Chapter Ten
Sparrow
We never did talk about the rules for our fake-dating charade. And I don’t want to worry about them. Because even though fear is beating around my heart, the thought of putting a rule in place like, Hand holding only when in public unless a kiss is necessary or Must appear to like each other , etcetera, seems too constricting. I’m learning that Rafe is more creative than I imagined—not just in music but in how he moves through life.
Last night felt like a dream. After our ice-cream-and-pie-eating moment at the diner, Rafe brought me home. He opened my car door and even walked me to my apartment. I left the Polaroid he took of me on the dashboard, not hating the way he looked at it before getting out of the car.
After hearing his music last night, I downloaded his playlist on my music app. There were a few singles and some covers. I may or may not have fallen asleep with his music playing (I did). Since I don’t have social media (I know, I know) I managed to text Lily to check him out for me. She sent me beautifully candid photos of him recording in the studio, playing his guitar, and even a few where he’s making ridiculous faces. His playfulness might be the most surprising attribute for someone as attractive as him.
I reach my hand inside my front apron pocket and feel the guitar pick I placed there from the show last night. I plan on giving it back to Rafe today. When I feel the imprint of his initial on the pick once more, I sigh.
I’m walking toward the flower market to meet Lily when I spot Jacques. He is so French it hurts. He’s chatting with someone who looks very important on the corner, his dress shoes and jacket giving the impression he just stepped off the runway. He spots me and leaves the conversation, moving toward me with purpose.
“Rory, salut !” Huh. He’s using my nickname. Where did he hear that? I flash to the memory of Rafe’s nickname for me and feel my cheeks heat.
“Hi, Jacques. Good to see you.” His eyes look warm and inviting today, in contrast to the cool, aloof demeanor he wore when we first met. “How’s Vivienne?”
He winces slightly and shakes his head. “Oh, we’re not together. I just didn’t want to go to the show alone.” He gives an adorable shrug, and I feel his reason. Because I don’t like to do anything alone either.
“And . . . she’s okay with that?”
He nods affirmatively. “Yes, of course. We both agreed it wasn’t a date.”
My mind flashes to my own agreement with Rafe. “Oh.”
He leans toward me, the scent of his French cologne revealing his sudden closeness, and my breath catches. “I’m only interested in one woman right now.” I startle at his directness and focus on my brand-new fascination with the pastry case between us.
“How is Rafe?” he says, but I notice the way his hands clench the sides of his jacket.
“He’s ... ” I start. How do you describe someone like Rafe, who appeared and seems to read you like a favorite poem? “Good. He’s good.” That’s all I manage to say.
“Don’t forget, Rory. I know I was ... distracted before. I asked you out too late. But if things change—not that I wish them to—but if they do, give me a chance, okay?”
He wants a chance with me. I find myself nodding slowly because what else can I do? Rafe was right. The plan to fake date seems to have already gotten Jacques’ attention. The question is, when it comes to Rafe, why does it feel so uncomfortable to think of calling the whole thing off?
∞∞∞
I make it to the flower market and catch Lily looking reverently at the flowers around her. She’s lost in her own world because—no surprise to anyone who knows her—Lily loves flowers. And since it’s officially the start of fall, Lily has recruited me to the market to create a fall-themed bouquet “while the flowers last,” she’d said dramatically. Every Thursday, our town holds a farmers’ market—outdoors when it’s warm, indoors when it’s cold. Today, there’s a chill in the air, so I’m surrounded by flowers in a tent-like structure with a view of Town Hall when you exit.
“So, about Rafe ... ” Lily begins. Wow, she really isn’t wasting any time.
“What about Rafe?”I try to avoid eye contact while also pretending to be unaffected by the mention of his name. By the way Lily grins as she selectively picks Gerbera daisies, I don’t think it’s working.
“I saw you.”
I glance up enough to see her eyes meet mine, a knowing look hovering within them.“I mean, you’ve met, so ... ”
Lily walks around to where I’m looking at bunches of sunflowers and lightly stops my hand from picking up an additional bucket of them.I was too busy comparing Jacques with Rafe to notice my arms frantically grabbing flowers like I’m hoarding them for spring.
“What are you even doing? Who needs this many sunflowers?” Lily scoffs. “I mean, I love them, but this is too much—even for you.”
I’m too proud to stop my motions, so I just keep avoiding her gaze and own the fact that, at this rate, I will be handing out sunflowers to the entire town.
“Sparrow, stop.”
I sigh and watch as Lily takes hold of most of the stems and softly places them back in their container. They’re back to enjoying their buckets with all the water they could need, and I’m back to holding a reasonable number of flowers again.
My hand shakes a bit, and I grip it in the other to avoid Lily seeing, but suddenly, I don’t have the strength. I blame the cloudy weather for relaxing me too much.“Jacques asked me if I was single. And instead of answering him, I looked at someone else.”
Lily grips my hand to pull me closer to her.“You did. And you must at least promise me this ... ”Lily declares as she brings my handful of sunflowers to the register and pays before I can protest. I watch the brown paper wrapper contrasting with the golden-yellow petals and feel like the brown packing string as it gets knotted before becoming a bow. “Try to keep your heart open. You suddenly have two men in your life by some gift from heaven. So, try to have some fun . You do remember what that is, don’t you?”
I search my mind and try to remember the last time I remember having fun for the sake of it. My subconscious takes over and flashes a series of images. Apple pie ice cream sundae on a spoon. Disheveled cinnamon-brown hair. A baseball cap. Slightly crooked bottom teeth. Stickers on a guitar case. I take a breath.
Lily hands me the flowers and flashes a knowing little grin.
∞∞∞
Two days later, I’m standing in the bakery’s kitchen. Waiting. I know he’ll be here at any moment. Yesterday, I saw a few guitar picks sticking out of his messenger bag, and I was struck with what could only be described as brilliance. I grin to myself. I’m normally not the type to play. When your heart has been broken enough, I think you forget how to chase joy. But with Rafe? I’m trying to remember. Besides, it’s his own fault. His perfectly tossed hair and sequoia-forest eyes are just begging to be messed with, and I’ve decided that I’m more than up for the challenge. This is new. But it’s fun .
The swinging door catapults open, and I put on my best poker face. I don’t actually have a poker face, but I’m going to act like my dignity depends on pulling this off. Rafe’s been frequenting the café (aka living here while it’s open), probably going broke from drinking cups of coffee and eating pastries. He even brought his guitar this morning and played some light music. Lily gave him permission as long as he gives her a portion of the tips she saw people placing in his empty coffee cup as they left the bakery.
“Okay, where are they?” he mutters. His eyes flash, but he’s dangerously close to grinning. He’s wearing a sweater beneath a blazer and looking way too good to be in the back of my café. Still, I take in the scruff that lines his face before meeting his narrowing eyes.
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” I say, possibly a little too adamantly.
He slowly saunters toward the counter and runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up like leaves in a pile, and my hand just wants to jump in it. This experiment is already a success.
“You seem so upset. Are you coming down with something?” I unhelpfully add. I hide a grin and continue making a tray of macarons.
“Woman, how do you expect me to be able to play guitar if you keep stealing my picks, hmm?”
“Hmm ... so, I’m ‘woman’ now and not ‘Sugar’?” I ask innocently.
“This act of yours is not so sweet.” His hands are on his hips, and his foot is tapping as I continue piping circles of the light-green pistachio batter, or pistache , onto a Silpat mat.
“Hmm, sounds like you have a real problem.”
He sighs. “I do not have a problem. I have never misplaced so many guitar picks in my life since arriving here. And it’s only been days.”
I continue to pipe, swiftly circling the pastry bag across my baking trays. “Oh my, that does, in fact, sound like a problem.”
His foot taps more rapidly. He’s almost infuriating he’s so attractive.
Hovering a finger over a circle of batter on the tray, he waits, an eyebrow raised.
“Don’t,” I say simply and continue to pipe. Something came over me when I decided that, as long as he’s here, I’m going to soak up the warmth that he brings. Winter will be here before we know it after all.
He huffs and starts pacing. He’s all bark and no bite, pretending to be a pirate while he’s really a prince.
“Did you try The Music Store?” I manage to say while focusing on the tray, so I don’t see his reaction. It really is called The Music Store. Sometimes, in a small town, it’s function over flair.
“I would, except given the size of this town, there is only one . And they’re closed.”
I grin. “Ah, yes, Liam does like to sleep in on Wednesdays. Something about shooting reels of his cat. He’s famous, you know.”
He’s beside me in two seconds, the heat radiating off him and causing my hands, and thus the piping bag, to tremble. I toss it to the side and turn to face him.
“You took them,” he says matter-of-factly.
I scoff. “Sure, because between running a bakery and my own life, I have so much time on my hands that I just get a kick out of somehow stealing your guitar picks and hiding them. Yeah, sure ... ”
“Sparrow, are you playing with me?” His eyes flash before they catch on something above my head, and I realize my mistake.
I should’ve turned the raccoon so he was facing the other way. I watch as Rafe’s jaw shifts back and forth. He’s so cute when he’s irritated, but I feel the energy of him trying to prevent himself from laughing. Rafe ever so slowly shifts his gaze to mine, and I feel my eyes widen.
“What is that?” He points over my head.
“What is what?” I ask innocently.
“That—that over your head.”
“What’s over my head?”
“On the wall, near the order sheets. What is that?”
I hide my hands behind my back to distract myself. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh ... “Really, Rafe, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today.”
He crosses the space between us and the wall at record speed. I keep my back turned. He’ll be back. And I’m right. After some shuffling and sighing, he’s in front of me again, the smell of him invading my space.
“ This .” He’s pointing to one of his guitar picks—because I hid one back here.
“Huh,” I say.
“Huh? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“So strange that it would be here ... ” I swirl my hand in the air as if to pull down answers from the sky. Suddenly I’m a dame in one of those Old Hollywood movies. I think about putting him out of his misery, but honestly, I’m still having too much fun. “Rafe, have you been sleepwalking or something?”
A mischievous look crosses his face, and I swallow. Seems like he’s ready to play too.
“Sleepwalking to the point that I manage to walk across town, break into this store, walk into the kitchen, and somehow decide to hide ONE guitar pick on the stuffed-animal thing that’s ... ” He looks up again to study it. “ ... w earing a beret and holding a croissant?”
I throw back my shoulders and lift my chin. “It’s a raccoon. His name is Philippe, as it is pronounced in French . If you press his paw, he says, ‘ C’est incroyable ! ’” His mouth drops. I dare him with my eyebrows.
“I will not touch his paw.”
I wave my hand again. “Your loss.”
His eyes dart from the back wall to me again before his shoulders slump slightly. “Fine, that little critter can have it. This time.” He looks at Philippe as if he would like to crush him if he could. “Isn’t that unsanitary?” he asks.
“It’s stuffed.”
He winces.
“Lily got him for me.”
“Of course she did,” he sighs.
He moves away from me, and I already miss his warmth. The dimple comes out to play as he starts to inch toward my sheet pan rack of finished pastries. “You win this time, Sparrow.”
I watch as he lifts the bottom of his sweatshirt into a makeshift pocket and grabs a handful of macarons from two of the trays but not before stuffing a coffee-colored one in his mouth. “Hey!”
He walks backward toward the door to the front of the bakery, a look of triumph on his face. “Mmm, espresso,” he says to himself before looking back at me, a little amusement matched with indignation flashing in his eyes. “Oh, and Sugar?”
I turn to face him with the most innocent expression I can muster.
“Quit stealing my guitar picks.” The twitch on the side of his mouth betrays him. He’s enjoying this as much as I am.
When the door swings shut, I finally let out a laugh. It’s relief mixed with elation. It’s floating after worrying you may sink. I don’t want to keep the man from his music, but I regret nothing. It turns out that he has multiple colors of his engraved pics. Good thing I looked online to find out how I could order them to replace them if he doesn’t find them all.
But if I can see that face of his getting so worked up a few more times, it will be more than worth it. I’m still smiling as I finish the tray and pop the macarons into the oven. My phone vibrates on the counter, and I know just who it’s from.
Rafe: This isn’t over.
Grabbing a pumpkin macaron from the tray he sampled, I smile and take a satisfying bite. Just wait until he realizes where I hid the rest.