“It’s all good, angel.”
“You’re not listening to her,” Jo said.
He frowned at her. “Excuse me, you’re interrupting a private moment.”
“Dude,” Alec said. “You’re live-streaming this whole thing.”
“Not streaming,” Jimmy said from behind his phone. “Recording.”
Ignoring them, Colt lowered himself to one knee. Right there on the gravel drive. His golden hair gleamed. He reached in his pocket. “Angel, make me the happiest man in the world.” And oh, golly, that was a ring box in his hand. He opened it, and an enormous diamond flashed in the sun.
“Holy crap,” Jo said.
“Gonna have to edit that out,” Alec said.
“Marry me,” Colt said.
My heart crowded into my throat.
Say yes, urged a voice like Dr. P.’s. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to learn? To sayyesto eating and to living.Yesto music and to love.
I looked down into Colt’s blue eyes. He was handsome. Smiling. Sincere. Confident of my answer.
Maybe even...Yesto myself.Yestomydreams.
Gently, I tugged my hands free and took a step back. “No.”
CHAPTER 30
Amy
You did a good job,” our mother said, looking around the remodeled storefront.
Jo rolled her eyes. “Way to overwhelm her with the compliments, Ma.” Our mother laughed.
Beth smiled and put an arm around my waist. I hugged her back, feeling her light, sharp bones, the slight padding of muscle on her shoulders. Had she put on weight while I was gone?
“The renovation looks amazing,” Meg said.
“I hired Eric’s contractor,” I said. The guy who did the dining room at Oak Hill, a vet who also worked for Laurence Properties and was recommended by my father. I was back in Bunyan, where everybody knew everybody else’s business. It worked for me.
“Well, then, he did a good job,” our mother said.
I smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
The old Shoe Box had been transformed, stripped to its original bones. The ugly blue carpet was gone, exposing newly sandedhardwood floors. The natural light from the plate glass windows revealed the tin ceilings and exposed brick walls, lightly whitewashed and daubed now with color.
My worktable occupied pride of place in the center of the store, separating the industrial racks, bolts, and bins in back from the retail space in front, so I could see the entrance and the customers (please, God, let there be customers) could watch the bags being assembled as they browsed.
The only thing missing from my dream store was the sign over the door in the shape of a handbag, with my logo, Baggage.
The sign, and Trey.
Yearning stabbed me. I missed him so much—the laughter lurking in his eyes, his enthusiasm, his generosity, his kindness. His belief in me.
“I’ll be fine without you,” I’d said.
But I hadn’t expected him to drop so completely out of my life. So much was changing. Stupidly, I’d expected him to somehow still be there.
