Page 116 of Make Mine Sweet
Maybe I could have figured out a way to do the kinds of rigorous guides I used to do. Invested in specialty prosthetics and foot attachments, made modifications to my trips. But those aren’t options now that I know what I’d be missing out on here.
Everything.
“I submitted an online application to Backcountry EMT.” It wouldn’t be so bad if the next phase of my life is more about helping other people than helping myself.
His grin is an obnoxious thing to behold. “I should have been a salesman. Look at me go.”
“You’re going to give yourself a gloating injury.”
He holds his beer bottle out. “Did we just become best friends?”
It’s a little much. But I’ve missed this, no matter how exhausting or obnoxious.
“Best friends,” I confirm.
His attention fixes on something past my shoulder. “Hey. Want to meet Leo Dalesandro?”
“The football player?” Should probably tack onformerfootball player to that, after his brutal injury last season and retirement announcement.
“He’s over there with Shepherd Callahan.”
“Do you know Leo?”
“Nah.” Nathan grins. “But I know Shepherd, and that’s close enough. Should we go say hello?”
My attempt to make a friendly gesture has turned into more introductions than I ever expected. But hey. Might as well keep on trying.
“Why not?”
THIRTY-NINE
TESS
I cannot take allthe side-eye today. Mom and Wren need to keep their eyeballs to themselves and knock it off with the weird looks. I’m fine.
I’m just…shaken. Anyone would be after a man tells her she’s histrue north.
I was so stunned last night, I just stood in my doorway, staring like a fish. Ian said goodnight and walked away, and it still took me a full minute to come to my senses.
August asking where the plates are helped break the spell. Kids are fun like that.
I can’t stop hearing Ian telling me he found his true north, and it’s made me wobbly. I’ll be boxing up a pie and those words will tumble around in my brain, and my fingers get too shaky to close up the tabs. I keep mis-keying in customers’ totals. My piping work this morning was far from the best. I’m distracted.
They’ve noticed.
“Wren,” Mom says. “Why don’t you close up early?”
We stare at her. Blackbird’s Bakery is closed one day a week and major holidays, and that’s it. We only closed early a couple of times when August had to go to the hospital years ago. I check my phone as if maybe she’s having some kind of freaky premonition, but his numbers are just fine.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Calm. Normal. The shaky hands mean nothing.
“Come sit down.” She takes a seat at one of our rarely-used tables. “I want to talk to you girls.”
Wren does as she’s asked and locks the front door, spinning the sign in the window toClosed. Somebody could theoretically walk over from Hope’s shop, but I guess we’ll deal with that if it happens.
We sit across from her, exchanging glances as though we’re trying to figure out which one of us is in trouble. I already know it’s me. I went from walking around like a Barbie doll the last few days, with dead eyes and a plastic smile, to fumbling over my own hands. I haven’t been lectured about my job performance since high school, but I probably deserve it today.
“I want to tell you both that I’m seeing someone.” Mom’s a little too stiff, like she doesn’t know how to approach this personal revelation. In typical Mom fashion, she opted to tackle it straight on.
