“You mustreallyhate my car,” I mutter. It’s all I can think to say. I think I’m in shock.
“It’s a death trap,” Landon says. “Flying is much safer.”
My mind turns over his offer, analyzing it from every angle to figure out what the catch is.
“Why are you offering to do this?” I ask, studying his face like I’ll somehow find the answer there. But, as usual, it gives nothing away.
“Like I said, I’m overdue a trip.”
“That’s all?” My eyes search his. “That’s the only reason?”
The left side of his mouth lifts back into that smirk. “What other reason could there be?”
I have no idea what other reasons there could be. I haven’t worked them out in my head yet because I don’t know what to hope for. What I’mallowedto hope for.
Mel’s face flashes through my head, and my gut twists with guilt as I finally admit the truth.
You want him to like you the way you like him.
But that would be wrong…right?
“Violet?” His questioning voice snaps me out of my own head and back to reality.
“You’re just being friendly, right? Like we agreed.”
He studies me for a long time before eventually nodding. “Right,” he says, drawing out the word. “Friendly. Like we agreed.”
It’s not logical, but my heart sinks at his response.
It’s not rational, but my shoulders sag in disappointment.
It’s not honorable, but I wish his answer was different.
I wish it was honest.
THIRTY-FOUR
I tell my friends about the trip, but I don’t tell them about Landon. I don’t want them to get the wrong ideaorjudge my arguably faulty decision-making skills. I just feel…protective. Protective of my secret thoughts, protective of our abnormal relationship, protective of my fragile heart, which is starting to feel things it hasn’t felt in a long time. Things it’s maybe never felt before.
Not that I’ll ever admit it aloud. My guilt won’t let me.
It’s mid-week when I get a message on my Instagram account—a woman named Jane asking if she can place an order for her daughter’s bridal shower. Apparently, she saw the photos I posted from the Prolimbinary shoot and became obsessed with the butterfly decorations. I’ve never filled an official request before, but I don’t hesitate to agree, even though it’s short notice.
The day before delivery, I crank up my music and get to work, and by the time Landon gets home, I have no idea if I’ve been in the kitchen for minutes or hours. Pausing in the doorway, he takes one look at the mess with panicked eyes and rubs at the back of his neck with a groan.
“It’s just the process, Landon,” I remind, carefully rotating the delicate wing I’m crafting with the tips of my pointer fingers.
“I know. I get it,” he mutters, already loosening the top button of his shirt. “I just wish the process was more…contained. This is a warzone.”
“What can I say? It’s a batter-filled battlefield.” The timer starts beeping, and I remove the tray from the oven. However, when I see the tops of the cupcakes, my heart stops. “Oh no,” I mutter, setting them on the stove. “Ohno.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at these!” I cry. “None of them rose! They’re all sad and sunken.” My eyes scan the cluttered counter, landing on the can of baking powder. “How thehelldid I forget to add the baking powder?” I drop my head into my hands, mentally cursing myself for being so stupid, and fight back the tears I feel welling in my eyes. “My very first commission, and I fuck it up. I can’t believe I forgot the baking powder. Who does that?”
Landon walks around the island, and I see his shiny leather shoes stop inches from mine. I don’t look up, and his hands land on my shoulders. “Violet.”
“I’ll have to make an entirely new batch,” I say, which isn’tthatbig of a deal, but I was up late testing recipes, and I worked a long shift today, and I’m low on ingredients as it is. This whole thing is a total disaster.
