Page 10 of Walkoff Wedding

“Nope, no can do. Guess you’ll just have to stay up late to work on it. Not my problem. See ya.” The blue ring of light on Alexa glows, signaling Tad’s gone, and I grab the pillow and pull it over my face once more, only this time, I scream into it as loudly as I can.

It’s not at all surprising that Tad’s asking me to use my only day off to work on a last-minute order that he took because let’s just say that the apple… doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Those two deserve each other, and like always, I tell myself to hold it together. Be the bigger person. Ignore their snide remarks and shitty jabs because their cruel words are only a reflection of who they are.

That’s something my mom used to tell me when I was a little girl. That people’s actions are a reflection of who they are and not at all of who I am.

But some days, it’s easier said than done to heed her words, especially on days like today when I have to deal with Tad’s dismissive demands before I’ve even had any coffee.

Begrudgingly, I toss the covers off and head to my bathroom to shower, almost tripping over the pile of laundry that’s accumulated in the middle of the floor. Auggie opens one eye at the disturbance before he settles back to sleep in my bed.

Sundays are usually the days that I get everything done that I’ve had to neglect during the rest of the week, which is why I’m even more frustrated that I’m having to sacrifice my one and only day off. Between my classes and work, sometimes I feel like I never get a chance to breathe.

The stolen moments of quiet are few and far between. And I really love the quiet.

I pause in the middle of my room by the laundry, my eyes scanning the yellowed, cracked, and peeling paint of the walls to the worn and rickety furniture that is older than me.

My makeshift bedroom above the garage is… rustic at best. There are more things wrong with it than things not, but it’s also… my piece of solace away from the main house.

It’s home. It might not be much, but it’s mine. I spent most of my teens making it feel that way. Picking up pieces at garage sales and for super cheap while thrifting. Some of my best finds have been buried beneath what others would consider trash on the shelves.

Hues of burgundy, black, and emerald… warm, earthy browns decorate the walls in paintings, and shelves display decorative vases and vintage knickknacks. Pieces that make me feel happy and comfortable. Dark green plants with long, loopy leaves drape over my bookshelves, and bronzed candlestick holders sit on my mess of a desk, lighting the way for more nights than I care to say as I’ve sketched until I’ve fallen asleep on my sketchbook, only to wake up with smudges of charcoal on my cheeks and staining my fingers.

A smile tugs at my lips when my thoughts drift back to last night… and meeting Grant. An unexpected meet-cute that’s been lingering in my thoughts since I got home.

There’s a small part of me that wishes I could’ve given him my number when he asked, like a normal college girl my age who flirted with a boy at a party would.

Okay, a big part of me wishes that.

But the realistic part of me also knows that there are too many things that stand in the way.

The number one thing being that in less than three weeks, I’m going to be married to someone else. A guy who I can’t stand. A carbon copy of my entitled, snooty stepbrother, except that my “fiancé” looks at me with hungry, leering eyes like I’m a piece of meat at a market.

The weight on my shoulders feels heavier than ever as I turn the shower handle all the way to the left, as hot as it will go, and the old pipes groan and creak loudly at the sudden rush of pressure.

I’ve been meaning to ask Earl to take a look at it, but there’s been a hundred other things to worry about. I make a mental note to ask him today as I step under the steaming spray and try to push last night and Grant from my mind.

After my shower, I throw on a pair of old jeans and a work shirt before heading downstairs and through the gate outside my stepfather’s house to the side entrance of the bakery. I’ve always loved that this piece of my mom has been right next door and never out of reach.

Before I even open the door, I know that Amos is inside, creating magic from his fingertips. The scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wafts through the air, and my stomach rumbles in response as I push the door open and walk inside.

There aren’t very many constants in my world, but Amos Herveaux is one of them. I can hardly remember a time in my life when he hasn’t been here, and I can’t imagine a time when he won’t be. He’s been working at the bakery since I was a little girl.

“Well, good mornin’, cher. Sleep well?” His dark hazel eyes twinkle, and he smiles as he looks up at me from the pan in front of him. His long gray hair is pulled into his signature tight ponytail at his nape, the strands of his hair decorated with beads and ribbon that match the bracelets on his wrist. He’s the most eccentric, lively person I know, and sometimes I envy him for his ability to be who he is so effortlessly.

I always tease him for being the absolute opposite, in every way possible, of his husband, Earl.

Earl helps with maintenance around the house and bakery, and while Amos is a swirl of boisterous energy who never meets a stranger, Earl is quiet, stoic, and reserved.

Amos is a practicing Wiccan and never leaves home without his crystals or his tarot deck. And Earl? Raised a devout Catholic who still buys a newspaper on Sunday and believes that we never actually made it to the moon.

They’re living proof that no matter how different you can be from someone, loving each other is all that really matters in the end.

“Good morning,” I say, walking over to the counter and reaching for my favorite coffee mug on the shelf above it. The pot next to it is still steaming, and I could cry with how badly I need the caffeine after the late night and early morning. “You have no idea how bad I needed this.”

He laughs and lifts a finger, telling me to pause before turning to the other side of the kitchen and returning with a strawberry cream cheese croissant, my absolute favorite thing he makes.

“The universe told me you needed one this morning, cher, so I woke up a little early and made you a fresh batch.”

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