Page 80 of Promise Me

Forcing all thoughts of Hudson aside, I give her my full attention.

“No, I’m not sure yet.”

“Do you want to come back?” she asks, and then she slaps a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, that was …”

“A logical question and one I don’t have an answer for. I really wish I did. I think it would help, maybe, I don’t know. I’m a mess.”

We step into the sugary wonderland, and I spot the glass display with all the baked goods Brooke has been preparing.

“Did you make all these?” I ask.

Her entire face lights up.

She nods. “Yes. The chocolate chip bar with coconut is new, but it’s so good. Do you want to try one?”

“Yes!” I take a seat at one of the tables.

Brooke moves around the bakery with ease, a pleased smile on her face the entire time. She takes her time taking the dessert out and putting it on a plate. It seems like nothing, a job anyone could do, but it’s not. Brooke woke up and wanted to be here. She wanted to bake. She wanted to make this specific treat, and the look on her face is nothing but pride.

She loves what she does.

I don’t love this the way she does. I loved watching my mom here. I loved being a part of her world.

That’s why I wanted to keep this place going. I wanted to be in her world for as long as I could.

The phone rings, so Brooke answers it. It’s cordless, so she walks my plate to me, winking as she sets it down, and then disappears into the back.

I glance around the store as tears sting my eyes.

For the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I don't feelas if I just lost her. My heart misses her every single day, but I also know that she’d be sitting across from me, making me drink milk with the brownie and telling me that I need to follow my own dream and not hers.

I suck in a breath, fan my eyes, and bite into sugary perfection.

“I’m going to take that groan as your approval,” Brooke says, walking back to the register.

“Oh, this is phenomenal. You should make these every week.”

“Really? You think?”

“I think, yes.”

She moves to sit across from me, and the smile on her lips fades. “Were you crying?”

I shake my head. “I was just thinking of my mom for a moment. I’m okay.”

She studies me and then nods as if she accepts my answer.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask and take another bite, one that is probably not ladylike.

It’s just so damn good.

“Oh”—she waves a hand in front of her face—“it’s nothing.”

But her shoulders sag, so I know it’s something more than she’s letting on.

“You can tell me.”

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