The Heartbreak Bakery

by A.R. Capetta

I bake her out of my body, I bake her out of my hands. I bake until my heart is an empty kitchen, ready to be filled with sugar and heat. Ready to get messed up all over again.

I know it’s a random Tuesday and we’re not really celebrating anything official, but it’s her favorite. That’s why I wanted to order it in the first place . . .” His enthusiasm trips over itself, his words stumbling to a stop. “Oh.” I want to be with a person who orders my favorite cake just because it’s Tuesday. That might be my new working definition of love.