entire body press up behind mine, making my hips push against the cabinet as my breath whooshed out of me.

I hadn't even heard him follow me in.

But there he was, touching me from feet to shoulder.

One of his hands moved out and settled on my hip, fingers pressing into the hipbone hollow as his other hand slid gently up my arm and brushed my hair from one side of my neck to the other.

Before I could guess his intention, I felt his lips press in to the column of my neck, making my entire body do a shiver at the unexpected contact that shot from the touch to directly between my legs.

My head tipped to the side, giving him more access as his mouth moved slowly upward, the hint of his tongue tracing over the skin he kissed as I shamelessly leaned back into him. His arm on my hip slid across my lower belly, anchoring me to him as his lips went around my earlobe, his tongue tracing the outer edge and ripping an almost pained moan from between my lips.

My skin felt electric, buzzy, humming, begging for more of the sensation.

But he wasn't in the mind to give it to me.

Instead, his lips left my skin entirely and I felt the side of his face press into my hair. When he spoke, his voice low and rumbling, causing another rush of desire so strong it was borderline painful; his breath was warm on my ear. "By small town standards, how wet are your panties right now? "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

11 " The thing was, I forgot that Valentine's Day when you were single was completely different from when you were in a relationship. If you were shacked up with someone and said you didn't celebrate, no biggie. But when you were single, you got the LOOK. And you got the comments about how you would find someone some day.

After about six hours of that, well, even I was starting to feel a deep sense of unhappiness crushing down on me. I literally felt weighted by it, like there was something trying to drag me down to the floor where I was expected to cry and bemoan my singledom like any respectable woman steadily heading past acceptable marriageable age. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

12 " All those songs I used to pretend to understand, all the angsty, heartbroken songs I had heard all my life, they suddenly made so much more sense.

"Well, then she probably needs a giant coffee, a huge box of your creations, and some time to nurse her feelings in private, don't you think?"

Brantley Dane, local hero, saves girl from sure death brought on by sheer mortification.

That'd be his headline.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said, moving behind me, casually touching my hip in the process, and going behind counter. "What's your poison? Judging by the situation, I am thinking something cold, mocha or caramel filled and absolutely towering with full fat whipped cream."

That was exactly what I wanted.

But, broken heart aside, I knew I couldn't let myself drown in sweets. Gaining twenty pounds wasn't going to help anything.

There was absolutely no enthusiasm in my voice when I said, "Ah, actually, can I have a large black coffee with one sugar please?"

"Not that I'm not turned on as all fuck by a woman who appreciates black coffee," he started, making me jerk back suddenly at the bluntness of that comment and the dose of profanity I wasn't accustomed to hearing in my sleepy hometown. "But if you're only one day into a break-up, you're allowed to have some full fat chocolate concoction to indulge a bit. I promise from here on out I won't make you anything even half as food-gasm-ing as this." He leaned across the counter, getting close enough that I could see golden flecks in his warm brown eyes. "Honey, not even if you beg," he added and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was absolutely some kind of sexually-charged edge to his words.

"Say yes," he added, lips tipping up at one corner.

"Alright, yes," I agreed, knowing I would love every last drop of whatever he made me and likely punish myself with an extra long run for it too.

"Good girl," he said as he turned away.

And there was not, was absolutely not some weird fluttering feeling in my belly at that. Nope. That would be completely insane.

"Okay, I got you one of everything!" my mother said, coming up beside me and pressing the box into my hands. She even tied it with her signature (and expensive, something I had tried to talk her out of many times over the years when she was struggling financially) satin bow.

I smiled at her, knowing that sometimes, there was nothing liked baked goods from your mother after a hard day. I was just lucky enough to have a mother who was a pastry chef.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, the words heavy. I wasn't just thanking her for the sweets, but for letting me come home, for not asking questions, for not making it seem like even the slightest inconvenience.

She gave me a smile that said she knew exactly what I meant. "You have nothing to thank me for."

She meant that too. Coming from a family that, when they found out she was knocked up as a teen, had kicked her out and disowned her, she made it clear all my life that she was always there, no matter what I did with my life, no matter how high I soared, or how low I crashed. Her arms, her heart, and her door were always open for me.

"Alright. A large mocha frappe with full fat milk, full fat whipped cream, and both a mocha and caramel drizzle. It's practically dessert masked as coffee," Brantley said, making my attention snap to where he was pushing what was an obnoxiously large frappe with whipped cream that was towering out of the dome that the pink and sage straw stuck out of. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he said, shaking his head as I reached for my wallet.

"Thank you," I smiled, and found that it was a genuine one as I reached for it and, in a move that was maybe not brilliant on my part, took a sip. And proceeded to let out an almost porn-star worthy groan of pure, delicious pleasure.

Judging by the way Brant's smile went a little wicked, his thoughts ran along the same lines as well. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

13 " This isn't coffee," I accused immediately as the rich smell of chocolate met my nose, making me almost want to groan. Okay, I totally wanted to groan. Just not in front of him. Fine, I absolutely wanted to groan in front of him. But in a private setting with his hands and mouth all over me.

"Figured you needed a pick-me-up."

"You told me you wouldn't give me something like this again. Not even if I begged," I reminded him.

"Well, it's made with water, not full-fat milk and there is only a tiny bit of whipped cream," he said, casual as could be. Which was why I took a sip as he leaned across the counter toward me, not thinking anything of it. Until he went ahead and added in a voice low enough that only the two of us could hear, "And the next time you beg me for something, Maddy, it's gonna be my cock."

I nearly choked to death.

And he just casually walked away, wiping the counter. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

14 " I put the water on scalding, and climbed inside. Then and only then did I finally, finally let it out.

There was the pain at first, just the raw, brutal sensation of love lost, of a future I had been planning on disintegrating, leaving me to have to rebuild a new one.

After that, oh yeah, that was when the bitter set in.

Five years.

Five freaking years and he dumped me because Mommy and Daddy didn't approve? What a pathetic, weak-willed, co-dependent excuse for a man. Any real man would have flipped them off, told them to take their money and shove it, and went home to the woman they loved and made plans.

And it was an awful, ugly thing to realize that I had been all-consumingly in love with a man who loved money more than he loved me.

On that thought and knowing to my soul that I was not going to be the type of woman who broke herself into pieces over a man who didn't deserve it, I wiped the tears away, I got redressed, I ate half my body weight in sweets... and I decided to move on with my life. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons

15 " It was right about then that a drink dropped down in front of me on the table, Brant sliding into the open chair to my side.

"You know I can't have..." I started, big-eying him so I didn't have to say it.

"Raspberry mocha shake with skim milk but full fat whipped cream," he explained, popping the little piece of paper topper off the straw. "Not a damn bit of actual coffee in it," he said, looking disgusted at the very prospect. "Oh, and here," he said, pulling my phone out of his pocket.

"You know, you can't pull the 'pregnancy' card every time your phone has an issue and you don't want to go to Verizon."

"True," I agreed, taking a long sip of the shake he made and closing my eyes on a sigh. "But I can for the next eight or so months," I concluded, giving him a saucy smile.

He chuckled at that, reaching for the piece of paper I had in front of me with the design for the macaron wedding cake.

"Macarons, huh?" he asked, looking excited.

It didn't matter how many different recipes I came up with, he never seemed to get sick of them.

"It's not too soon," he informed me, reading my thoughts as I looked down at the perfect princess cut ring.

"It hasn't even been a year," I had insisted, shaking my head.

"Sweetheart, I knew this was where we were heading that first time you moaned like a porn star over your break-up frappe."

I looked around my mother's and mine and Brant's little shop, feeling it down to my soul: peace.

Then I looked over at Brant, feeling it down to my bones: love.

And finally, to the plate at the center of the table where Brant and I reached toward simultaneously and grabbed one each: macarons.

It was all I would ever need. "

― Jessica Gadziala , Peace, Love, & Macarons