Page 151 of Craving Consequences

Green eyes turn back in the direction we’d come from. “That’s those snooty looking ladies, right?”

I burst out laughing. “Dolores Winslow and her posse, yes.”

She hums and wrinkles her nose, bunching up the constellation of freckles littering the fine arch. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that.” She shoots me a lopsided smirk. “Thanks for your help.”

Without waiting for a response, Daisy strolls back in the direction of the bakery. Her wild riot bounces down her back in shiny, black ringlets.

Interesting,I think as I head around to the driver’s side door.

I drop inside and reach across into the passenger’s side for my purse. I drag it into my lap. From the depths, I fish out my phone and charger cable. The damn thing is dead, and I need it before I’m deep in the woods without service. I plug it into the car outlet, drop the phone itself into the cup holder and pull into the light, early morning traffic.

My conversation with Daisy is already a distant memory as I mentally calculate my next stop. Holland’s is closest. I can grab the groceries before heading to May’s. But there is one other stop I need to make. The final step in my plan. I was going to hold off until after the party, but after last night, after feeling that deep, gnawing loss of watching Lachlan and Van leave for the night, it dawned on me that I was letting this spiral.

Yes, I’ve always felt that connection with them. Yes, I always felt sad leaving them. But it’s getting harder. Every time I’m with them and have to watch them walk away, the weight crushes me a little more each time. If I spend another day with them, another night, I may never follow through with the final step.

Fisting the wheel a little harder, I turn down Huron Street and bypass Holland’s.

It’s too early for Teddy to be at work. I feel bad ambushing him at his apartment but time is a luxury I don’tcurrently have. Plus, a small, stupid part of me can’t be trusted not to abandon the plan. Already it’s thinking of all the ways I can make this work.

But I can’t.

I know I can’t. I’m too realistic and methodical to be so lazy.

Still, I park at the very back corner, tucked away behind a sea of shiny metal. I’m briefly relieved that Lauren’s apartment faces the front side of the building and, without a car, she never takes the backdoor to the parking lot.

I will eventually talk to her. I have no choice. I have an entire party planned for her tomorrow. It would be impossible not to. But not yet. I have a small bakery in my trunk that will not allow for that conversation.

I tell myself as I yank open the door leading up the back stairs.

Teddy is on the floor right beneath Lauren’s. It makes avoiding her easy as I cross the worn carpet to his door and knock.

It opens almost immediately. The man on the threshold is topless with a pair ofScooby Doopajamas bottoms slung low —low!— on his hips.

I wasn’t surprised by his physique in high school. Teddy was captain of the basketball team. He taught swimming classes for kids. Was pretty active.

But as a fully grown adult who sits behind a desk most of the day, he’s built. Lean and muscular with a wavy chaos of hair falling over eyes he’s quickly covering with his glasses.

Jesus.

“Everly, hi.” He gives me a sheepish grin and scrambles back. “Come in. I was just starting a pot of coffee.”

I am very aware that this would not look good if anyone caught me coming out of Teddy’s apartment this early in the morning with him dressed like that, but there really isn’t another option.

I follow him in.

He shuts the door and practically sprints down the hall, yelling, “Kitchen is in the first doorway.”

All the apartments are the same. This one is the mirror of Lauren’s , except meticulously clean. Lauren has clothes and hair product all over the place like she’d just moved in and is still unpacking.

It’s been three years.

Teddy returns from the first door built into the far wall with a forest green top pulled down over his torso. His big hands ruffle back through his dark strands in some attempt at control.

“Sorry about that,” he says, cheeks an endearing shade of pink. “I thought it might be ... someone else.”

I wave his apology aside. “I’m the one who showed up unannounced like some crazy person.”

He chuckles weakly and hurries to the kitchen where the coffee machine has started singing the song of life. The potent scent of freshly brewed dark roast tickles my nose, reminding me I forgot my muffin back at Maisie’s .

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