29. Blake
Chapter 29
Blake
I rolled over in bed as bright sun filtered through a crack in the curtains, and I smiled.
Even with Amelia waking up five times last night, I couldn't have been in a better mood. She'd let me sleep in for a little, giving in to her exhaustion at five this morning.
The clock on the nightstand showed it was already past nine, and I grinned.
It was finally Wednesday, and I wasn't infected with any germs. Today was my first official meeting as a member of the Wednesday Lunch Club, and I couldn't be late.
"You awake?"
I looked up to see Xander standing in the doorway.
As if he'd been speaking to her, Amelia pulled herself up on the side of her crib, apparently wide awake, and squealed. She looked straight at me and reached out with grabby hands. My heart did a stupid little flip at the sight.
"I'm alive," I confirmed, sitting up with a groan. "But tired."
Xander crossed the room, plucked Amelia out of her crib, and placed her beside me. "You still look a little pale. Are you sure you should be going out today?"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don't you dare try to doctor me. I had the flu, and I've been fine for days. I'm only tired because this little miss decided she wanted to party all night last night. If I don't get out, I'm going to start chewing on the furniture."
He laughed, the sound warming me from the inside out. "I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you. I've seen what happens when someone tries to get between you and your social calendar."
"Wise man." I reached for Amelia, who practically threw herself into my arms. She was getting bigger by the day.
The comfortable domesticity of the moment should have made me happy, but instead, it sent a spike of anxiety through my chest. This was exactly what I'd been dreading—how normal everything felt between us, how easily we fell into these patterns of caring for each other.
Like nothing had changed since my fever-induced confession.
Except everything had changed.
At least for me.
I love you.
The words had tumbled out of me when I was sick and vulnerable, my defenses stripped away by fever and exhaustion.
I'd seen the look on Xander's face—surprise, something that might have been hope, maybe even tenderness.
But then I'd recovered, and we'd both pretended it never happened.
"Blake?" Xander's voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. "You okay? You look like you're about to be sick again."
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about all the gossip I'm about to hear."
He studied my face for a moment longer, and I held my breath, wondering if he'd push. If he'd finally bring up what I'd said. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead in a gentle kiss that made my heart race and my stomach clench with anxiety at the same time.
"Have fun with the lunch club ladies," he said. "Try not to let them corrupt you too much."
Too late for that, I thought, watching him leave the room. I was already corrupted—corrupted by hope, by the dangerous belief that maybe this fake engagement had become something real for both of us.
But what if it hadn't? What if I'd misread everything, and those three little words were hanging between us like a sword waiting to fall?
Forty-five minutes later, I was showered, dressed, and feeling almost like a functioning member of society again. I'd opted for a cute sundress—one of the few pieces of clothing I owned that wasn't splattered with paint—and had even managed to tame my pink hair into something that looked intentionally messy rather than just plain messy.
Xander whistled as I emerged from the bedroom. "Wow. Should I be jealous of these lunch club ladies?"
I rolled my eyes, but secretly preened at the appreciation in his gaze. "Absolutely. Mrs. Schulster is a total cougar. She'll eat me alive."
He laughed, crossing the room to pull me against him. "Be nice. That woman terrified all of us in eighth grade."
"And here I thought big, strong Dr. Farrington wasn't afraid of anything." I smirked up at him, my fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened at his proximity.
"Oh, I'm afraid of plenty of things," he said, suddenly serious. "Losing you and Amelia tops the list."
My heart stuttered. The words were so close to what I wanted to hear, but they felt safe somehow. Like something he could say without crossing the line we'd drawn around my feverish confession.
"You won't lose us," I promised softly, the words tasting like both truth and lie on my tongue. "We're not going anywhere."
His smile was slow and sweet as he bent to kiss me, a gentle questioning press of lips that held the promise of more. "Good. Because neither am I."
But what if you do? The thought followed me as I drove to Marie's bakery twenty minutes later. What if you realize that what I said when I was sick changes everything? What if it makes you uncomfortable? What if it ruins what we have?
The pink and white striped awning fluttered in the gentle spring breeze, and the scent of fresh bread and pastries wafted out whenever the door opened. My mouth watered. Being sick had robbed me of my appetite, but it was definitely making a comeback now.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time, smoothed my dress, and grabbed my purse—oh, and the Tupperware container of ham I'd brought for Titus. Old habits die hard.
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, and Marie waved from behind the counter. "They're in the back room," she said with a wink. "We've been waiting for you."
I tried not to let my nerves show as I made my way to the private room at the back of the bakery. This was silly. I was a grown woman, not a teenager trying to sit at the cool kids' table. Still, my palms were sweaty as I pushed open the door.
The room fell silent as I entered, four pairs of eyes turning toward me. Helen Schulster sat at the head of the table, elegant as always in a lavender cardigan with a brooch that probably cost more than my car. Carol from the bookshop was next to her, wearing a floral dress that somehow didn't clash with her bright red lipstick. Across from them sat Billie, who gave me a friendly wave, and at the end of the table was a woman I didn't recognize, probably in her sixties with short silver hair and kind eyes.
"Blake!" Helen's voice was warm as she stood to greet me. "We were beginning to think you might not show."
"Sorry I'm late," I said, hovering awkwardly by the door. "I'm still recovering from the flu."
"Nonsense, you're right on time. We've only just ordered our drinks." Helen gestured to the empty chair next to Billie. "Sit, sit. We've been dying to properly welcome you to the fold."
I slid into the chair, setting my purse on the floor beside me. The Tupperware container of ham sat awkwardly on my lap. "Um, where's Titus?"
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a strange snuffling sound came from under the table. Then, to my utter shock, Titus emerged from beneath the tablecloth and trotted over to me, his tail wagging furiously.
"Well, I'll be," Helen said, looking genuinely surprised. "He's never greeted anyone like that before. Not even me, and I've had him for fifteen years."
Titus pressed his weird little head against my leg, looking up at me with adoring eyes. I reached down to pat him, and he made a sound that was somewhere between a purr and a wheeze.
"I, uh, brought him some ham," I said, holding up the container. "But it looks like he doesn't need bribing anymore."
The table erupted in laughter, and just like that, the ice was broken. The mystery woman introduced herself as Martha, the town's retired librarian and, according to Carol, "keeper of all the best secrets."
"Women like us need to stick together," Martha said, her eyes twinkling. "Men think they run this town, but we all know the truth, don't we, ladies?"
"Amen to that," Billie chimed in, raising her coffee mug in a toast as Marie rushed in to join us.
And so began my initiation into the Wednesday Lunch Club. As we ate—fresh salads for everyone but me, I went for the loaded potato soup because, well, recovery—the conversation flowed from topic to topic with dizzying speed. I learned more about Willowbrook in that hour than I had in all the months I'd been living here.
I discovered that Mayor Thompson was having an affair with his secretary. Scandalous! That the new high school principal had once been arrested for skinny dipping in the town fountain when she was eighteen. Respect! And that the old Johansen property on the edge of town was being converted into a wellness retreat.
But it was when the conversation turned to the Farrington family that I really perked up.
"Of course, we've always had a soft spot for the Farrington boys," Helen was saying, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Especially after what they went through with that mother of theirs."
"Regina was a piece of work," Carol agreed, shaking her head. "Remember when she threw that fit at the Fall Festival because Xander only got second place in the science fair?"
"She always did push him the hardest," Helen mused. "Probably because he was the most like her—driven, focused, too smart for his own good sometimes."
I frowned. That didn't sound like the Xander I knew at all.
My Xander was kind and gentle, patient in a way Regina Farrington could never have been.
"He was such a serious child," Martha added.
"Always with his nose in a book, never getting into trouble like the other boys. I used to let him stay in the library after hours sometimes. He'd sit in the corner and read until his father came to pick him up—usually hours late."
"That poor boy," Helen sighed. "He was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders even then. Did you know he was the one who found Gage after the accident?"
I set down my fork with a clatter. "What accident?"
Something cold settled in my stomach. Xander had never mentioned an accident involving Gage. He'd barely mentioned Gage at all, except to say that his brother had left town on his eighteenth birthday and never came back.
Helen glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in. "It was the summer before Xander's senior year. Gage would have been, what, fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Fifteen," Carol confirmed. "Booker had just graduated."
"Right, fifteen," Helen continued. "Gage had been out with that group of troublemakers he hung around with—not that I blame him, mind you, not with what he was dealing with at home."
Titus had settled at my feet, his head resting on my shoe. I absently fed him a piece of ham from my container, my attention fully on Helen's story.
"From what I heard, Gage had been drinking, got into a fight with one of the other boys—I think it was the Miller boy, though he moved away years ago now. Anyway, Gage took his father's car and crashed it into the old oak by the creek. Wrapped it around the tree like a pretzel."
"My God," I breathed. "Was he hurt?"
"Broke his arm in two places, cracked three ribs, and needed fifty-two stitches across his chest," Carol said. "Left a terrible scar, I hear."
"It's not that bad," Billie said quietly.
"And Xander found him?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Helen nodded, her expression grim. "Gage had been missing for hours. The whole town was out looking for him. Xander was the one who thought to check the creek. Found his brother pinned in the wreckage, barely conscious. They say he stayed with him, kept him talking until the ambulance arrived. Probably saved his life."
My heart ached, imagining a young Xander, serious and responsible even then, finding his brother broken and bleeding.
"Regina was livid," Martha added. "Not because Gage was hurt, mind you, but because of the scandal. She didn't even go to the hospital. Jasper went, but he couldn't stay long—had some business meeting he couldn't miss."
"So who stayed with Gage?" I asked.
"Xander," all four women said in unison.
"He didn't leave his brother's side for three days straight," Helen said. "Slept in that uncomfortable hospital chair, did his homework there, even helped the nurses when they were short-staffed."
"That sounds like Xander," I said softly.
"He's always been the one they all look to when someone gets hurt," Carol agreed. "Always the caretaker, that one."
The conversation moved on, but my mind lingered on the story. It explained so much about Xander—his need to fix things, to care for everyone around him, to be the steady presence in a crisis. He'd been filling that role his entire life.
And it made my confession feel even more selfish somehow. Here was this man who'd spent his entire life taking care of other people, who'd just gotten sober, who was trying to build something stable for himself. And I'd gone and complicated everything by falling in love with him.
"Blake? Are you with us, dear?" Helen's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Sorry," I said, blinking. "Just thinking."
"Penny for your thoughts?" Billie smiled at me, warm and genuine.
And maybe it was the lingering effects of the flu, or the comfortable intimacy of the small room, or the way these women had welcomed me into their circle without hesitation, but I found myself wanting to confide in them.
"It's Xander," I admitted, then immediately felt my face flame. "I mean, not Xander exactly. It's me. I think I've... complicated things."
"Ah," Helen said, understanding immediately. "Caught feelings for your fake fiancé?"
I nearly choked on my water. "How did you—? Are we that obvious?"
"Darling," Helen said with a knowing smile, "we all know it started fake, but anyone with eyes can see it's real now. The question is, do you both know it?"
"That's the problem," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I said something when I was sick. Something I shouldn't have said. And now I don't know if I've ruined everything."
"What did you say?" Martha asked gently.
I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud again. Instead, I just looked at them with wide, panicked eyes, and Helen's expression softened with understanding.
"Oh, honey," she said. "You told him you loved him."
I nodded miserably. "And he hasn't said anything about it since. We're just pretending it never happened, but I can't stop thinking about it. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I've made him uncomfortable? What if our arrangement was working perfectly, and I ruined it by wanting more?"
"Has he pulled away?" Carol asked practically.
"No," I admitted. "If anything, he's been... sweeter. More attentive. But that might just be because he feels sorry for me."
"Trust me," Billie said with a laugh, "Xander Farrington doesn't do anything out of pity. If he's being sweet to you, it's because he wants to be."
"But what if—"
"Stop," Helen said firmly. "You're borrowing trouble. That man looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, and trust me, that's not something you want to take for granted."
"But I said it first," I protested. "What if he's not ready? What if he never will be?"
"Then you'll figure it out together," Martha said simply. "But you won't figure out anything by avoiding the conversation."
"I'm not avoiding it," I said weakly. "I'm just... waiting for the right moment."
"The right moment was a week ago when you said it the first time," Helen said with characteristic bluntness. "Every day you wait is another day you both spend walking on eggshells around something that should bring you joy."
By the time lunch ended, my head was spinning with all the new information, but the knot of anxiety in my chest had loosened slightly. These women had taken me in, shared their wisdom, their stories, their friendship. They'd listened to my fears without judgment and offered comfort without platitudes.
As we said our goodbyes, Helen pulled me into a surprising hug. "You're one of us now," she said. "Wednesday Lunch Club is family, and family sticks together. And family also doesn't let family waste time on foolish fears. Talk to that man."
"I will," I promised, touched by her fierceness.
Titus whined at my feet, and I laughed, bending down to scratch behind his ears. "I'll see you next week, buddy. Save some of that ham for later, okay?"
He licked my hand, which was gross but also strangely endearing. Who would have thought I'd end up bonding with the weirdest dog in town?
As I drove home, Helen's words echoed in my mind. Every day you wait is another day you both spend walking on eggshells around something that should bring you joy.
Maybe it was time to stop being afraid of my own feelings. Maybe it was time to find out if Xander felt the same way about me as I felt about him.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending my confession had never happened and start hoping it had meant something to both of us.