Chapter 11
chapter
eleven
MAREN
“You look hot enough to set a forest on fire.” Dixie lets out a whistle, which echoes across my empty room.
I prop my phone against the mirror, then stand back for a quick twirl in the camera. “Be honest.”
My sister’s face fills the screen, her lips pursed. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“When you told me Peter and I would hit it off.”
“It’s not my fault he turned out to be weird.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, and I fuss over the headpiece of my Wonder Woman costume. “Then again, is he as weird as we’re making him sound? Or is he just quirky?”
“He undid his man bun, pulled out all the loose hair, and rolled it into a hairball, which he then set on top of the table next to our food—it was fucking weird.”
She inches backward and holds a hand up. “Fine, but can we agree we all have flaws?”
“What flaw do you have that’s as weird as that? Because I sure don’t do anything that comes close.”
“Well, we are perfect, so…” She shrugs, and it makes me laugh.
I needed a little pick-me-up like this call with my sister, and I definitely need this night out at the Tipsy Tap’s Halloween party after my grand return to the dating scene was such a bust. Even the restaurant in Savannah that I was so excited to try was such a disappointment.
It was a real lose-lose situation for me.
“At least you have a legitimate excuse to avoid a second date this time.”
My smile wobbles. “What do you mean?”
“Come on.” Dixie laughs good-naturedly like the answer is so obvious, but when I don’t share in her humor, she clears her throat.
“It’s just that you tend to blow off perfectly good guys before giving them a fair shot.
That’s if you give them any kind of chance to begin with. You haven’t been on a date in a while.”
“When it’s not right, it’s not right. Why should I force it?”
“How can you tell it’s not right when you barely get to know them at all? You never even learn how they take their coffee, which is something you know about most people in town.”
“That’s because I have a lot of regulars.”
“You know I have a point.”
My frown deepens, and my skin pricks with indignation like my sister is prodding me with tiny needles.
“But it’s your love life. If you want to compare every man to your ex, then that’s your choice—and mistake.”
I drop my hands to my sides and gape, completely thrown from her outlandish assessment. “Do you realize how pathetic you’re making me sound? Like I’d still be hung up on someone after ten years?”
She might not be totally wrong, no matter how badly I want her to be, but it doesn’t mean I have to admit any of it out loud. What do they say about committing a crime—deny, deny, deny.
Denial has always been my forte, anyway.
“Then why else do you push every guy away?” Dixie presses.
“Because they use handkerchiefs to soak up grease from their pizza and sleep in a room covered wall to wall with pictures of their ancestors.” I’m referring to the same guy, but my point is as valid as it is sad.
“That was one guy. They’re not all that weird.”
Shit. I forgot I told her about that one.
“Fine,” I relent. “But maybe it’s because of the weird ones that I don’t give the normal ones a chance. They’ve ruined romance for me. Did you ever think of that?”
I make another good argument, but my palms are sweating like the time I lied to my mother about losing my report card. In reality, I knew exactly where it was, but I didn’t want her to see that I had two Fs, not since she promised to take me out for ice cream.
“You’re right.” She holds her hands up again. “Forget I said anything.”
“Already forgotten.” But my heart still races as I adjust my curtain bangs until I’m satisfied with the middle part. I need the distraction until another piece of news hits me. “Hey—did I tell you about the local Thanksgiving Bake-Off?”
“Since when did Sapphire Creek start doing that?”
“It’s an old tradition they’re wanting to revive, so they’re going big.” I smack my lips to equally spread the crimson tint, then meet my sister’s gaze. “The first-place prize is ten thousand dollars.”
“Did the phone cut out, or did you say there’s a ten-thousand-dollar prize?”
I hold three fingers up in a salute to The Hunger Games, one of our favorite series. “Tonya showed me the flyer at work a couple weeks ago, and I called the Chamber myself to confirm.”
Her jaw drops.
“Obviously, I’m going to enter.”
“And win,” she screeches. “No one in town bakes like you do. It’s why I’m surprised you opened a coffee truck, instead of a bakery.”
“I love making coffee. It makes me smell like it all day too, which is great for me, but not when Old Gus sniffs me at the grocery store.”
Dixie covers her mouth with one hand, and her wedding ring nearly blinds me. “Can you imagine what that cash could do for you?”
“Take care of my whole repair list—and then some.”
“When will you start prepping?”
“I’ve already brainstormed some ideas for what I’ll bake.”
What I don’t tell her is that it’s been a great distraction from the fact that Nate’s parents moved out last week, and he and Teagan officially moved in three days ago.
Since then, I’ve encroached on embarrassment a total of seven times in my attempts to avoid him. Last night, I nearly landed ass-first in my rose bush. I was so close to cutting my face on the thorns, but I didn’t even flinch. I was too focused on my mission to hide from him.
My resolve has reached new heights if I don’t care about scars on my cheeks if it means I don’t have to face Nate. Should I be proud of such dedication or consider myself officially insane?
“Let me know if you need a taste tester, and I’m there.” Dixie salutes me back.
My phone dings with new messages from Addie and Caroline in our group chat, and I realize it’s time to go. I end the call with Dixie and scroll through the thread with my friends.
ADDIE
I don’t have the right eyeshadow to go with my new haircut.
Send HELP.
CAROLINE
I’ll bring my makeup bag over.
ADDIE
Hurry before I decide I’m not going…
CAROLINE
There will be no rash decisions made under the duress of eyeshadow!
I giggle to myself, thankful Caroline has moved back to town from New York City. What’s more—she and Austin have never been happier.
Caroline is back in Sapphire Creek, and our girl gang is finally complete, which is on my short list of things going right in my life at the moment.
Addie, you’re coming even if I have to kidnap you.
She sends a GIF of a white flag waving in the wind.
Now that that’s settled, I check the mirror one final time, studying my skintight outfit. Then I take a deep breath and fight the urge to peel back the curtain from the window to see if Nate is in costume.
I’ve kept the window shut since the incident, even though I haven’t had to worry about accidentally spying on him for a few weeks. He hasn’t been in town.
Plus, Evie gave me his detailed itinerary, live updates included as Nate and Teagan trekked across the country. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me what he had for breakfast every day.
The morning he moved in, Evie left, and my hug goodbye with her lingered like she was moving to Alaska instead of right across town. But she and I have grown so close over the years, so it’s basically like there’s a whole country separating us.
No more spontaneous coffee dates during the mornings when Tonya opens for me.
No more scones or leftovers when she cooks too much, which was often.
And who will I go to when my oven inevitably quits on me again? Evie was so quick to open her kitchen when I needed it. I can’t race over to ask Nate for such a favor, especially not since it would mean I’d enter his overwhelming orbit—and cloud of manly cologne—for hours.
That’s too long. I’d get drunk on that cologne by osmosis.
Just another reason I need to fucking win this bake-off next month. With the prize money, I could buy any oven I want and not have to worry about intoxication by my ex.
With a jacket slung over my shoulders, I march with purpose out of my bedroom. I’ve just opened the door to my car when my curiosity—the bitch—finally wins, and I peer over at Nate’s house.
None of the lights are on, and his Jeep isn’t outside. Could he be at his parents’ new house for supper? The jerk is going to get all the leftovers that should be mine.
Scowling, I fold myself into the driver’s seat, slam the door shut, and refuse to give that man another thought.
I especially refuse to stew over the fact that he hasn’t texted me again since the first string of messages three weeks ago.