At noon the next day, we had bagels before making our way to the bakery.
“Swear I didn’t embarrass myself?” Bev asked me over a strong coffee.
“You didn’t. You were totally fine. Having fun, that’s it.”
“Ugh, my head hurts.”
“Drink some more coffee.”
“I need a cheeseburger with fries.”
“Want to go get one? I’ll take one for the team.”
We were sitting in a hole-in-the-wall bagel joint in midtown on our way to the bakery, both of us in my jean cutoffs and tanks, Bev’s clothes from the night before forgotten at my place.
“No can do. If I want to keep dancing and maybe, just maybe, go back to school, there are no cheeseburgers in my future. Last night was already enough of a no-no.”
“You should go back to school. Your mom’s coming back to work, and you shouldn’t worry. Plus, maybe I can help her. Like I’ve said.”
“How ’bout you go to school?” Bev eyed me above her disposable coffee cup.
“I will, once I find my mom.”
“Are you any closer?”
I nodded, thinking I would wait to say something until we were all together, when I was rescued by the ding on my phone.
Heya strangerwas all it said with a picture of Tuck.
Against my better judgment, I felt my mouth pull into a huge smile.
“What?” Bev asked, staring straight at my grin.
“Did you see Price’s new puppy?” I showed Bev the phone.
“Aw, look at him. What are you waiting for? Answer the hottie back.” She shoved the phone back at me.
“I usually wait a few to answer.”
“Why? There’s no stupid rules, and he’s obviously missing you.”
I didn’t care to explain my nerves over his obvious wealth of experience versus mine, or the nagging need to make up with my dad ... and how that might be impossible now. Rather, I picked up my phone and tapped away at a response, leaving Bev sitting there smug-faced.
All good here. Hanging with Bev. And going to bake.
Almost immediately, the phone dinged again.
Tell her.
“He’s busy,” I told Bev and tucked the phone away in my bag. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep your mom waiting anymore.”
“Fine,” she mumbled.
“These are incredible.” I shoved almost an entire cookie in my mouth. “This is the best part of baking. Sampling,” I said to Sheila.
We’d made a batch of the boyfriend cookies, adding what could be different signature items to a few. My hair was up in a messy bun, my mouth full of warm cookie, and my heart heavy with the need to come clean.
“I like the ones with the white chocolate chips,” Bev said, taking tiny tastes of various cookies.
