Page 59 of Back to You
Anna propped herself up on one elbow, eyes gleaming. “Okay, but enough about us—what about you, Analyse?”
Analyse made a face. “What about me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Any new confessions you’d like to share?”
Her expression stayed carefully neutral, but the slight flicker of her gaze didn’t go unnoticed. “Nope.”
Anna narrowed her eyes. “Not even a tiny little crush?”
Analyse smirked, reaching for the empty bottle as if contemplating whether she could squeeze another drop out of it. “Wait, did I miss the memo? Why are we even talking about me? I thought tonight was theMariana’s Love Lifespecial.”
“Oh, that means yes,” Anna said triumphantly.
“I hate you both,” Analyse muttered, but the way she bit back a smile only made me more certain.
I stretched my legs out, feigning casual. “You and Mateo have been spending a lot of time together…”
Analyse groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “Oh my God. Not this.”
Anna’s eyes widened with delight. “Mateo?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Nowthatwould be interesting.”
Analyse exhaled sharply, grabbing a couch pillow and shoving it over her face. “I hate you bothsomuch.”
Anna patted her knee. “That’s fair. But we love you.”
Silence settled over us for a beat, and eventually, Analyse stretched, yawning as she nudged Anna’s leg with her foot. “Alright, we should probably call it. Some of us have responsible things to do tomorrow.”
Anna groaned, rolling onto her stomach. “Ugh. Reality.”
Analyse rubbed a hand over her face. “Yep. And it’s coming for us in about six hours.”
I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Okay, but tell me this wasn’t exactly what we needed.”
Anna hummed in response, her wine glass balanced on her stomach, eyes half-closed.
It had been a damn good night—wine, laughter, my girls, and just the right touch of chaos.
CHAPTER 24
Mariana
The smell of fresh paint still clung to the air, mixing with the scent of vanilla and sugar from a test batch of pastries I’d baked earlier. The Rolling Pin was nearly ready. I stood in the center of the bakery, hands on my hips, surveying everything I had poured my heart and soul into over the last several months.
The new glass cases gleamed, the walls were painted a soft alabaster, and the little wooden sign above the register proudly bore the name of the shop, with a small Puerto Rican flag in the corner. Everything was perfect, exactly how I wanted it to be.
I should have been feeling excited, but for some reason, something gnawed at me. The room felt off. It felt too quiet, too empty. I exhaled, shaking the feeling off, and grabbed a cloth to wipe down the countertops for what had to be the tenth time tonight.
I’d already deep-cleaned the place, but the nervous energy buzzing under my skin wouldn’t allow me to sit still. So here I was, cleaning and re-cleaning, knowing full well I’d pay for it later.
The exhaustion would hit me in a few hours—my joints aching, my body heavy—but stopping felt impossible. Between the stress and the anticipation, rest wasn’t an option.
I should be celebrating; the grand opening is just days away. After months of renovations, planning, and second-guessing my every decision, The Rolling Pin was about to become mine in every way. I wanted this so badly.
When I went to Ruth and asked for this place, I hadn’t thought that she’d actually give it to me. But damn, I would have been heartbroken if she hadn’t. I should be ecstatic right now.
This was my fresh start. This was supposed to be my proof that I could do something on my own. So why did it feel like something was slipping through my fingers?
I turned to the display case and began adjusting the decorative tray, lining them up, stepping back to examine my work, and then lining them up again.
