I wanted to—” I remember the anger burning in my chest, the quick roll of it down my shoulders. A burn in the palms of my hands. “I was still a deputy, and I figured punching the guy in the face wouldn’t be appropriate . . . so I waited. He left, and he left his cake too, and when I asked you what you were going to do with it, you sort of did this little shrug and looked at the pretty flowers on top like they were the worst thing you’d ever seen, and—” And it had broken my heart, a little bit, to watch her stand behind the counter and try not to cry. “So I bought the cake. And, Layla, it was
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