Chapter 5 #2
“Positions, everyone,” I announce, forcing brightness into my voice. “Let’s sell some cookies.”
As the morning rush begins, Bella’s words circle in my head like vultures.
Lucas hasn’t dated anyone seriously since your engagement was announced.
It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.
He probably just hasn’t found someone who’s worth his time. He was always very picky when it came to women. Or maybe he really is married to the farm. Or maybe, and this is most likely, he’s been too busy being an asshole and scaring everyone away.
“You good?” Wendy asks when there’s a lull before the lunch rush.
“Yeah,” I say, rearranging cookies. “I’m perfect.”
But I’m not. Because now I’m angry at Bella for planting that seed about Lucas’s love life. I’m angry at Lucas for just existing. Not to mention, I’m upset at myself for even caring whether he’s dated or not.
None of it matters.
Not when he looks at me and calls me pathetic. He meant it with every part of his being. I saw it in his eyes.
Whatever we had is dead and buried and rotting.
And it has to stay that way.
Crossing the line with him ruined our friendship. I knew it would. If I could go back in time, I’d undo it all. I’d erase every memory of that summer to have him back. It’s almost funny how every life regret I have includes him.
By the time we’ve sold out, I have flour in places flour should never be. But the register is full and that’s all that matters.
“I’m never eating another cookie again,” Wendy groans, wiping down the fingerprints on the windows.
“You said that last time we worked at the shop,” Bella reminds her.
“Today, I mean it. My stomach hurts from eating so much sugar,” she says.
I grab the broom and start sweeping, pushing crumbs toward the door with aggressive strokes. Through the window, Christmas lights on the tree lot are twinkling to life.
And then I see him.
Lucas is carrying a massive fir over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, muscles flexing beneath his red and black flannel. His jeans are worn and dusted with dirty work boots crunching through gravel.
He’s smiling at the young couple following him. He gives them that easy, charming smile I always adored. The one that shows his little dimple.
I hate that I notice. Hate that my eyes track his movements across the lot. Hate that some traitorous part of my brain registers how good he looks.
“Busted.”
I jump, nearly dropping the broom. Bella’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, smirking.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were totally staring.” She joins me at the window.
“I was not,” I snap. “Just looking at the gift shop.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s why you were biting your lip?”
“I wasn’t biting my—” I stop myself. “I’m not going to argue.”
“Holiday.” Her voice lowers. “You can admit he’s attractive. It’s not a crime. Everyone knows Lucas is hot. All of my friends tried to get with him. I’ve heard every disgusting thing a person could say about my cousin.”
I sweep harder, the bristles scraping against the floor. “His attractiveness is irrelevant. His personality makes him ugly as fuck.”
“He watches you, too.” She pauses. “I caught him.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“When you’re not looking. I’ve seen him standing out there, staring at the bakery.” She shrugs. “Dean had to call his name three times yesterday to get his attention.”
Something twists in my chest, something I have to ignore.
“He’s probably just making sure I don’t burn the place down,” I say, emotionless. “Or planning his next move to piss me off.”
“Or maybe he has a thing—”
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Lucas made it very clear how he feels about me on Friday night. And yesterday. And every single day since I got back. So, I don’t care if he watches the bakery. I don’t care if he hasn’t dated anyone. None of it matters.”
Before she can respond, Wendy pokes her head out. “I’m done! Same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Thanks for today. You kicked ass.”
“We made bank in tips,” Bella says with a grin, deciding to drop it. “People are generous when they think they’re part of a love story.”
Never mind.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” I say. “This little matchmaker thing you’re trying to do won’t work.”
“If you say so.” She grabs her coat and gives me an evil smirk. “See you tomorrow, HoHo.”
The bell jingles as they leave, and then I’m alone with the half-swept floor and my thoughts.
Outside, Lucas is helping another family now, hoisting a little girl onto his shoulders so she can touch the top of a seven-foot tree. She squeals with delight, and he laughs. It’s a real one, and it floats through the cold air.
He watches you, too.
I grip the broom handle tighter, my knuckles going white.
Of course, he watches the bakery, so he can figure out his next stunt to humiliate me. Or maybe watching me struggle or squirm gets him off. Whatever his reason, it’s not romantic. It’s not sweet. It’s Lucas who’s determined to make my life miserable. He’ll do it, too.
We both know he’s capable.
I force myself to look away and finish with the floor.
Seven and a half more weeks of his cousins trying to play matchmaker. Of the town gossiping about us. Of him finding new ways to get under my skin.
But what Lucas doesn’t realize is that I’m no longer that timid teenager he knew so well.
I’m stronger and take less shit.
I can handle it. I survived falling apart in Paris. I survived my engagement ending. I survived living in my own personal hell. And I can survive Lucas Jolly and his petty little games.
When this season is over, I might leave Merryville for good. No looking back. No second thoughts. No letting anyone—especially not Lucas—make me question that decision.
I’ve applied at different bakeries in New York. Emma will give me a reference, and with her connections, I’m a shoo-in.
He’ll get exactly what he wants.
And I’ll try my best to forget every memory I made with him while surviving the season.
It’s as simple as that.
I grab my coat and purse, lock up the bakery, and head to my car without looking back at the tree lot. I don’t check to see if he’s still out there, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I noticed him, too. He’s probably zeroed in on me right fucking now.
I shake my head, annoyed.
Tomorrow, I’ll bake twice as many cookies. I’ll smile at customers. I’ll ignore every comment about Lucas and me. I’ll prove to this entire town—and to him—that I don’t care because I don’t.
I really, really don’t. And hopefully, if I keep telling myself that, I’ll eventually convince myself, too.