Page 102 of Single-Minded
“I don’t even know what I’d pick. All your flavors are incredible, Glenda.” I stacked more travel mugs in their spot.
Glenda laughed. “I never dreamed I’d find such a good fit for my baking addiction. I’m so happy you did this, Presley. This town needed it. I needed it.”
“One more hour,” Magnolia said from the other side of the counter. Though she wasn’t an employee, she’d been here all day, overseeing the grand-opening pieces of it as well as manning The Bean Counter’s social media. “I sent out a ‘last chance for the raffles and free mugs’ message a few minutes ago, so we’ll probably see one more stream.”
I went around the counter and gave her a big side hug, one of several today because I was so happy. “You’re amazing, and I owe you so many favors it isn’t funny. I hope you’re keeping a tally.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” she said. “This is publicity for my business too.” She gestured to the Moments by Magnolia brochures and business cards next to the raffles. There weren’t many left.
“It feels like the entire town has been through here today,” Hadley said.
“Plus half of Runner,” Magnolia added.
Judging by the coffee we’d gone through, I could safely say we’d sold several hundred servings. I’d met so many people my head was swimming with names.
The one person you wanted to see most didn’t show.
I’d had no reason to think he would, but it hadn’t prevented me from wanting to lay eyes on West anyway. I hadn’t seen him since that Sunday I’d been so cold to him. I knew he’d taken the girls on their trip last week, but I was surprised we hadn’t run into each other.
I noticed the napkin dispenser was empty, so I headed to the storage room to grab another sleeve. I went through the kitchen, noting it was in a lovely state of disarray that spoke to how busy we’d been for the past eight hours. We’d likely be here for a couple more hours, putting the place back together, but I wasn’t complaining.
Flipping the light on in the storage room, I skimmed the labels on the shipping boxes, trying to remember where the napkins were. Once I located them, I grabbed two sleeves. When I turned back around, I startled at the sight of West standing in the storage-room doorway, holding a large vase of flowers, his eyes locked on me, looking so familiar and gorgeous and…unsure.
“Oh,” I said, pressing my free hand to my chest. “West. Hi.”
“Hi, Presley. These are for you.” He held the vase out.
I stepped closer, set the napkin sleeves down, and took the vase. “Thank you.” My heart hammered, and I reeled, trying not to drink in the sight of him like a girl who was dying of thirst. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’re masquerading as grand-opening flowers.”
“Masquerading?” I sniffed the bouquet, more as something to do than because I wanted to smell the flowers. I wasn’t thinking straight, too busy trying to figure out why he was here. Was it just to deliver flowers to a shop he’d built out?
“To everyone else, they look appropriate for a grand-opening gift,” he said, stepping farther into the room, out of view of anyone in the front room or kitchen. “But they’re actually to say I’m sorry.”
My gaze popped up to meet his as my heart sped off in yet another direction like a runaway horse.
West swallowed as he peered down at me, those green eyes so intent. “I’m sorry, Presley. I ran scared.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I hurt you.”
“I’m doing okay, West.” I frowned, utterly confused. “I’m not angry anymore.”
“I tried to tell myself I did the right thing. That I’d get over it.” He shook his head and chuckled quietly. “I was fooling myself. Protecting myself. I used my children as an excuse, but the truth is, you make me feel so much. It scared the hell out of me. Because getting more deeply involved with you would be different than the two women who broke my babies’ hearts. With you, my heart is in danger too.”
He took the vase back and set it on a nearby shelf, which left nothing between us and made me fidgety.
He held out his hands, palms up, like an invitation. I hesitated for several seconds, looked from his strong hands up to the sincere expression on his handsome face, then slowly pressed my palms against his. He grasped them, then wove our fingers together.
“I’ve been a miserable bastard for three weeks,” he continued. “Just ask my daughters or my coworkers or even my mom. Because I screwed up astronomically with you.”
“What are you trying to say, West?”
“I’m in love with you, Presley. Crazy in love. Stupid in love. I want to be with you. I want to make us work. I told my daughters I had feelings for you, and I wanted to date you, like for real date. In public. Not in secret.”
I stood there, staring up at him, my mind staggering to catch up, to understand, to believe. “You love me?” A smile was beginning to tug at my lips.
