Page 57 of Worth the Wait

I shrugged, feeling unsure. Ninety percent of me wanted to go back there, pack up all my things, and race home to Sugar Mountain. But that other ten percent nagged. It was such a small percentage in the grand scheme of things, but it was annoyingly loud and influential.

“I’m not sure.”

“Because of that backer thing?” he asked, his face scrunched together like he still wasn’t at all sure what it meant, even though I had explained it to him last night.

“Yeah.”

“Is that the only reason?” he pressed, like I might be keeping something else from him.

“It is,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Then, it must be a really big deal.”

“It is,” I repeated, feeling stupid for saying the same thing twice.

“Maybe you’ll feel differently after you see Patrick.”

That was kind of what I was afraid of. What if I was still unsure after I saw him? What if I left his place, still as confused as ever? Why was this decision so difficult to make?

“I’m going to head upstairs, shower, and pretend to get ready for two stupid hours. Are you okay down here alone?”

“Sweetheart”—he cocked his head to one side and shook it slowly—“I’ll be fine. I’ll help your sister decorate her room later,” he said, and we both laughed.

“I’ll be sorry to miss that,” I said, still smiling.

“You won’t. Not after you see what he built.”

“Oh my gosh, Dad, stop. The anticipation is killing me already, and you’re not helping.” I grabbed my stomach and put my arm over it.

“I’m not trying to help.” He winked, and I groaned.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at it, noticing a text from Frederique.

“Speak of the devil,” I said out loud, and my dad’s whole face brightened.

“Patrick?”

“No.” I laughed. “The guy who offered to back me.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“Don’t look so excited, Dad.”

Have I given you enough time to decide yet?

I’m still at home with my dad. I know I’m taking a long time to give you an answer, but could I have a few more days?

The phone started buzzing for longer, and I knew that I was getting a phone call. It was Frederique. The man was impatient.

“Hi, Frederique,” I answered.

He cleared his throat. “Addison, I just wanted to tell you that a few days is fine, but I’ve been making progress on my end. If all goes well and you say yes, then it’s a go.”

“What happens if I say no?” I asked, figuring that he’d simply replace me with a different head chef and that would be that.

“I scrap the whole thing.” His accent came out harsher than I’d expected.

“What? Why?” I hadn’t expected that answer.

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