Like it’s normal for him to have work problems on Saturdays.
I fixed him an iced eggnog latte and let him be.
And now, forty-five minutes before we’re supposed to be at his grandparents’ party, he’s weighing in on my dress.
Did he hear my telepathic invitation to come offer an opinion and put me out of my indecisive misery?
I peek over my shoulder at him. “What if your grandma’s wearing red?”
See?
Overthinking.
“What if she’s wearing gold?” he replies.
“Good point.”
I’m in a towel, fresh out of the shower.
Semifresh out of the shower.
I’ve been standing here longer than I want to admit.
Dane doesn’t seem to notice what I’m wearing. Or not wearing. He just nods to the dresses again, repeats, “The red one. If you’ll let me know when you’re done, I need five minutes in the bathroom.”
He slips back down the hallway.
He’s not rude. I don’t feel dismissed. I believe he’s been untangling a work mess all day, and I know he didn’t get the hours in this week that he needed to for work.
But I only have a couple of days left with him.
How is it that a week ago, my life was completely fine, and today, I’m a wreck because I’ll soon be headed back to New York solo?
And how isthatthe top problem on my mind when Grandma deserves to retire and Mom deserves to know she’ll be able to one day,too, and I can’t offer them a better option than me moving home, which is one thing I still can’t see myself doing?
I’ve texted with my brother a lot this week.
He’s madly in love with his new bride, and he adores Italy.
He’s not coming home.
Ever.
And he doesn’t have any magical solutions to the bakery either.
Even if we can solve this family feud, I don’t see Grandma and Mom jumping at the chance to have anyone outside of the family take over. They’ve never said the phrasewe have to keep it in the family so the Silvers don’t get it, because it’s always been assumed the bakery would stay in the family.
But the clear answer to this problem isone day we’ll have to sell the bakery.
Which means I have to give up New York if we wantone dayto be many years’ worth of days from now.
Maybe they can give me a few months so that I can see my play done back home.
Back home.New York isback hometo me.
But it can’t be. Because I have to move home to Tinsel to help Mom with the bakery.
I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
