50. Tilly
Chapter fifty
Tilly
I f I had a needle and thread, I’d be working on an Archer voodoo doll during this flight. To think I flew the entire way there assuming he’d be in his hotel suite, but he’s back in Texas doing God knows what during his two off days. You think he would’ve called, maybe apologized for the confusion or at least offered to meet me when I got home, but nope. Nada. I even messaged him after I realized what happened, but he hasn’t read any of my texts.
When the hotel concierge couldn’t contact Archer to ask if he could give me his room number, I called Shantel. She couldn’t get a hold of him either, so I went down to the studios to see if I could find him there.
A beautiful red-haired woman kindly let me know Archer wasn’t there but that they were so blessed to have such an amazing carpenter on their show. Her pointed glances at my left hand made it clear why she was overly sweet in the beginning and then changed her demeanor once her eyes settled on my ringless finger. After talking to her, I didn’t want to talk to anyone and decided to turn off my phone.
“Pretzels or peanuts?”
Pulled from my reeling by a bag of salty peanuts, I smile and take it, pushing the image of the woman from my mind. The loud crunch of the bag garners me dirty looks from the passenger across the aisle trying to sleep, and a whiff of the nutty goodness makes my stomach grumble loud enough to rival the engines .
I stare out the airplane window at the fading orange light, but it gives me no peace, and as we descend into San Antonio, the disappointment of my grand gesture settles into my bones. I could’ve stayed, waited until he came back, told him I want to make things work, but if it was meant to be then it would’ve worked out.
As the wheels touch down, every nerve I channeled into anger comes rushing back in with the jingle of my phone going off airplane mode. Texts from Dad and Shantel overflow my inbox, and my breath vanishes when my eyes snag on Archer’s name. I sit back in my seat, hands shaking as I click his text.
Archer: Come home to me.
Tongue pressed against my cheek, I rest my head on the seat and try to calm myself down. I tried to go to him, and he wasn’t there. Why is he even in San Antonio? He hightailed it out of there the minute things didn’t work with us, and now he wants me to come home to him? The emotional whiplash makes my head spin.
Ignoring the anger, I concentrate on the underlying message. Where is home anymore? I thought I’d found it in the bakery, thought I’d found it with Archer, but neither of those worked out how they were supposed to, and each time my heart broke a little more.
A buzz in my hand draws my attention.
Shantel: Come to the bakery.
My heart rate skyrockets. Why does she want me to meet her there? Did something happen? Did it get broken into?
Me: What happened?
Three dots appear, dancing on the screen.
Shantel: There’s something weird going on…Need you here .
A lump takes residence in my throat. Once I’m off the plane, I dial her number and it goes directly to voicemail. My fingers tremble as I try my dad. Same thing. With a deep breath, I dial the last number I want to.
It goes directly to voicemail, too.
My hand clenches around the phone, wishing I could break it into tiny pieces.
I quickly make my way down to the arrivals exit and hail a cab. The less than ten-minute drive takes forty minutes during rush hour on Interstate 410, and when we get close to the bakery the traffic is completely grid locked. Fearing the worst, I pay for my fare and speed toward the bakery, my heart in my throat.
A line around the corner stops me as I approach the street. People have their cameras out, taking pictures of the line and of themselves, the local news station has set up, and I’m terrified to see why. Has the bakery been burned to the ground? A glance at the clear sky quells my unease about a fire, but the closer I get, I realize the line is coming out of my bakery.
I move closer. “What’s going on?”
“Grand opening of this new hot spot called Tilly’s,” a college-aged kid in a flannel shirt and beanie says.
Grand Opening? Tilly’s? What the hell.
I basically levitate to the front of the shop.
“No jumping the line,” someone yells as if we’re standing in line for a club instead of a bakery. A laugh bubbles out of me when I squeeze through the doorway with my carry-on suitcase and find Dad, Gloria, Shantel, Nora, and Archer behind the counter.
“What the hell?” My voice squeaks, barely heard over the din of the bakery .
Like magnets, Archer’s eyes lift to mine, and a smile cracks his now bare face. It’s been years since I’ve seen him clean shaven, and the snare drum inside my chest crescendos.
“Attention everyone,” Archer yells. “Welcome to the Grand Opening of Tilly’s bakery. Here’s the woman of the hour!”
My skin heats with all the eyes that shift to me, and applause and whoops of congratulations fill the air. Stunned, I struggle to find words to convey the sheer insanity of all of this. The bakery case is filled with treats I didn’t make, there’s a line of people out the door that I didn’t invite, and the man I’ve fallen in love with is standing behind the counter when he should be in Tennessee.
Dizzy and confused, I find a seat and plop my purse on the table. My mouth is dry as Archer makes his way over to me with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“How?” I ask, breathless. “Why?”
He takes my hand, pulling me from the chair and handing me the flowers. “Because this is your dream.”
My eyes fall to the aromatic sweet alyssums he gathered in purple, pink, and white. A nudge on my chin, and green eyes pierce the Teflon armor of my heart.
“I want to be the man who makes all of your dreams come true, Tilda St. James.”
Breath rushes out of me, and I close my eyes as his lips meet mine. Loud hoots and hollers echo in the tiny bakery, but I’m reduced to goo as Archer wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. My brain lags to catch up, and I push him back a step, touching my fingertips to my lips.
“But why?” I ask .
He runs a hand through his hair, and the eyes on us seem to narrow as if the entire store is on bated breath waiting to hear his answer.
“Because I made a mistake in leaving.”
I scoff, but immediately feel bad because I pushed him away. If it wasn’t for me, maybe he would’ve stayed here.
No, I tell myself. I pushed him away because he needed to follow his dreams. He’s given so much up for everyone else, and it was time for him to take care of himself.
“I didn’t stay to fight for you, like I should’ve all those years ago. I can only apologize for that, but I’m here right now.”
“What about your job?”
“Forget the job,” he says, moving closer and taking my hand. “There are other jobs out there, but there’s only one you.”
A chorus of ‘awws’ starts around the room, and my eyes lock on Nora and Shantel at the counter boxing up cookies. Their smiles warm my heart, and a small nod from Nora giving her blessing fills my chest with happiness. As if recognizing the moment for what it is, my stomach spins and a wave of nausea hits me.
“But…”
“Enough, Tilda.” Archer’s deep voice sends a chill down my back. “No job, no poker chip, no nothing, will take me from you. I’m yours if you’ll have me.”
“Say yes!” a few customers yell, and I almost want to laugh at how cheesy we probably look, me with my carry-on luggage, and Archer confessing his love.
“I love you, Tilly.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean to blurt that out right here .
Everyone’s sharp gasps make it seem like we’re in the theaters and they’re watching a movie. Archer’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted. The silence seems to stretch, and a flush creeps up my neck. This was definitely not the time or place I should’ve told Archer something so…earth shattering.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean—”
My feet leave the floor, and Archer spins me around, his smile so wide I’m worried his face is going to crack.
“Really?” he asks.
My voice is nowhere to be found, but the nausea in my stomach is ever-present and it’s slowly creeping up my chest. I press against his shoulders, willing him to put me down before I throw up all over him in front of the entire store.
He sets me down and holds me at arm distance, eyes filled with excitement. “Really?”
I press my hand against my stomach and nod. “Yes.”
He pulls me into his arms, burying his face in my neck. His hand moves down to my stomach, and I hold my breath as he says, “I love you…both.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m ready to leave all the baggage behind us and move forward together if you are?”
Tears leak down my face, surely brought on by the raging hormones. With a laugh, I wipe them away and nod. “I’m so ready.”
I drag my suitcase behind the counter and after greeting my family, I fall in line beside them, boxing up the rest of the orders and rubbing elbows with some of the business owners around. Apparently, flyers went out this morning to the three major college campuses downtown and to the surrounding buildings naming my bakery as the newest hot spot to check out. The news caught onto the hullabaloo and followed everyone over .
“I can’t thank you guys enough for everything you did today,” I say, wiping down the counter and bakery case.
“It was all Archer’s idea,” Dad says, pulling me to his side and kissing the top of my head. “Congratulations, pumpkin.”
I lean into his embrace. For so long there was distance between us, and I’m grateful to Gloria for helping us bridge the gap.
“Don’t forget Sunday dinner.” Nora rests her feet at a table across the way. “And you’re making the desserts because I’m desserted out.”
Everyone laughs, and we share a collective sigh. One by one they leave, and as the day comes to a close, a sense of completion comes over me as I flip the lock and turn off the neons. Finally able to catch my breath, I take a moment and go to the kitchen. It’s a mess of sprinkles, icing, and flour, but I’m astounded by the love the community and my family showed me today by getting my bakery opened.
The door swings open, and my heart pitter-patters inside my chest when Archer steps through. He’s wiping his hands on an apron, eyes lit with desire.