Page 32 of Moving Forward

I’m not looking to make her forget about him, not when she loved him. He’s a part of her and if I want all of her, then he’s a part of that package. I just want her to feel and see only me when we’re together—I want her heart to belong to me only, even if it’s just for a second. I want my moments with her to be all about us.

I also need to know I won’t come out on the losing side. I’m not going to place my heart in someone’s hands just to have it crushed again. There’s only so much I can come back from, and I reached that limit a long time ago.

My cell phone rings and I let out a sigh.

Grams called me about halfway through the day to ask me to go bake a few more pies between lunch and dinner. She and most of her staff are sick with some sort of bug going around and weren’t able to make it in. The remaining staff couldn’t arrive until five on such short notice, so I’m hanging around until four thirty to get a head start and make things easier. Before anyone gets here, I’m bolting. This isn’t a crisis that warrants me suddenly becoming a people person.

I set the phone on my shoulder and continue rolling out the crust. “Hey Grams,” I say automatically. No one else has my number, not that anyone else would want to call me.

“Hello,” she sighs into the phone, sounding exasperated. Typical of the woman to be upset that she has to take a sick day. “Has my diner burned to the ground yet?”

“Grams . . .”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs. “If Matt were there, then that would’ve been an appropriate question.”

I can’t help chuckling. Matt King has about as many brain cells as I have social skills. The only reason Grams ever hired him in the first place was because his grandma and Grams are close friends. She would’ve rejected his application otherwise. Matt’s grandma likes to tell the story about the time a nine-year-old Matt stuffed crayons into his sister’s Easy-Bake Oven. He fed the result to his family, saying it was brownies.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

I hear her teakettle whistling in the background, followed by a soft click as she turns off the burner. She believes tea cures everything. “Like seventy-nine years of uselessness.”

“You’re sick,” I remind her. “That doesn’t go over well in the food world.”

“Good thing I know the health inspector’s mama.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m on my last pie. Then I’m heading home before anyone gets here.”

“I wish you’d stay . . .”

“No, Grams,” I say tightly, cutting her off.

She’s quiet for a minute, probably sipping her tea. I can only imagine that if she were here she’d be looking at me with that expression—the one grandmas have perfected, an equal mixture of disappointed, questioning, and patronizing.

“Well,” she finally answers, “then leave Sarah and Judy a note. Tell them they can close at eight. Can you come back after that and clean up?”

I tell her I can and then we hang up, Grams joking once more that she’ll keep an eye out her window for smoke.

After another half hour, I finish up the pies then carefully fold Grams’s secret recipe and place it back in its hiding space. As I walk through into the dining area, the front door dings. I freeze, flinching.

“Damn,” I grumble, wishing I could shrink far, far away. How the hell did I forget to lock that damn door? What kind of a town recluse am I? A damn bad one that’s for fucking sure.

Fight or flight? Flight is the more appealing of the two. I start to take a step back, wishing I could disappear. I’m captive. Found. Displayed. Exposed.

“I don’t care. I want a penis cake,” Zoey Conway whines as she slides in through the opened door. As much as I hated being around people, Zoey bothered me the least. At least she regarded me the same way she regarded everyone else—too low for her standards. Her nose turns skyward and she places her hands on her hips, barely leaving enough room for the person behind her to squeeze by.

Max.

She follows Zoey with a small smile playing on her lips and her eyes on her feet. She’s wearing yet another sundress, which leaves me with another image to fantasize about. Leading to a cold shower, no doubt. Her gaze lifts and when our eyes meet, she doesn’t look like she did yesterday. She’s looking up at me like she’s surprised to see me, but it’s the best kind of surprise. It’s the look I wanted to see yesterday.

Like she’s ready for me. All of me. Only me.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hey,” I reply, too aware of the husky tone my voice takes. The tension in my body right now is so great it’s threatening to break my spine.

I’m vaguely aware that Zoey’s still there, but I’m so focused on Max that for once in my life, I don’t care we’re not alone. The whole world seems to have opened up and swallowed the two of us, creating our own little desolate but strangely peaceful place. There’s no past or future, only the present. I want to take the few steps separating us and fold her into my arms. I want to tell her she’s all mine and make her all mine.

She bites her lip and that readiness starts to fade. The world sharpens back into reality. Damn. Immediately that fight or flight feeling rises up again like bile.

---