I step out into the hall, my pulse still running ahead of me, and realize something quietly, solidly true.
I don’t know what comes next, but for the first time in a long time, I want to find out.
Chapter 6
Charlotte
By evening,my brain is mush, my feet hurt, and I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my daily limit on clipboard-related stress. The Heart-to-Heart Festival vendors are mostly checked in, the booth layouts are finalized, and only two people cried today, which is honestly a win.
I should be exhausted enough to fall face-first onto this hotel bed and sleep until morning.
Instead, I’m wide awake.
Because of him.
I’d seen Liam earlier when I stopped by the bakery to review a few last-minute changes. We tried to stick to talking only about festival logistics, but it was a lot harder than expected. When I headed out the door, he looked at me and said, “I’ll see you later,” like he has a plan for us.
We didn’t set a time, or a place, I’ve no idea what he plans, but I can’t stop thinking about it, I’ve been replaying that look all day.
And now I’m in my inn room, showered, changed into jeans and a black top, hair down, trying really hard not to stare at the door like a lovesick teenager.
I busy myself with pointless tasks, like cleaning and rearranging my things to keep me distracted.
Which isn’t working.
A quiet knock causes my heart to jump. I take a breath, smooth my shirt, and open the door.
Liam stands there holding a brown paper bag that smells way too good to be anything other than dinner. His hair is a little messy from work, his forearms are bare from rolling up his sleeves, and he’s wearing that focused expression that always makes my stomach flip.
“Hi,” he says.
That’s all. Just hi, and my whole body wakes up like someone flipped a switch.
“Hi,” I say back, trying not to sound too breathless. “You brought food.”
“I brought options,” he says. “In case you were starving or picky or both.”
I step aside. “Come in.”
He walks in and sets the bag on the small table.
“You good?” I ask.
“Better now,” he says so casually that it takes me a second to catch my breath.
“Sit,” I tell him before I forget how talking works.
We unpack the food together. Sandwiches, chips, drinks, and two cupcakes I am absolutely sure he chose on purpose.
“This is a lot of food,” I say.
“I didn’t know what you liked.”
“So you bought everything?”
“Pretty much.”
We sit close enough that our knees bump if either of us shifts an inch. It feels like a date. It is a date. We eat and talk about everything: work, vendor meltdowns, the bakery’s chaos. He tells me Mark almost created a flour disaster trying to show offand I tell him about the vendor who tried to bribe me with fudge to get a better booth spot.
