Page 117 of My Merry Mistake
Her expression shifts. “Because he’s in love with you, sweetheart.”
Her words land. It’s like what she just said lifted a veil, or cleared my vision.
And for the first time, I don’t argue. Not because I believe her, but because . . . what if he is?
I don’t even know how to feel about that.
I think about the other things she said too—about not earning my place. About letting myself rest. About wanting a break.
I want to believe her. The truth is, Iamtired.
And it would be nice if someone took care of things for a while.
It dawns on me that’s kind of why I tried collecting resumes in the first place. To share the load. To take the pressure off. To take my one and plus it.
So far, everything romantic for me has been a negative.
I don’t actuallywantto be alone. I’m okay admitting that now.
But I also don’t want to get my heart broken again, so where does that leave me?
The door flings open, and my sisters burst in. “Finn’s cake isamazing.” Eloise is carrying a plate with a giant slab of the wonky cake on it. “Raya, you have to try it!”
My eyes drift over to my mom, and I can practically hear her daring me to eat the cake.
Eloise holds the fork out to me.
“That is a huge bite,” I say. “You know not everyone eats like you do.”
“I know,” she says. “But everyone should.”
I laugh, shovel the bite into my mouth, and . . . it’s good. I cautiously step over that mental line that’s been holding me back for so long.
And I enjoy this moment.
There’s a tiny twinge challenging me to think about some things differently.
Maybe that starts with a big bite of cake.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Raya
Normally, I would be announcing to everyone that I’m here against my will.
But my mom’s words are still ringing in my ears, so contrary to tradition, I’m going to try and enjoy things.
We’ll see howthatgoes. I’m bucking twenty years of crankiness here.
My family is cozied up on my parents’ front porch, drinking hot drinks, and acting like they have nothing to do but be here.
Which, I suppose, is exactly what they should do today, since everyone cleared their schedules to keep our Hart family Saturday-after-Thanksgiving tradition alive.
Mom fills a mug with hot cider from the carafe she’s brought out onto the porch, and hands it to me with a gentle pat. “Just try and go with the flow today, okay?”
Behind me, Eloise laughs.
I shoot her a look, and she widens her eyes.
