Page 117 of Every Good Thing
In the second appointment with Dr. Reese since he left, he admitted to enjoying his independence. He claims it’s curing his indecisiveness.
I told him it was selfish—a word I wanted to rescind as soon as I said it. But how could I not feel angry and hurt?
Ben’s making me feel like we’re a lost cause. And it’s killing me.
Staying busy is the only choice. But his being here, mixing in with the only thing besides Ruthie that’s kept me going, blurs the lines he’s established, making me nervous.
Worse, everyone sees it.
After an unbearable pause, Trisha says, “Lena has mastered our new software!”
She claps, and the group joins in, snapping me out of my dysfunction.
I chuckle with a weak bow. “I’ve started calling it my bitch—that’s how well I’ve mastered it. Our records are now dancing around in the cloud and have shared some surprising insights into Saddletree…”
I clear my throat, glancing at my notes and finding a weak footing in my mental fog. “Um, first, Saddletree’s profits could be much better if I pared down my menu to my top sellers and seasonal favorites. I’ve provided a new sample menu for when we reopen—”
“When are we reopening?” Mr. Wickers asks.
“December first. The studio will make its grand exit by Halloween—”
Mild applause.
“And I’m hoping for an amazing Thanksgiving. Lucas, Drew, and Luna might fly in—we’re in talks. Ben’s family, um, maybe.” My eyes catch his, only for a second, lest I fall apart. “Anyway, December first.”
Ruthie spills from the sliding glass doors of our bedroom, barely managing her teapot full of lemonade. She starts doing her rounds, making me smile. She had her first sleepover with Ben at Becca’s house last night.
The house felt so quiet I wanted to scream. And I did, a little.
“Wow, this menu is short and bakery-forward,” Tessa points out, glancing up from her iPad.
“We’re focusing on what we’re best at—baking. I’m cutting out most soups, all casseroles, and half the sandwiches. We’ll stick with typical café fare and picnic foods, but I want to concentrate on special orders again.”
“Wait, where are the bran muffins?” Mr. Wickers eyes the screen over Trisha’s shoulder.
My nose scrunches. “Sorry, Mr. Wickers. Bran muffins didn’t make the cut.”
“No one likes those muffins, Gus.” Trisha taps his knee to soften the blow. “Lena, I love this menu.”
With a smiling nod, I glance at my guests and nearly choke when I remember the woman beside Alice. “Oh, damn. Sorry, everyone. Where’re my manners?”
I motion toward her. “Alice brought a friend today. This is Marnie Strange.”
The gorgeous, petite redhead stands and offers a bubbly wave. “Hello, everyone!”
“We’re in talks to feature Saddletree’s baked goods at her grocery store.”
“Well, not my grocery store. But yes, we’d love showcasing Lena’s treats. Thanks for including me today,” Marnie says. “It’s fascinating, like joining Mr. Wonka to tour his chocolate factory. I can’t wait to work with you… and please, don’t let me interrupt any further.”
When Alice introduced us earlier, I sized her up immediately. She’s a yes-person. No excuses. No complaints.
Just yes.
Yoga at dawn?
Yes.
Round up for charity?
