I think of how I felt last week, though, with Walker in Mabel’s old bakery. I didn’t feel like a fill-in there. No, I felt alive and like I was right where I belong. Shit. I don’t want to leave.
I sigh. “I don’t even know what to say to these people. I’m leaving in two weeks.” Or at least, I’m supposed to leave in two weeks. I still haven’t replied to Rochelle, and I’m absolutely dreading that ferry ride to Nantucket.
Rosie holds up her mug. “Is there any prosecco left in that bottle?” Babs is folding foil into Rosie’s hair so she’s stuck in her chair for the time being.
When I’d shown up this morning for our appointment, I didn’t see the day going this way, but we’re four glasses—or mugs, I suppose—deep and this is the second bottle we’ve polished off if it’s finished. Which I suspect it is.
My sister lifts it up. “Feels empty to me.”
I hop up from my spot on the couch and grab it from her. Sure enough, there’s not a drop of booze left in it. “Definitely done.”
“There’s more in the cooler,” Rosie reminds me.
“You girls could just sit still and not drink prosecco,” Babs suggests.
“What would be the fun in that?” Rosie dangles her mug between her fingers as I stand to grab it and head for the cooler.
The Spring Fling is in ten days, right before I’m set to leave, and I’ve been beyond busy between the weddings at the farm, the grand marshal activities, Tally Tuesdays with Walker, and replying to all these messages on Instagram every night.
The truth is that every day I’m in this town, every moment I spend with Walker, I wish I wasn’t leaving. The last eight weeks went by way too quickly, and the excitement I once felt about working on the menu with Rochelle isn’t there anymore. I’ve come to love this place that I used to avoid,come to see the beauty in the townsfolks’ meddlesome ways. The way in which they would do anything for one another.
More than all of that though, I’ve fallen for Walker. Hook, line, and sinker.
I promised myself I’d be open to new possibilities, to new dreams, but I think my dreams have changed more than I realized.
“Okay, don’t kill me, but look at the link I just sent you,” Penny says from her seat.
I’ve been avoiding my phone because there’s always more messages that I don’t want to deal with, but I huff and do what she asks. As soon as I open the text messages, there’s a stream of links.
I laugh as I shake my head in disbelief. She made me a freaking website. And a TikTok. And an Instagram. All for a business I don’t have. Tallulah’s Tasty Cakes. It’s catchy, I’ll give her that.
My fingers dig into my forehead. “You are insane.”
“It’s a good idea,” Penny says, shifting forward.
Mindy sighs. “If you keep moving, you’re going to end up with bangs again.”
Rosie snorts. “Uh-oh.”
“Penny, there’s likes fifty messages on this Instagram.” I groan. I can’t possibly keep up with this.
Rosie leans forward. “Let me see!”
Penny holds up her phone, waving it in her hand dramatically. “I’ll message it to you. Don’t go messing up your hair.”
I laugh, but I can’t ignore the excitement swirling in my chest.
For a moment everyone is silent while Rosie stares at the links Penny just sent her. “I don’t know, Tal, this looks pretty good to me.” She glances up from her phone. “And every day people are coming into the bar, asking if we have your cakes. You’re famous. You should strike while the iron’s hot.”
I shake my head. Could I really do this? Open a bakery and start my own business? It seems … a smile pulls at my lips. Damn, it seems pretty exciting.
My sister spots my smile. “See, I knew you’d like it.”
I try to straighten my lips, but they keep tugging up. “Okay, well, if I was to do this, would you be able to help me set up a rate sheet? And help me research what I can even charge? God, there’s so much I’d have to do.”
My sister smiles as she picks up her phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I glance down at the text to find a link to an article on costs of wedding cakes.
