Page 34 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

Hello, lover.

Ha! I think that's going to have to be my new nickname for you. Lover. Lovah. I'm going to introduce you to everyone that way.

*GIF of Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch in hot tub*

"Hello, have you met my lovah, Rusty?"

"Hi there, I'm Ash, and this is Rusty. He likes classic rock, long walks on the beach, and being my lovah."

Okay, that may be too much.

Hello? Is this thing on?

I make a strangled noise, and Patty gives me a look. I show him my phone.

"Whoa,” he laughs. “Whether she likes you or not, that girl has no idea the effect she has on you."

"You don't say." That's as much lightness as I can spare, because even though Pat is going back to shaping dough like it's art, I want to punch it again.

If she can't love me, I wish this torment would end. It would be so much easier if I didn't love her.

I hear the lie as soon as I think it.

After my sister, Shelby, died, I would sit at the cemetery and cry and wish the agony of missing her would stop. And one day, Tag Carville found me while he was at the cemetery. He was taking flowers to the graves of his wife, son, and daughter-in-law.

Tag stood behind me—a stoic, gentle mountain of a man—and simply stayed there while I cried. My heart had been torn to shreds, but he didn't try to hold the pieces together. He let me fall apart. After … I don't know how long, I dashed my tears away.

"I just want the pain to stop."

Tag patted my back. "I thought the same thing once."

"What do you mean 'once’? You don't want the pain to stop anymore?"

"No. Grief is a beautiful thing, son. It's a sign that you had someone in your life who mattered that much to you."

"Why can't that person matter without the pain?"

"If you take away the pain of grief, you take away the love from life. You can't have loss without love."

It took me a long time to understand what he meant. I know now, even if I hate it sometimes.

If my love for Ash disappeared, the pain would go with it, but so would the joy. It is a privilege to love that woman, close or far.

I stare at the loaves, wishing a heart could be shaped as easily as dough.

"I don't think learning to cook is helping like I wanted it to." I lean back against one of the kitchen counters.

"Sure it is. You didn't expect cooking to take away your heartache. It’s part of your quest to never be like Arlo. Right?"

Of course he's right. Patty's always right. Arlo would demand dinner at five and not show till midnight, screaming about how his food was cold. He’d vomit all over the carpet and then complain about the smell. He’d throw a plate at the wall and blame my mom when he got cut. Years ago, I promised myself if I ever got married, I would never let my expectations or temper become a curse for my family.

I give Pat a hard look. “You ain’t wrong.”

He snorts. "You don't come to me for hand-holding."

I dip my hand in the flour and flick it at his face. The white powder splats against his cheek, and he sniffs right as Sean comes in. A few members of the kitchen staff follow behind him.

Sean looks from his brother to me. "I see bread making's going well."

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