“You can always tell me anything.”
“I never want to feel that helpless again.”
“You won’t,” he says, his eyes trailing over my face. My hands outline his neck, my thumbs brushing just below his earlobes. Droplets of water trickle down his skin. “Not as long as I’m here with you.”
15
EMORY
Ineed to approach Lance, but I’m trying to work through these unexpected feelings inside of my head. A part of me is still waiting for him to show how much he still wants this—us.
It’s the reason I’m here, with Larissa at our cake testing, while the memory of Dawson’s lips on mine lingers in my thoughts. Never in a million years should I have let that happen, but I did. Not just once, but many times. Him taking me out to the waters and encouraging me through my anxious fears doesn’t help. It only makes me feel that much stronger for him.
It almost makes me wonder why I’m sitting at this table at all, but I promised myself I’d at least attempt to see the possibility of a future with Lance. He deserves at least that much from me.
“Darling, are you listening to anything this sweet woman is saying?” Larissa asks, giving me a pointed look as the lady across the table offers me a tight-pressed smile. She’s pretty in that girl-next-door kind of way—soft blonde hair, blue eyes, and a mole that’s stamped right above her lip. It reminds me of Marilyn Monroe.
“I’m sorry,” I say, giving an apologetic smile of my own. An array of cake options are in front of me, buffet style. There aretoo many to count on one hand, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m very basic when it comes to most things, cake included. A solid vanilla bean is all I need to be content, to be happy. “There are so many options here, I don’t know where to start.”
“We start left to right,” Larissa says, like it’s not that hard to decide. It feels like it’s an insult.
“Of course,” I mutter, picking up my fork and pressing it into the sponginess of the first option. The cake is a deep red, the icing on top made from a cream cheese base. It’s good, but it’s not something I’d pick if I quickly ran into the store for a sweet treat.
“This is beautiful,” Larissa comments.
“Believe it or not,” Henley, the caterer, says, “that’s our most popular flavor.”
Larissa gasps. “You’re kidding.”
Henley grins. “I’m not.”
I offer them a close-mouthed smile. “I’m not sure if this is the one.”
Larissa barrels over me because it’s what she always does. “I think it’s perfect.” She wipes a napkin over her mouth and nods, her eyes bright with decision. “It’ll match your bouquet and the flower arrangements.”
“I’m not a big fan of red velvet,” I say finally, trying to break it to her nicely that I don’t want that as the flavor of my potential wedding cake.
She talks over me, ignoring my opinion. “Just imagine how beautifully it’ll blend with the roses and centerpieces.”
I set down my fork, frustration zipping through me. “Larissa.”
She waves her hand at me. “No, no, now. I think this is going to be good.” She taps her finger on the table and looks over atHenley. “What’s the price of the red velvet? It’s considered a second-tier flavor, correct?”
Henley glances over at me but ultimately decides to answer Larissa. She’s the one who set up this appointment, after all. The one who paid for the tasting to happen. They begin talking numbers, and I zone out, not caring if I’m being rude or not. I pull my phone out of my purse and immediately text Lance.
Me:Your mother is steamrolling this tasting.
He doesn’t reply right away, probably because he’s busy with the office’s monthly team meeting—the reason he wasn’t able to attend with me. I’ve noticed how quickly he’s reverted to letting my messages go unanswered—the complete opposite of how he was that first week after my accident.
Feeling like a third wheel, and like I’m not important enough to make the decision on cake flavor, I switch over to my text thread with Dawson. He’s been nothing but patient and kind with me. I almost wish he were here instead. Because he’d listen to me. He would hear my words, and if there was something else he liked more, he’d work with me to find a compromise. I just know it.
Me:Lance’s mother has decided our wedding cake will be red velvet.
Me:Please save me from this nightmare.
I don’t miss how unfair my message is as I send it. Because, to him, there’s probably a very clear solution—one that involves me packing my bags and leaving Lance entirely.
He texts back immediately.
