Page 24 of Baking Spirits Bright!

Maybe Erica was meant to be nothing more than the best tourist attraction ever.

CHAPTER 7

Erica

I’ve ignored all Ryan’s calls and texts, and I think he finally got the hint.

He sent several the first day and left a voicemail. Then one text or call a day for the next few days. Then once a week.

The last was a voicemail wishing me Merry Christmas.

It’s the day after Christmas, and all I want is to forget he exists.

I’m still in my pajamas, staring at the ceiling fan, wishing it could magically blow away all my Ryan thoughts.

Someone knocks on my front door, and I lean up on my elbows. It’s most likely Paul wanting to share some nonsense. I lie back down.

There’s another knock and a woman’s muffled voice. “Open up, Erica. I know you’re in there.”

I throw back the covers and groan as my feet hit the floor. According to my bedside clock, I should be working and eating lunch right now. Instead, I’ve moped around, using the holidays as an excuse to wallow in self-pity.

I swing open the door to Brooke. “What?”

“Merry day after Christmas to you too, Scrooge.” She snarls.

I move aside for her to come in, and close the door.

“Nice PJs.”

I frown. They’re the same Rudolph pajamas Grandma bought every female in the family.

“What’s up?” I ask, plopping down in my favorite chair.

Brooke sits on the couch across from me and smiles. She always smiles, but this time it has some meaning behind it. I narrow my eyes in anticipation.

“Have you checked your social media or website today?”

I laugh sarcastically. “I’ve done nothing but stare at the ceiling until you knocked.”

“That explains your hair, then.”

I smooth my hand over my hair and frown at her. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister, and we often treat each other as such.

“You need to check some of the stuff for the orchard. L.R. Walter, or Ryan, wrote a blog about Apple Cart that’s getting a lot of attention.”

I roll my eyes. “I know. It’s the story of Willow’s parents and the award-winning cookie crack. We’ve all read it.”

“No.” Brooke shakes her head. “The story he posted today.” She pulls her phone from her jeans pocket, types something in, then hands it to me.

I settle back in my chair and read the most vulnerable post I’ve ever found online. And that’s saying a lot considering I follow many former contestants from reality dating shows.

Ryan starts by sharing why he visits places under his birth name and not his pen name. He then describes finding my blog and being intrigued by Apple Cart County. When a local pharmacist’s wife invited him to guest judge the bake-off, he had to come.

Then, he talks about me . . .

I had fallen in love with the stories of Apple Cart County Apple Orchard months before my visit. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with their author.

Ialmost drop the phone. Did he just drop the L-bomb? About me? I lift my eyes to Brooke, who’s wearing an extra-cheesy grin.

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