Chapter 17
All around me, pages and pages of cardstock are scattered, each filled with large, elegant calligraphy.
While I’ve made progress, I’m nowhere near where I should be.
A whole whack of castoffs is at my feet, crumpled and tossed aside for one stupid mistake after another.
The wooden chair creaks as I slump back and stretch my aching arms behind my head, exhaling.
It shouldn’t be taking me so long. And it shouldn’t be such an effort.
I used to be able to do this in my sleep.
That I can’t even count on my one area of expertise is beyond frustrating.
Then again, being creative has always been an easy way to zone out and silence the world around me.
But I’ve never had so much distraction to contend with, either.
Part of me wants to blame this on Lyla, but deep down, the most insecure part of me wonders if it’s the pressure of the event tomorrow.
I’ve never had an issue with deadlines before, but I’ve also never had so much at stake.
Because if the party doesn’t go well, I won’t have a business partner beside me to shoulder some of the responsibility of that; I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
I’m running out of time, so I can’t waste what’s left of it worrying. Leaning forward with my elbows on the table, fingers steepled under my chin, I scan the finished phrases, trying to find motivation from what I’ve already produced.
All you need is love.
Home is where the heart is.
Forever starts now.
Gag me.
This is pretty much the same content I create regularly through my online store.
I know I resolved to shake the pessimistic cloud hanging over me for the last month, but while I used to think these sayings were cute, they seem fake now.
A glossy, TV screen portrayal of life. None of it has an ounce of truth, and my stomach twists in disgust at the thought of feeding into the bullshit.
Something pops into my head, and I grab a blank piece of card stock, pop the cap off a brush pen, and begin to sweep across the page with practiced strokes.
The movement flows better than it has all morning.
Tying the knot, time for a shot.
I tilt my head to the side, considering it. I like it. I set it with the others and do another.
I might be bad with directions, but at least I can find my way to my G-spot.
I snort. Now that’s more like it. I would never have dreamed of posting anything like this, but I’m pretty sure I can get away with it at a bachelorette party.
My mind is quick to remind me that if I put this up in the loft, Parker will see it.
Would he notice? Would he blush? I can’t help the devilish grin on my lips, my neck warming at the thought.
I gather what I need and hurry to the barn, finding Parker in the feed room scrubbing water buckets. He smiles easily when he sees me, and this time I don’t suppress the backflip my stomach does.
“You done already?” he asks. “I thought I wouldn’t see you until dinner.”
“Not done yet, I just needed a break. My back is killing me.”
“Sore from yesterday? I told you to take it easy, but you didn’t want to listen.”
If I thought the first bale of hay I picked up was heavy, it was nothing compared to the fiftieth. But eventually, we’d managed to empty the last of the bales—except for a few I decided to leave there for décor.
“Yeah, well. Not to be dramatic, but I think I might be dying,” I say wryly.
Parker chuckles softly, holding my gaze a little longer than usual.
“I’m gonna head upstairs to clean up. Why take a break when you can do more work, I always say.”
“No! Sloan, wait!” He dives in front of me, blocking the stairs. “The thing is, I didn’t think you’d see it again until later.”
My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenarios: I dreamt it all and we didn’t empty the loft last night; Parker found a nest of angry, territorial possums; he slept-walked and put all the hay back where he found it or filled the loft with something equally difficult to clear out, like feathers or cotton candy.
Eyes wide, I duck under Parker’s arm and thunder up the stairs to find out what exactly I’m dealing with.
By the time I reach the top of the staircase, I’m already planning my apology call to Veronica.
The room opens up in front of me and I gasp.
I stop so suddenly that Parker crashes into me from behind, knocking me forward a step.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, breathing hard. “It’s a work in progress, that’s all.”
The loose hay on the floor has been swept into piles, and the Edison string lights we bought are draped overhead, crisscrossing between the beams. One end is dangling loose, but even though it’s not finished, I can tell they’ll look amazing.
“When did you do all this?” I breathe.
He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got up early this morning and thought I’d get a head start. I hoped to be done by the time you saw it, but you snuck up on me.”
I can’t even express how beautiful he is right now.
“So … you’re not upset?” he asks, his eyes darting back and forth between mine, trying to read me.
I try not to cringe at how much of a control freak he must think I am to be so concerned. “There are no possums, so it’s perfect.”
“Uh … possums?”
“Never mind.”
Once he realizes I’m not upset, he visibly relaxes and describes the possible layout options.
“I wasn’t sure exactly how you want to set up, but there are six tables, right?
You could space them out so there’s a couple at each table, or line them up to make one long table and we’ll string the lights right above it, and then I thought food and drinks and whatever can go against the wall over here. ”
His words hit me like a slap, forcing the wind from my lungs. “Oh god.”
He pauses mid-step, his hand falling to his side, limp, face crestfallen. “You hate it.”
“No. That’s not it at all. It’s perfect. More perfect than my plans, which somehow failed to account for food.”
I lift my hands to my cheeks as I pace. There was so much else to deal with, and then with the barn, such an unexpected disaster, the thing I’d bumped to the bottom of my list had been forgotten entirely.
I take a deep breath, jumping into problem-solving mode.
Parker watches me, quietly waiting for me to decide what to do next.
“I’ll call Lyla,” I say after a minute, doing the mental math. There’s enough time for her to get here, and I can pick up the supplies to start baking as soon as she arrives. It’ll be a whirlwind, but it’s possible—and having her do this with me feels right.
Parker leaves me alone in the loft while I call her, seated on one of the lone bales in the open space.
It rings and rings, and Lyla finally picks up before I expect it to go to her voicemail.
A rush of relieved air escapes me, but after a quick catch-up, I don’t waste any time filling her in on the situation.
“So, what do you think?” I ask. “Can you come for the weekend? I am prepared to grovel endlessly for your culinary services, and I’ll cover your bus ticket and everything!”
Lyla laughs on the other end of the line, but it sounds … odd. There’s a long pause before she finally speaks.
“I wish I could, but there’s so much going on here right now. Adam has a second job interview next week, and if it goes well, the position starts pretty soon.”
“That’s great news! Wish him luck for me.”
“I will. It’s just … the position isn’t exactly local.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my surprise and the immediate sinking feeling in my stomach. I tug a piece of hay from the bale I’m seated on, bending it absently between my fingers. “How not local are we talking?”
“It’s … in New York.”
Oh. Now I understand why she sounds so hesitant to tell me; New York City is two hours away from where we live and where we planned to open the shop.
They’d have to move closer for Adam’s sake, and even if they found somewhere halfway between the two places, that’s way too long of a commute for one of them, if not both.
“Do you think there’s somewhere with that main street vibe we’re going for, somewhere near there? Not in the city, because there’s no way we could afford the rent for a storefront downtown.”
“Oh … I dunno … I haven’t had time to give it much thought, honestly.”
Somewhere above me in the rafters, a bird takes flight—at least I hope it’s a bird—sending dust cascading through the gloom.
Anxiety builds in my chest as I sense her reluctance, and I decide to drop it for now.
I don’t want to push it when she already has so much on her mind with Adam, and I can’t worry about that with the party just two days away.
“Never mind, you don’t need to worry about that right now,” I say, forcing a false brightness into my voice while my gaze snags on the cobwebs caked so thick on the walls that I wonder if I’m going to need a pressure washer to get them off.
“Focus on getting Adam that job, and we’ll figure the rest out later. ”
“Right. Obviously, this is all hypothetical for now. I probably shouldn’t even be talking about it yet—I don’t want to jinx it,” she adds, a nervous laugh rolling out of her. “Sorry, I can’t help with the party. How is it coming together?”
“Really good,” I say truthfully, filling her in on everything. “It feels good to get back to it. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I picked it up again—why am I telling you this? You probably know exactly what I mean.”
“Honestly? I haven’t baked a thing in a month, and … I have to say, I’m kind of loving the break.”
“Wait … seriously? But you love baking. You used to give away cupcakes every day in college so that you could make more. You even figured out a way to make them in the crappy toaster oven in the dorm kitchen.”
“I guess when you start doing your hobby as a job, it’s inevitable that at some point it becomes work.”
I rub my arm with my free hand, warding off the air that suddenly feels chillier than it did a moment ago.
“Look, I should probably get going. I’ve still got a lot of stuff to prepare for this weekend.
And learn to bake.” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat when I can’t follow it with even a fake laugh.
We say goodbye, and I head downstairs. Parker finishes the turn-in, leading a horse in each hand to their stalls and latching them securely and methodically, one by one.
“Lyla can’t do it, so it’s on to plan B,” I explain in a rush.
“Problem being that I don’t have a plan B, and I’m running out of time.
The party is the day after tomorrow, so I may have to stock up on grocery store desserts and hope they don’t notice.
Do they still make those cute mini cupcakes? Everyone loves those, right?”
I’m doing my best to remain calm this time, to keep my voice from sounding as crazed as I feel.
Even if it’s not ideal, there is a solution right in front of me.
It might not be how I envisioned this, but Lyla’s not here, and it’s up to me to solve this problem.
I have to do whatever it takes to make sure this party happens.
Parker raises a hand and runs it through his short brown hair. “I might know someone who can help.”
My heart skips. This might be the answer I need.
A sharp, cold wind cuts through the open door at the barn's end, dust swirling around our feet. There’s no logical reason for Parker to want to help me pull this off. And yet he’s done so much already. I don’t need his face to tell me if I can trust him. The proof is right in front of me.