The floors. My heart deflates a little more. They’re a beautiful deep chestnut color, ones probably filled with other families’ Decembers. I’ll be heartbroken if I lose them.
“I sure hope we can,” I whisper.
He turns his full attention to me, the heat of his stare unnerving. “Will you be okay while I run to the farm?”
“You don’t have to stay.” I wince. He doesn’t deserve that tone.
Aiden has tossed aside all his responsibilities to help me, and I’m letting ‘hangry’ Chloe call the shots. As soon as he leaves, I’m raiding my stash. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I’ve been looking forward to meeting him at Storywood Sweets to eat.
“Should I feed you first?” He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a telltale grin again. “I bet I have food in the truck.”
“I’ll be fine. Go. I need to call Abby and fill her in again. I’ve got snacks,” I add as an afterthought when he gives me a concerned look.
He hesitates, glancing from the door to my studio, then back to me again. The look he gives me is all steady promise and wonderful possibility. It makes me want to run to him, to feel the weight of his arms around me, to let him press his lips to my temple the way he always did. I want to get lost in the feeling of knowing I’m safe, that someone cares.
But especially because it’s Aiden.
For half a second, I can almost see it: his boots by my door, his mug in my cabinet, his shoulders carrying part of this weight that never seems to let up.
That’s how I know I’m carrying too much.
Aiden doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m just… reacting to relief like it’s love.
“I’ll be back soon, Chloe.”
“I’ll be here,” I shrug.
When the door snicks shut behind him, the ache in my chest only amplifies. I’m thinking beyond the basics of surviving adulthood. I’m imagining someone to bask in the glow of Christmas lights, in the quiet after bedtime, after a long day.
I’m in big trouble.
nine
CHLOE
The steady humof dialogue in the bakery pauses as we walk in the door. A sea of faces cast their eyes on us, but just as quickly, they look away and go back to their conversations.
My hand rises to my hair, fingers twisting the messy bun I threw up during the chaos. The thought of my appearance, disheveled and marked by exhaustion, makes me wince.
“They overdo the decor in here,” Aiden mutters, eyes flicking from the door to the tinsel strung across the ceiling.
“Hey, Chloe. Be right with you,” Finley calls from behind the counter.
“Thanks, Finley.” I try to force a friendly tone, but the effort falls flat; my wave is barely a lift of my hand as we wade through the tables, every sluggish movement betraying my fatigue.
“You seem at home here,” he observes as we look for a table.
He seems completely the opposite.
It’s clear in his hunched shoulders and restless glance that he wants nothing more than to disappear, shrinking behind a wall of silence to keep attention off himself.
“I might frequent this place more than I should around the holidays.”
Or at least more than I used to.
One more thing to cut from my now painfully narrow budget.
He chuckles. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
