Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
An hour later, the two of us are showered and ready to head out the door. Tucker gives me one last lingering kiss before jumping in his car to head to the office. The scent of his cologne and the warmth of his embrace still linger on my skin. I can’t deny that the make-up sex was amazing, passionate and intense, but it still feels like the truce between us is tenuous at best.
Tucker finding out I was working with Zach has broken his trust, and it’ll take more than just some steamy make-up sex to fix that. The betrayal in his eyes when he confronted me about it still haunts me. But the wedding is moving forward, so I suppose I have the rest of my life to make it up to him.
Driving to the shop now, a sickening twist in my stomach makes me feel like I might lose my breakfast at any moment. My dream, my perfect little bakery, vandalized. The memory of the shattered glass and cruel words spray-painted on the window flashes through my mind, again and again. I am still trying to understand why someone would do this to me.
Zach was right. Charlotte doesn’t really have a motive; she was the one who left Tucker, after all. But I’m just not sure who else would be so angry that they would destroy everything or write those words on the shop door.
When Tucker and I started dating, he was single, free, and clear. Charlotte had left him at the altar, and he wasn’t seeing anybody else. In fact, I was the one who was seeing someone at the time. But Zach and I ended things amicably, and we’re still friends.
So again, who would do this to me?
As I pull up to the shop, I see that Bernie is already there. She’s made progress on cleaning up the front counter, rearranging the furniture back into its place, and for the most part, the shop looks normal. I’ll need to redo the wallpaper at some point, but I can worry about that after this weekend.
The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked pastries fills the air, replacing the lingering odor of spray paint and disinfectants. The only real remaining reminder of what happened last night is the plywood on the front door. Tucker’s team did a fantastic job cleaning up the glass. Honestly, the glass looks cleaner today than it did yesterday, sparkling in the morning sunlight.
“Bernie,” I say as I enter the back room. She is bent over a tray of cupcakes, carefully piping a dollop of icing on each one. I asked her to come in early and get an early start on replacing the items in the display case. “Thank you so much for coming in early to help.”
“Of course,” she says. There is an awkward pause while Bernie looks at me, gripping the bag of icing in her hand. She swallows. “Do you know who did this?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” And really, that’s the truth . I have theories, yes. But do I really know who wants me to cancel the wedding? Who is threatening me if I don’t? Regardless, I need to give Bernie something to ease her concern.
“I think it might be some local kids just doing vandalism in the area.”
Bernie puts down the piping bag, and her face hardens. “I’d like to give those kids a piece of my mind.”
“Me too, Bernie,” I say, forcing a weak smile.
We spend the next couple of hours tidying up the shop, restocking the display and wiping down the countertops until they gleam. I gratefully lose myself in the mundane tasks of putting the shop back together.
Finally, as we finish putting away the last of the cleaning supplies, I remember to tell Bernie what I found last night in the walk-in cooler. I walk over and gently touch her shoulder. “Bernie,” I say softly, “I saw the wedding cake last night. It’s absolutely stunning. Everything I could have ever dreamed of.”
A faint blush creeps into Bernie’s cheeks, and she ducks her head shyly. “Really? You like it?”
“It’s exactly what I was hoping for. Thank you, thank you,” I say, pulling her into an awkward hug. Bernie stiffens for a moment, unused to such displays of affection, but then tentatively pats my back.
As we pull apart, I glance at the clock on the wall and feel a jolt of panic. It’s nearly three o’clock, which means I’m supposed to be on my way home to meet the hair and makeup team Tucker hired for my rehearsal dinner. I sigh. I needed to leave fifteen minutes ago.
Do I think it’s a bit over the top to have your hair and makeup done for a rehearsal dinner? Of course . But that’s just how things seem to be done in Tucker’s world, so I try not to complain. Besides, after all the physical labor involved in running the bakery, it’s nice to have someone pamper me for a change. My phone suddenly vibrates, alerting me to a new message. I pull it out, the smooth, cool surface of the screen pressing against my fingertips as I unlock it to see who’s texting me. It’s Monica.
Oh, great. Just what I need right now.
How did the conversation go last night?
I take a deep breath, wondering exactly what to say. In the midst of the break-in and subsequent cleanup last night, I had forgotten about Monica’s little ultimatum. I stare at the message. I am not about to get into what really happened. I’m sure she would have a field day if she knew that Zach actually showed up at the shop and informed Tucker himself.
And really, it’s none of her business.
I write back, my fingers dancing across the screen.
I told him. Everything’s fine.
It really pains me to send that message because, honestly, I don’t think what’s going on between me and Tucker is any of her business. But I swallow my pride and hit send. I’ll be stuck with Monica for a long time, so I guess I have to play nice.
I’m glad to hear that.
Then a few bubbles pop up while she writes another a message.
Looking forward to tonight.
I roll my eyes. Of course she’s looking forward to tonight—she’ll jump at any chance to hold court with her flock of friends. Part of me is looking forward to tonight too. After all, it’s another step closer to marrying Tucker. But I can’t shake nerves that have been building over the last couple of days. What if something goes wrong?
I’d be lying if I said a small part of me doesn’t wish for a quiet night in with Tucker instead. Just us, some takeout, and no pressure. But regardless of how I’m feeling, the hair and makeup team is waiting for me, and soon Tucker will be too.
I put away my phone and turn the lock on my office. The back door clicks shut behind me as I head for my car, my heels clicking against the tiled floor. Just as I step outside, my phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the air. These days, I don’t receive many personal calls; most are just spam or telemarketing offers. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, but curiosity gets the better of me and I pull out my phone.
When I see the name on the screen, my heart sinks.
No, it couldn’t be. I steel myself, taking a deep breath before answering the phone.
“Hello?” I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.
“Hello, my dear Reese. Guess what? I was able to make it down today after all. What time is the rehearsal dinner?”
The familiar voice on the other end of the line makes my stomach tingle with nerves. Things are about to get infinitely more complicated.