Page 72 of I Love a Good Challenge

“Friends! Just friends, people.” I force a grin onto my lips, but it’s fake.

“Friends?” Graham grits out between clenched teeth.

I feel his stare, the weight of everything between us sinking to my feet. I swallow, my hand shaking now. And because Graham is the decent human he is, he reaches out and holds my hand to keep the phone steady. I honestly don’t know how anyone can deserve him.

Despite my declaration, we’re now embracing like lovers. He is wrapped around me so that we fit into the phone frame, but I sense the sudden miles between us. I did that. My knee-jerk reaction was to cover our relationship again to try to keep what we are safe, but I’m wondering what he would’ve said if I hadn’t cut him off.

“Well, that’s lovely.” My mom is anything but convinced as her brows furrow.

My dad gives a small shake of his head. The words that linger in the unspoken space between us are that they both know I’m the problem here too. They’ve seen enough of my escapades and emotional avoidance to know that, by calling Graham a friend, I just messed up. Again.

“Yes, your daughter is the most passionate person I’ve ever met. It’s admirable.”

My eyes widen, and emotion crowds my lungs.

“I really must run, but it was so nice to meet you. I’ve heard only good things. If your daughter is anything like you, I know you’re wonderful people,” Graham continues, and with that, he’s walking a short distance away to give me my privacy.

“Take care,” my dad says while I observe my mom wiping what might be a tear from her eye.

“Oh, he’s something,” she whispers as the hollowness from where Graham just stood sways me backward.

“Sure is.”

“Don’t crush him like you did last time, if you know what’s good for you.” Her tone is laced with tenderness, but her eyes hold a warning. I’ve seen that look before on the occasions they wanted me to settle down and not embarrass them, like the incident with my shirt being inside out at the school pageant in fourth grade.

“Are we going to talk about it?” My father sighs.

I grit my teeth. “So, Rory’s wedding! Do you want me to call you in? I’ll be standing at the front, but someone here will do it, of course.”

My dad gives me a look, but my mom is all excitement as I shift the topic of conversation. “Yes. Oh, I can’t believe sweet Rory is getting married. We wanted to be there, but with the flights and the time zones and the clinics set up here . . . She does know we wanted to be there, right? Does she know we wanted to be there?”

I let out a much-needed grimace. “Yes, she knows.”

“Oh, Thomases!”

I turn to see Rafe walking toward me, a French muffin in his hand (the ones with cinnamon and sugar that he and Sparrow have created even more of a demand for at our little shop), smiling like he can’t believe living in this town is his life.

“D’Artagnan! Or should I say groom?”

Rafe smiles his easy smile. I turn the phone over to him so he can catch up with my parents for a minute while I catch my breath. He met them once in person over New Year’s, and now they’ve adopted him as one of their own. It makes sense since Sparrow is practically their daughter too. It’s weird to see my parents show them more affection than they do me. I still haven’t processed how I feel about that.

I’m lost in my thoughts over Graham’s reaction. He’s now talking easily with Ollie on the sidewalk. Ollie is demonstrating a flying airplane contraption. Graham has his back turned to me. I don’t blame him. He looks uncomfortable, hands shoved in his pockets. My heart melts a little more. The question is whether I’m going to text him, throw rocks at his window, or carry a giant boom box over my head to try to convince him to forgive me. With a single call from my parents, my plan to win him over fell into the pits. Yes, I panicked, but that can’t be my excuse anymore. Except for not telling me right away about his potential upcoming move, he’s given me no reason to doubt him. And I think I’m finally mad enough at my fear to refuse to allow it to keep me from him anymore.

I bite my nails, not caring enough to give my voice or energy to the bird-watching group gathering outside the café with binoculars and sun hats. Normally, I’d have a feast of quips for them. I’m just not in the mood.

I peek through the window to check on the pastry case and realize that the cream cheese brownies I made are almost sold out. It’s not even our afternoon rush yet. “You know what? I can’t be mad at those greedy little chocolate nutcases,” I mutter to myself.

Willing myself to gather the strength to start melting more chocolate for a fresh batch before the macaron madness begins, I see that Rafe ended the phone call. By my parents’ lack of closure or goodbye, they knew I’d be in the middle of a meltdown after what I said to Graham. I’ll attempt to call them back next week.

“Sparrow will be over in a minute. She’s learning to make homemade spring rolls,” Rafe laughs easily.

“Of course she is. She picks up dumplings and then ends up in the kitchen. Sounds about right.” I shrug.

Rafe opens the door for me as we walk inside Sparrow’s Beret, the aroma of coffee and baked goods as familiar as my sarcasm.

“You’re being hard on him. I wish I knew why,” Rafe says on an exhale, taking a stool as I move behind the counter. The sound is cathartic because I need to breathe out fully and can’t seem to manage it these days. He takes a bite of a French muffin, having somehow swiped another one without me noticing. The cinnamon sugar sprinkles to the counter. He wipes it with one hand, and I lean my elbows onto the smooth surface, trying to figure out how to allow more honesty to blossom between us. We’ve been through a lot, Rafe and me. And the fact that he fought so hard for my best friend tells me everything I need to know about how much I can trust him. And he’s just a really decent (although goofy) human.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a mini chocolate bar sliding across the counter. I grin as hints of sunlight through the windows reflect off its shiny wrapper. I take it, unable to resist the call of chocolate, and Rafe knows it. Unwrapping it, I take a tiny bite, willing it to last longer. I think I’m going to need it.

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