Page 79 of XOXO

And for the second night in a row, she’s looking at me with a mixture of pity and confusion. “So that’s… all?”

I can’t decide if I’m offended by that reaction. That story — of how Miles made me fail the final on a technicality — is a huge fucking deal to me. “It uh… kinda upset my life plans.”

She’s no less confused. “Why, though? Couldn’t you take the final again?”

“Not there,” I explain. “It was the Patisserie Institute. One of the most elite organizations in the country. I would’ve had to retake the entire capstone course. Dylan had already secured the funding for the bakery, so it made no sense to take out more loans, and—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Danielle raises a hand to stop me. “What you’re telling me is that it didn’t matter if you had that certification or not when you worked there?”

“Yeah,” I mutter to the woodgrain, “but it mattered a hell of a lot when we lost the business. When I applied for jobs afterward, I only had a few semesters of culinary school under my belt. I’ve worked for minimum wage in chain kitchens since then.

“I can see how that’s… not ideal,” she allows, biting her lip, “but if I’m being brutally honest, you could chalk all this up to a series of well-intentioned misunderstandings. I mean, hell — you even admitted you don’t blame Miles for bringing in the health department!”

I blink at her, irritation pounding behind my eyes.

She’s not wrong; I’ve had this realization multiple times myself. It’s just been easier to have someone to blame. Admitting I’m simply unlucky is worse. Scarier.

I sigh, resting my head in my hands, but for the first time, I don’t ruminate. I think back to my tarot card… The Wheel of Fortune. Is everything finally changing for me?

And more importantly, adds Grandma’s nagging voice in the back of my head, do you have a choice either way?

“You’re right,” I confess, unable to meet her eyes.

“Look,” she says gently, tilting my chin up. “From what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen, he’s actually a nice guy. Maybe he’s just… awkward. Or into you and weird about it.” She shrugs; that’s a possibility I hadn’t considered…

“And he’s right,” she adds, reaching for a bite of my cake, “you are extremely talented. I mean, damn.” She shakes her head. “Take Suruthi, for example. She was a sweetheart and probably bakes well at home, but standing up under timed pressure takes a special skill set.”

“Yeah,” I agree. Today’s elimination surprised no one, not even Suruthi. Luckily we have two more days before another one.

“I’ll… talk to Miles tomorrow,” I vow, more resolute than ever. I want to get this over with, dammit.

Danielle smirks. “That’s what you said yes—”

“Yesterday,” I explode, “I didn’t know I had—”

Fuuuuuck.

I snap my mouth shut, but the rest of my sentence hangs between us: Yesterday, I didn’t know I had feelings for him.

Danielle could mock me for this. She could easily giggle or sing a schoolyard song about sittin’ in a tree.

But she doesn’t. She reaches across the table, gently rests her hand on mine, and says, “It’ll be Valentine’s Day. Get him.”

I actually summon the nerve to do it today. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I stand outside Miles Compton‘s trailer, my whole body shaking like a Chihuahua in the wind.

I raise my fist to the door better get this over with.

Knock, knock, knock.

There’s a fleeting half second where I hope he doesn’t answer… Or I wonder if maybe I’ll get another day of reprieve.

I don’t. The door swings open, revealing Miles Compton in his full creepy glory.

He looks surprised to see me; I’m still surprised I had the nerve to talk to him at all.

“Willa!” He says my name in a way that makes my stomach feel rumbly and strange

I push that thought aside. “Mind if I come in? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

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