“Will it hurt?”
“Not her.”
“Ah. I see. You’re gambling a part of yourself you’ve never played with before.”
“Of all the things Mama passed down, gambling wasn’t one of them.”
“Yeah, it was.” He takes a drink and swirls the glass, staring at the amber liquid. “You bet with your time and your freedom. You got into fights you didn’t know you’d win. You put whatever job you had at the time at risk.”
The next gulp of bourbon warms the cold his words filled me with.
“The day you showed up here is the day you quit gambling,” he continues. “You changed as soon as Mae offered you a job. You weren’t going to risk the opportunity. Now you’ve found something worth risking again. I guess the question you have to ask yourself is... are the odds worth it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elodie
My finger hovers over the transfer button in my bank account. I waited until zero hour, and I’m still stalling. Worry should be clawing at the back of my neck.
It’s been almost two weeks since the street fair. I haven’t heard from Cruz, and each day that goes by without him coming through the back door breaks my heart a little. Soon, it’ll be cracked all the way through in a million different directions.
He left because I told him to. And he hasn’t come back.
Grief tears through my chest wall and I glare at the computer screen.
I’ve been doing nothing but work since the Taste of Springs. The day after, my cousin asked me about the altercation between Damon and Cruz. Apparently, “no one saw a thing,” but everyone was talking about it. He also said he ran into a guy with a bloody nose, but that guy skedaddled when he saw Callum’s name tag. Deputy Palmer. I would’ve laughed if my heart weren’t cracked in two.
Cruz risked everything to help me, and I told him to leave me alone.
And because he’s a stand-up guy, he has. He must think I’m the worst. I’ve done nothing but push him away, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m still getting blackmailed, and I still don’t want him to suffer the drama.
No. It’s better that we’re apart.
A stabbing pain hits me dead center in my chest.
Since the fair, I’ve had a flood of inquiries and have been scheduling custom cakes and other desserts. I’m hardly in the front ringing up orders anymore. The drama has been good for the bottom line, which in turn has kept me busy. Nothing will take my mind off Cruz though. If anything, I think about him more.
Like the fundraiser that was his idea. Thanks to Campbell, I’m also planning a low-key kickoff for the cookie dough fundraiser. I’m going to be busy for the foreseeable future and I will have no issues covering the payments to Dwayne and his brother.
My stomach twists on itself, and I close out of the window. I might be late with the payment. It might be never.
Tears fill my eyes. I could destroy everything I’ve worked for, but the last two weeks havesucked. I get up late every day. I slog around in the back, taking way too long to do anything, which makes me work later, get to bed well after normal, and the misery starts all over again.
Is it worth it? Is paying the blackmail worth the emptiness in my life?
Ironically, there’s nothing but a vast chasm inside of me that highlights how lonely and isolated I was before.
Enough. I have to get my work done.
I get up and grab my apron off the island. Tying it around my waist, I wander around the counter to look at the next recipe Ihave to make. Several minutes tick by, and I continue to stare at the paper. The words blur together.
A hot tear rolls down my cheek and there’s no tall man with a crooked smile to wipe it away. There’s no rough-around-the-edges country boy to reassure me that everything will be fine. Cruz isn’t here to tell me I’m not alone.
Because I’m very much alone.
I don’t want to be. Swallowing a swell of remorse, I find my phone and pull up the family text thread that’s full of supper plans and arrangements for me and Clem to go to their place to clean.
Me: Can you guys all come here? ASAP?
