“My laundry room. Temporary bedroom.” My hands tangle in my hair. “Ugh. Why is my life so complicated? I just want a quiet, drama-free life where I can watch comfort shows and eat potato salad in bed.”
“Look on the bright side. At least you will never have a midlife crisis because your entire life is a crisis. You need to do something nice for Fitz since he saved you,” Carolina tells me.
“Nice like what?” I feel cross.
“Idk, tittypic?”
“Ew.”
“You sent one to a random stranger online. You know Fitz. He took you and your family on very nice dates. He literally did a Mr. Darcy save-your-life.”
“That never happened inPride and Prejudice.”
“Why are you so anti-Fitz? He’s, like, the perfect man.”
“Eh.”
“Okay, like eighty-seven percent, but that rounds up to one hundred percent.”
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that he was even at my house?” I demand.
“Really?” Carolina raises an eyebrow. “You think that’s weird?”
I nod, uncertain.
“The girl who literally had sex in a dirty alleyway with a violent stalker who threatened to kill her dog—you think that Fitz standing forlorn and melancholy on the sidewalk was a bridge too far?”
“Fine,” I huff.
“That man has the patience of a saint, and I’m upgrading him to ninety-three percent.” Carolina presses her hands together.
“I’ll take him some pastries.”
After I makethe onion-leek-and-potato flaky popovers I had been planning for tomorrow, I pack the coolest ones in a box, along with savory lobster cream puffs and spicy-mustard ham-and-Swiss croissants. For sweet, I have gooey caramel-peach cinnamon rolls, tart lemon bars, and a cookie dough twist.
I also add an oversized coffee.
“Okay,” I say, tying a black-and-white-checkered ribbon around the large box. “I’m heading over to the Driftwood Sports Syndicate Entertainment Group offices. I assume he’ll be there.”
“You don’t want to text him?” Carolina looks up from restocking the pastry case.
“I actually don’t have his number,” I admit.
“Well, you can’t go over there like that. You’re not even in your company Crocs.”
I stare down at my feet. “Fine. I’ll go change.”
“Don’t eat these!”I holler as soon as I get home.
Fidget is dancing around on her hind legs.
I stick the box on top of the fridge because she can and will untie the ribbon.
My parents are in the kitchen cooking.
“Winnie, I’m making a roast fish for dinner.” Dad clangs dishes. “You put it in a salt casing with some new spring potatoes.”
“We found them growing in this garden,” Mom says from under a large hat. “Can you believe it?”
