Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
RACHEL
“ W hat are you wearing?”
I bite my lip, staring at the clothes in my closet. Why isn’t there anything good in here?
“I don’t know,” I tell Jae, who’s on speakerphone. Flipping through the hangers, I throw my arms up dramatically, not that she can see me. “I have nothing.”
“You should’ve got the minidress from the boutique.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not helping.”
“What about the dress you wore to my wedding?”
“That’s way too fancy. It’s dinner at the bistro.”
“What about the navy one? With the yellow flowers?”
“I already wore that to make chili at his house.”
“Do you own any other dresses?”
I scrub my hands down my face. “No.” I’ve never been much into dressing up, which has come back to bite me in the ass now.
“I’d offer to let you borrow from my closet, but…”
She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. It would be like borrowing from a doll’s closet.
“What about Sydney or Hailey?” she asks. “Maybe they have something?”
I doubt Sydney owns anything nice—no offense to her, but dresses aren’t her style either—but Hailey might.
I check the time. “Nick’s picking me up in half an hour. There’s no time.” I still have to do my makeup and attempt something nice with my hair. My usual ponytail won’t cut it tonight.
“Okay, I’ll call Hailey. You keep getting ready.”
Fifteen minutes later, when I’ve resigned myself to wearing one of the Aurora Bakery shirts and jeans I wear every day, there’s a knock at my front door, my stomach rising and falling. Is Nick early?
“Oh, thank God,” I say when I answer the door. “It’s only you.”
Hailey’s eyes narrow. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or compliment.”
I drag her inside, taking the armful of clothes from her. “You know what I mean.” I sift through the dresses, settling on a deep purple one with fluttery sleeves. “Thank you for this.”
“Of course.” She eyes me warily. “Do you need help?”
She reaches out to touch my hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing it looks awful. “Yes. I was trying this thing I saw on TikTok where the girl teased it.” Mine turned out more like a rat’s nest.
“Go get changed and I’ll do your hair while you finish your makeup.”
She curls my hair into soft waves that I’d never be able to manage on my own, and I actually look halfway decent when she slips out of the house a few minutes before Nick is set to come over.
I smooth my hands over the skirt of the dress as I stare at myself in the mirror for what has to be the hundredth time. The fit is fine. The fabric is fine. Everything is fine.
So why is my pulse hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips?
I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, working on calming myself down. It’s only Nick. I’ve known him for years. Been spending time with him for over a month now. Tonight doesn’t have to be any different.
But this is a first date. And based on that slow, easy way he kissed me goodnight two nights ago… How he told me he’s ready if I ever want anything more, that he’d never waste a chance I give him…
My stomach dips low with anticipation yet again remembering it. I had no idea he could be so romantic. Warmth rushes through me in places I’d rather not think about when I’m supposed to be calming down.
I exhale sharply, pressing my palms against my cheeks as if that’ll soothe the nerves buzzing beneath my skin. And as the faint sound of a truck pulling up in my driveway reaches my ears, my heart stutters in a way that tells me this isn’t only Nick. It’s never been only him.
And I need to finally acknowledge that to myself. I admitted I like him already, and if things keep going the way they have, it could very well turn into more.
Not terrifying at all.
I carefully arrange my hair around my shoulders one last time in the mirror, then pick up my purse as there’s a knock at the door.
Nick is gorgeous in a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. I love it when guys do that. Especially since he has sexy forearms.
Okay, I need to get a grip and stop lusting over forearms.
But it seems he may be doing some lusting of his own as he stares at me, his gaze doing a slow sweep over me, appreciation on his face. When his eyes meet mine, an unsteady smile spreads over his lips.
“You look amazing,” he says, nearly sounding breathless. Do I really affect him that much?
“So do you.” I reach on tiptoes to kiss him hello, loving how his hands briefly circle my waist as he returns my kiss.
His hand rests on the small of my back as he guides me down the porch steps and to his truck, his gaze lingering on my legs as my dress rides up getting in the passenger seat.
My stomach is a ball of tumbling giddiness, delighting in the way he’s looking at me, and a deep certainty that this was the right path forward settles over me. Thank God I gave him a chance, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with him.
Apparently, Nick made a reservation at the bistro, which I wasn’t aware you could even do, and we’re seated at one of their prime tables near the picture box window overlooking the street.
A small, flickering tea light placed in the center of the linen tablecloth casts a soft glow over the polished silverware and cloth napkins, and something about the cozy charm of it all sets me right at ease.
The waitress comes by to fill our water glasses from a carafe, and I can’t help but smile at Nick, that giddiness still filling me.
He reaches across the table to take my hand in his, and though I’ve always thought holding hands at restaurants is too much, I understand the appeal now.
“Tell me about your day,” he requests after we order, and he seems so genuinely interested, I nearly laugh. Kyle hated listening to me talk about the bakery.
I tell him about finishing up the custom birthday cake for Mrs. Harrow’s daughter—a sweet bumblebee cake that took us way too long because of all the fondant bees Sydney insisted on hand sculpting. Then taking inventory and putting in a supply order for the week like I do every Monday.
“Oh, and Sydney convinced me to try out some lemon cheesecake and blueberry rolls tomorrow in place of cinnamon rolls. So we’ll see how those do.”
“Aw, I love your cinnamon rolls.”
I give him a quizzical look. “When did you have one of those? I thought you’ve only tried the danishes.”
“Mrs. Montour gave me one.”
I arch a brow. “You two hang out often?” It’s an unlikely pairing, but stranger things have happened.
He ducks his head, smiling. “She’s my neighbor. And I had to help get her dog unstuck from a fence the other day.”
I hold back a laugh. It’s really not funny. “Poor Dolly.”
“Oh, you know Dolly, too?”
“Mrs. Montour occasionally requests a pup cup for her.”
Now it’s his turn to look confused. “What the hell is a pup cup?”
I think Sydney had said the same when Mrs. Montour had first started requesting one. “It’s a small cup filled with whipped cream. She claims it’s better for Dolly than the canned stuff, since we make it fresh.”
He still appears confused. “Why does the dog need whipped cream at all?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but it makes her happy so we keep doing it.”
He squeezes my hand. “Well, you’re good at making people happy.”
“Do I make you happy?” The question slips out without meaning to. “Sorry, that was weird. You don’t have to answer that.”
He doesn’t seem put off, though, his smile widening. “You do. Getting to know you better over the past month… It’s made me happier than I can remember being in a long time.”
My heart cinches tight in my chest. Just from the few times we’ve hung out? Well, I guess it’s been more than a few times. Even so, it makes me feel guilty for how guarded I was at the beginning, not realizing he felt that way.
Not realizing I felt that way, either.
“You make me happy, too,” I whisper, squeezing his hand in return.
It’s the truth. Even if I was trying to convince myself otherwise.
Our server brings us our meals then, and Nick digs into his pasta, assuring me it’s not nearly as good as my lasagna. That is, until his phone chimes with an incoming text.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling it out of his pocket. “I always have to check in case it’s—” His face drains of color. “Shit.”
I set down my fork and knife, my steak frites forgotten. “What is it?”
“Three-alarm fire.” He throws his napkin down on the table. “Over on Mill Brook Road. Everyone’s being called in.”
The scrape of his chair is loud in the quiet of the restaurant as he gets up. He pulls his wallet out, his actions hurried, and mumbles a curse under his breath after a moment. “I don’t have any cash. And I drove you.”
He turns to flag down the waitress and I tell him, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I can get a ride home, too.”
Relief overtakes his face for a split second before a mask of calm slips over it. Only, I can still tell he’s anxious. His jaw is a little too tight, his posture rigid, as if he’s holding himself together so as not to worry me.
“I’m so sorry.” He rounds the table, pressing a swift kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll make it up to you.”
I nod, but he’s already halfway out the door, his broad frame disappearing into the night.
I meant to tell him to be safe, the words stuck in my throat, and I swallow them down past the unexpected lump there.
Staring at our barely eaten dinner, I try to shake off the irrational feeling growing in my chest. He’s not ditching me. He’s doing his job. A job I admire him for. The one who made him who he is today.
And yet, that familiar weight of abandonment settles low in my belly, illogical but insistent.
Taking a sip of water, I glance at Nick’s empty chair, avoiding looking at anyone else in the restaurant. Did they all see that? How he left me? The same way Kyle—
No, this isn’t the same as that. Nowhere near close.
But as I look down at my perfectly cooked steak, my appetite fades. I need to get out of here.