Page 58 of Not Your Valentine
Chapter 19
I wasn’t lying to my friends: I do have a plan. In my mind, it was obvious what I should do. So, after everyone left, I drove around to pick up supplies, but I figured I’d wait until Sunday to do the work.
And now it’s Sunday morning—actually, it’s already Sunday afternoon—and I’ve realized I can’t bake.
I only cringed a little when I handed over my credit card for a heart-shaped springform pan. Yes, I bought a heart-shaped pan. That’s how much I care for Taylor.
But I’m cringing even more as I poke the chocolate cake. What did I do wrong? Why is it overbaked? Is my kitchen covered in flour for nothing? It honestly looks like a hurricane came through here. I have no idea how I managed to make such a mess.
I take one step toward the fridge and trip over a bag of discount Valentine’s decorations—I got a good deal because Valentine’s Day has passed. When I fall, my knee hits the tiles funny, and so I stay on the floor for a few seconds.
Get it together, Helen.
Ugh. Maybe I need a new plan. Maybe I should—
My phone rings, and I startle. I pull myself up from the floor and grab the phone off the table, hoping I didn’t go through all this effort just for some Service Canada scam.
“Hey,” Taylor says. “Are you home?”
“Yes.” I’m impressed with myself for managing that monosyllable.
“Could you buzz me up?”
I let him in, and then I do my best to clean up my apartment, but a few minutes is not enough to fix it all, especially when my mind is full of questions, making it hard to focus.
It’s not like him to show up unannounced. This must mean something good, right?
Or has something bad happened?
When there’s a light knock on my door, I immediately open it up.
Taylor is carrying a white box, and he looks…not quite like himself. Not to say that he isn’t beautiful, but his face is pinched and drawn, and I suspect he hasn’t slept well lately.
“What’s wrong?” We both say it at exactly the same time.
He doesn’t answer but gestures to my apartment.
“Just a minor kitchen disaster, that’s all.” I try to force some cheer into my voice.
This isn’t what I expected to happen. I was supposed to drive to his apartment, where I’d present him with a beautiful heart-shaped chocolate cake with pink and white frosting. (But no sprinkles. I’m not a monster.)
Instead, he’s at my place, and I don’t have an (edible) cake for him.
And he isn’t speaking.
I say the words in a rush before I lose my nerve. “I want you except I was too scared to tell you because you might not return my feelings but I’m finally ready to do it and will you be my real boyfriend?”
It takes a few seconds for him to comprehend my meaning.
“Your…real boyfriend,” he says slowly.
“Yes, but since we’re friends, I was afraid it would screw that up. Plus, the idea of being turned down, it reminded me of what happened the last time I was rejected. I’m not normally so scared of rejection, but after that incident, I started feeling like I couldn’t be loved romantically. If you’d turned me down, it would have felt like confirmation and—”
“Oh, Helen.”
“Besides, I was convinced you didn’t feel the same way, but some friends helped me realize I could be wrong about that. I decided I had to say something, so I could know for sure.” I twist my hands in front of me. I’m not used to making speeches like this.
“Is that why you asked to fake date me? Because you liked me and wanted something real, but that was too scary?”
