Page 125 of Romancing His Heart
What about the mess that is my life?Who caused it?Me, my parents, my ex. Walking into the kitchen, I pile the dishes into the dishwasher and run hot, soapy water to clean the pans as I contemplate my issues.
Why do I run? Because I don’t want to get hurt. Is that normal behavior? No, I know it’s not. Look at Emory and Lanie. They opened themselves up; they took a chance on love, and I’ve never seen happier people.
“You can’t control other people. You can only control yourself and how you react to them.”Emory’s words from my childhood pop into my head, and it takes me a minute to realize why they’re important.
I can’t control what my parents did. I can’t control what Jackson did. I can’t even control what Loki will do when I go see him.When I go see him?It seems like my heart knows what I want. I just need my head to catch up.
Standing here, washing dishes, I realize those things that have hurt me are out of my control. But, I can decide how they affect me going forward. I don’t have to give them the power. The power, the decisions, they’re all mine to make.
“So, what do you want, Sloane?” I glance around the room as if an answer will suddenly appear. When my gaze drifts to the giant bag of flour on the table, I sigh. I know what I want. The question is, am I strong enough to go after him?
To buy more time, I make a deal with myself. I’ll try this fucking coffee cake recipe one more time. When it fails, I’ll sit down and make a pros and cons list. That seems very adult-like, right? Pros for all the reasons I should give love a chance. Cons for all the ways it could go wrong. It’ll help, I’m sure it will. But first, I bake.
Taking out all the ingredients, I press play on my phone. Immediately, music blasts through the surround sound that Preston had installed. Geez, Emory really hit the jackpot with that man. Not because he’s rich as fuck, but because he’s thoughtful. Come to think of it? We’re all lucky to have him.
The Chainsmokers come on, and I turn up the volume. It’s a song I’ve never heard before, but the words suck me in. Checking my phone, I see it’s called “Family”.
How apt. My family. The song ends, and I scramble to replay it. The song touches me so profoundly that tears mix into the coffee cake batter by my fourth listen. Finally, I have to pause to wipe my eyes because I can’t see the recipe.
I want a lifeline, a family—I want what Emory has. What I need is Loki. The realization has a calming effect, and it freaks me out a little. When in my life have I ever known with such certainty what I wanted?
“Okay, Sloane. It’s time to put on your big girl panties. If this cake comes out edible, I’ll go to Loki, no questions asked. If it’s a steaming pile of shit, I’ll make my lists.” I pat myself on the back for good luck and place the pan into the oven.
Thirty-five minutes later, I’m sitting at the table staring uneasily at a beautiful, perfectly baked coffee cake. Hesitantly, I taste it with a napkin in hand, ready to spit the offending sweet out.
“What the hell?” I mumble over another bite. I’m shoveling it into my mouth at an alarming rate. “This can’t be right?” Crumbs fly from my mouth, but in my utter shock, I don’t give a shit.
“Okay, this was a fluke. Obviously.” The freaking cake is amazing.What in the actual hell?
I sit, staring at it for a long time.Big girl panties, Sloane. Right. Big girl panties, but I can’t seriously base my potential relationship on a baked good, can I? No, that’s ridiculous. One good cake is not an indication of anything; I need to make more.
Grabbing my mixing bowl, I start all over. I can’t help eyeing the cake on the counter suspiciously. Like, what the fuck did you do?
Ugh, I’m losing my mind.
New deal. If this cake turns out like that last, I’ll tell Loki I love him. Holy fuck. I love him.Focus, Sloane. If I can bake this cake again, I’ll go to Loki. If it turns out like my other three hundred, I’ll make my lists.
* * *
Oh my God.I did it. Sitting in front of me are five perfectly baked coffee cakes. Five! Loki knew I’d get it all along. I smile at my creations, and now I’m ready to get my man.
Chapter 41
Sloane
The funny thing about my father’s house is the garage. There are bay doors on both the front and the back of it. My sisters told me that when he could hold down a job, he would restore old cars in there, so having the easy in and out access was useful.
Thanks, dear old dad. Today, I’m counting on my babysitters not knowing that tidbit of information. The last thing I need is an audience. If Loki turns me down, I want to hide my face and cry, not face a bunch of strangers who know my shame. I’ve rarely left the house, and when I did, I walked, so hopefully, I can sneak out.
Loading all five of my coffee cakes into my father’s ancient jalopy, I pray that it even starts. I have a plan to get myself to Waverley-Cay, but if the car doesn’t run, I’m shit out of luck. With my foot on the brake, I turn the key in the ignition. The old Chevy spits and sputters a few times before turning over and finally catching.
“Yes.” An unreasonable amount of pride escapes in a very unladylike display, but I have bigger things to worry about. After I press the receiver, the garage’s back door slowly slides open with a creak and a squeal.Jesus, doesn’t this thing know I’m trying to run away?A laugh escapes at my thoughts. For once, I’m not actually running away. I’m running full speed ahead and hoping Loki will catch me. That’s a fucking terrifying thought, and I let off the gas for half a second.
“Nope, not today, Sloane. You’re going after what you want, and nothing is going to stop you.” Pep talk complete, I slide the boat of a car out of the garage and down the back drive that no one has used in years.
When I hit the pavement, I check my rearview mirror and am relieved to see nothing but darkness. With the giddiness of a teenager sneaking off to a bonfire party, I settle in for my three-hour drive.
With each passing mile, the anticipation turns to anxiety. My palms are sweaty, and the butterflies that started in my stomach have turned to a hive of angry bees fighting to find an exit. By the time I roll into Waverley-Cay, my knuckles are white from grasping the steering wheel, and my fingers went numb about a hundred miles ago.
