Page 39 of Unlucky in Love
Taylor laughed, relief loosening her shoulders. “Only if you promise not to leave reviews that start with the phrase ‘as the mother of the groom.’”
“I make no such promise,” his mother said.
Dessert came out with the same ceremony as a parade. Pie and brownies and something lemon that his mother had invented with the confidence of a woman who believed butter could solve anything. People drifted between chairs, refilled coffee, traded seats. At some point Emma plopped the baby in Ryan’s lap and stole his spoon. He juggled the child on one knee and used the other to keep Taylor’s chair pressed close to his. She leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Okay,” Emma said, standing again like a conductor about to cue an orchestra. “Final agenda item. We love Taylor. We love Ryan, most days. We approve of this relationship. Do we have consensus?”
A chorus of ayes rolled around the table like a wave.
Emma nodded solemnly. “Motion carries. Meeting adjourned. Please take a leftovers container and the realistic expectation that I will be involved in everything for the rest of your lives.”
“Everything,” his mother echoed, collecting plates.
Taylor rested her head against Ryan’s shoulder for the length of a heartbeat, then straightened with a mortified smile. “I do not think we will ever survive this.”
“We will,” he said low, so only she could hear. “You already won them over a long time ago.”
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes he couldn’t quite read. He didn’t try to answer it with words. He just held her gaze until her mouth softened into that unguarded smile that had wrecked his morning.
When they finally escaped to the porch with a foil-wrapped pile of leftovers and the winter air prickling their cheeks, Taylor exhaled like she had been holding her breath for an hour. Emma’s laughter spilled through the door behind them. The porch light gave everything a warm halo.
“That was a lot,” Taylor said.
“Welcome to the family,” Ryan said.
She tipped her face toward him, eyes bright. “I have always been here.”
He could have said me too. He settled for taking her free hand instead. Warm. Sure. Right where it belonged.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what.”
“For whatever comes next,” he said.
She squeezed his fingers. “Yes, but what about my secret admirer? What if he keeps leaving me things?”
He gave her a wide grin. “I’ll just keep laying claim to what is mine. Eventually, he’ll get the picture.”
He walked her down the steps into the cold, feeling, for the first time in a long time, like forward was a direction he could trust.
Chapter 12
Taylor
Valentine’s week at the café always felt like someone had shaken a glitter bomb over her life and then handed her a mop. Pink napkins. Heart sprinkles. Boxes tied with ribbons that never stayed put. The pastry case gleamed with chocolate-dipped strawberries, red velvet cupcakes, and sugar cookies iced within an inch of their lives. The whole place smelled like cocoa and vanilla and a little bit of panic.
“Cupid called,” Jenna announced from behind a mountain of meringues. “He wants you to stop making him look lazy.”
Taylor snorted and kept piping tiny roses on a cake shaped like a heart. “Tell Cupid he can clock in and help close, then we will talk.”
The bell jingled. A cluster of teenagers swooped in for lattes, giggling over a printed list of class crushes. Mr. Nelson claimed his corner booth and his crossword. Mrs. Abernathy gave Taylor a wink so saucy that Taylor nearly dropped her pastry bag.
“Your cheeks are pink,” Jenna sing-songed once the rush settled. “Is that from the oven or from a certain town debate that ended with a public kiss?”
“Steam,” Taylor said primly. “From the dishwasher.”
“Right. Steamy Ryan Carter.” Jenna fanned herself with a stack of to-go lids.
