“You want the menu, or do you trust the chef?” Hayden asked, squeezing my hand.
“I trust the chef,” I said.
30
Hayden
Two daysof Wes wasn’t enough, and not even throwing myself back into work after he left helped with feeling like there was a huge hole in my life all over again.
A week of late-night phone calls, another long-distance date, and near-constant pining hadn’t done anything to help, either.
I missed Wes. I was starting to feel like all I ever did, when I wasn’t actively doing something more urgent, was miss Wes.
Which only made it worse when Marissa gave me an address to meet her at with the message that she wanted to show me something. My stomach tied itself in knots instantly and stayed like that for the whole journey there.
I knew what was coming. It’d been coming for a long time.
I just wasn’t sure I was ready.
I looked up at the door to the place Marissa had said, double-checking that it was the same address and then sending a quick text to let her know I’d arrived.
This was a good spot. Solid location, nice frontage, and I was willing to bet the rent here was good value for money. This was a neighborhood where lots and lots of people walked—there were people walking past me even now.
For a traditional patisserie, it was the ideal location.
Marissa opened the door, standing next to another woman in a suit with the brightest pink lipstick I’d ever seen. She smiled a realtor’s smile at me, and that was all the confirmation I needed.
“It’s nice,” I said. “Good location. You could work wonders with the frontage.”
I chewed on my lip, wanting to say more. Wanting to saycongratulations, I’m happy for you.
But all I could think was that this was the last thing. The last thing that’d been keeping me anchored, and I was losing it.
Iwashappy for her. I wanted Marissa—and Omar, I assumed—to live a happy, full, successful life doing the things she loved, and I knew she’d gone as far as she could go with me. She needed to spread her wings and fly.
It was just starting to feel like everyone left.
I could still feel the warmth of Wes’s body as I’d hugged him goodbye at the airport, and now this.
“Come inside,” Marissa said, a kind smile beckoning me in. “Please?”
I owed her this. I owed herat leastthis, for everything she’d done for me, for all the care she’d taken of me.
I stepped into the darkened shop front—it’d been gutted, with only a bare outline where the counter of whatever was here before used to be.
“It was a bakery,” Marissa said. “The kitchen’s a little small and there’s no sitting room in the front, but…”
I looked around at the dust and gloom and imagined this place finished in Marissa’s wild, bright style, bursting with color and joy and love, and sighed.
“It’s perfect,” I said, offering her the most sincere smile I could manage even as the urge to burst into tears welled up in my throat. “Really, it’s…”
I met Marissa’s eyes, so hopeful, so ready to take my opinion seriously. She’d done the impossible for me, dozens of times over.
This was hard, but hard wasn’t impossible. I’d just have to do what she needed me to.
I had to let go.
“It’s perfect,” I repeated. “You could make this place into something incredible, and I… I want you to,” I said, wishing desperately that my lip wasn’t trembling right now. “I wanna see what you can do with it, and any help you need, whatever it is…”
