Page 63 of Townshipped
“I know. And I love you too,” I told him, looking across the table and asking myself what was wrong with me. And I did love Buck, but the love I felt for him was one I’d feel for a good friend—someone I admired, but not someone I wanted to call my husband. We both deserved better.
I broke off the engagement. And before Buck left, he made a joke about hugging me. He hated hugging, snuggling, or any form of prolonged touching. My hands had been shaking as I walked back to my car, and then I immediately called Gabriela. She helped me regain my bearings.
And then … I don’t remember anything else of this scene or what came before or after it. But I know one thing.
I’m not engaged to Buck.
I’m single.
Unattached.
No husband. No fiancé. No boyfriend.
Available.
I pick up my croissant and smile.
* * *
Jayme and Shannonbring me home to the farm, and I spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up laundry. I set the basket of folded clothes on Aiden’s bed and retreat downstairs so quickly I nearly trip over Granger at the bottom of the steps.
I try to read, but I’m antsy, so I decide to bake.
Natalia used to bake mantecaditos. The recipe comes back to me surprisingly quickly. I hunt through Aiden’s cabinets for all the ingredients and utensils I need.
As I roll out the dough and press indentations into each circle of the sweet cookies, I remember Gabriela standing next to me on twin step stools, pressing our little thumbs into each cookie and then putting a dollop of jam in before Natalia would lift the tray and slide it into the oven.
Bomba music fills the kitchen while I wash the dishes. The timer rings and I bend to pull out the tray of baked cookies, my hips swaying and my lips vibrating from humming along to the tune.
I’m so swept into the experience I don’t hear the truck pull up the driveway. I don’t notice when the back door opens. I don’t see him approaching. I’m only aware when he’s standing right behind me.
I turn, face him, and scream.
“You scared the life out of me!” I shout.
“And I may be deaf in one ear,” he says with a warm smile. “Sorry. I didn’t know you wouldn’t hear me.” He looks around and then back at me. “A man could definitely get used to coming home to this.”
“This?”
“The smell, you dancing, these cookies …”
He steps closer. Our eyes lock.
“Want a sample?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm,” he says with more gravel in his throat than should be allowed. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the cookie or me.
I hold a mantecadito up so it hovers between us. Aiden tilts his head down and then wraps his mouth around the cookie, his lips grazing the tips of my fingers as he closes to take a bite. I feel the piece snap off into his mouth and then the vibration of the hum he makes carries through my hand and up my arm.
He stands to his full height and looks down at me. “Those are delicious. Where did you find the recipe?”
I tap my forehead.
We exchange glances. His eyes say,You’ve obviously got a lot to tell me.
My wordless response says,You have no idea.
Aiden lightly grasps my wrist and brings the rest of the cookie to his mouth. His tongue darts out to retrieve a crumb off my fingertip and I feel the touch ripple through me.
