She softens, but not much.
“If you don’t go, you’re going to think about it forever. If there’s even the slightest chance that you’ll regret not going, to you owe it to yourself to go.”
I look down at my hands, picking at the edge of my sleeve. She’s right. If I don’t show up, I’ll always wonder what it would have been like to see him again.
To stand in the space he’s been working toward for so long, and find out if what we had was really just something temporary or something that just needed better timing.
I faceplant on the table with a groan.
My life feels steady and good and full.
But this? This feels like a turning point. Like something I can either step toward or away from. And either way, it’s going to matter because it’s going to change everything.
I glance up at Kara.
She doesn’t say anything this time, just spoons ice cream into her mouth while she watches me. She knows she doesn’t have to push any further. I already know the answer.
“Fine,” I say quietly. “I’ll go.”
Her grin is immediate. “Hell, yeah!”
I shake my head, but I can’t quite stop the small smile pulling at my lips. Part of me is more nervous than I want to admit. Another part of me feels something else entirely.
Something I haven’t felt since leaving theAmerica’s Next Great Bakertent—anticipation.
CHAPTER 31: ALEX
The restaurant looks nothing like it did the first time I stood in the empty space, dust in the air and a lease agreement burning a hole in my pocket.
Now it’s finished. Alive in a way that doesn’t feel real.
Soft lighting glows against dark wood and brushed metal, catching on the edges of glassware and the clean lines of the tables spaced carefully across the dining room. Every detail, down to the specific shade of cream for the cloth napkins, has been argued over and agreed upon. Every decision intentional.
It’s exactly what Julian and I pictured.
And somehow, not what I’m focused on at all.
My phone sits heavy in my hand, screen dark, thumb brushing over it every few seconds like that might magically make a message appear.
But no amount of manifestation seems to be working.
“It’s barely five o’clock.” Julian’s voice cuts through the quiet as he steps up beside me, adjusting the cuff of his jacket like this is just another night of service instead of the biggest opening of our careers.
“And you know that girl has the propensity for being late.”
I glance at him, then back at the door.
“She didn’t say she was coming.”
He huffs out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “And in your hand-delivered invitation, did you ask her to RSVP?”
A crease furrows my brow, but I don’t answer his question, because no, I didn’t ask her to RSVP. That’s a little desperate, isn’t it?
“Thought so. You can’t send an open invitation like that with no context and expect a response.”
“I expected one,” I grumble.
The early invitation had felt like the right move at the time. Taylor’s invite was custom and should have her arriving a full hour before anyone else. It ensures there will be enough time for a conversation we’ve been dancing around for months.
