February 7
Taylor
I ’ve just finished boxing up cookies for a post office run—and breathing a big sigh of relief. The orders have leveled off even though it’s two days before our Valentine’s Day deadline. I guess the social media post recommending us has run its course. I’m grateful for the business, but also happy to know we’ll be caught up and back to normal soon, and that we pulled it off.
The rest of the crew is baking like mad this morning as I handle the front. We’ll stay busy between now and the fourteenth, but things suddenly seem back under control. Mom is working with us through tomorrow, but then I’m sending her home to David in Louisville.
Every time the shop door opens, I fear it’s Luke. I’m still wild about him, but I feel a little lost right now and like I have a lot of thinking to do. Fortunately, since the moment I ran out of the deli like a woman on fire, he’s only texted.
And I’ve done that thing where you take a while to answer, to let the guy know he’s not your top priority. And since he knows I’m busy, he hasn’t overdone it.
Then, however, as if the very thought conjured him, my phone buzzes, and I almost know it’s him before I even look.
Glad your emergency the other day turned out to be a false alarm. (I told a little white lie to cover up my first little white lie. Even though I hate lying to anyone about anything.) Hope things are under control.
Of course, my first instinct is to be responsive, to tell him the mad rush is coming to an end, to finally celebrate my success a bit.
But I don’t. Even if it still gives me a little thrill to hear from him, to know he’s thinking about me. My confusion runs thick.
Another text rolls in, also from the man of my dreams who I’m avoiding. I know you’re still busy, but lunch at Caroline’s today? Maybe you could actually eat this time. He ends with a wink emoji.
I take a few minutes, straightening the wares in the display case. I would love to see him. In fact, I would love to let myself do everything I’ve ever wanted to with him.
But I’m trying to think “big picture” here. I’m trying to makes sense of the “fun” I’m supposed to be having with him, and puzzling through how “fun” could make someone this miserable. Still peering down at his name on my phone, I murmur, “You’re so much more than fun.”
“What?” Kyra asks from behind me.
I flinch. “Nothing,” I say, trying to sound like my usual, cheerful self.
Then I text Luke back. Sorry. Wish I could. But can’t.