Page 99 of Worth the Fall

"I know this is terrible timing," George says, his voice full of genuine regret. "And we’re deeply sorry. We can recommend other bakeries that might be able to take your order on short notice."

"Short notice?" I echo, feeling like the walls are closing in. "The wedding is a week away!"

"I know," he says, his voice soft. "I wish there was something we could do."

I hang up before I start crying on the phone.

But the moment the receiver is back in its cradle, the tears spill over. My chest heaves as I try to keep quiet, but a strangled sob escapes, and before I know it, I’m hunched over my desk, my head in my hands.

"Mia?"

I look up to see Linda standing in the doorway, her coffee forgotten in her hand, her face a mask of concern.

She’s by my side in two seconds flat, pulling a chair up and sitting next to me. "What happened?"

I sniff, trying to wipe my tears away, but they keep coming. "The florist called. The dahlias I chose—they’re not available. And then the bakery called right after and said there was a fire. They’re canceling my order."

"Oh no," Linda says softly, rubbing my back.

"I feel awful about the fire," I continue, my voice breaking. "But now I don’t have a cake. Or flowers. And I don’t have time to find replacements because I have a meeting with Simmons tomorrow and I’m supposed to have everything together for the pitch, and I?—"

Linda cuts me off, holding up a hand. "Mia, stop. Take a breath."

I try, but it comes out shaky.

"Listen," Linda says firmly. "You’re one of the most capable people I know, but even you can’t do everything at once. It’s okay to ask for help."

I shake my head. "No, I can’t. I’m type A. I’m supposed to be the one who handles everything."

Linda raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And how’s that working out for you?"

Her words are blunt, but they cut through the noise in my head. I slump back in my chair, defeated. "I need help," I whisper.

"There it is," Linda says, her lips quirking into a small smile.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask, my voice thick with frustration.

Linda pats my arm. "You’re going to focus on finishing up for Simmons. I’ll start researching florists and bakeries and see who has availability. And if we can’t find anything, Miguel seems like the kind of guy who’d be happy to whip up a three-tier cake himself."

I laugh, despite myself. "He probably would."

Linda smiles. "You’ve got people in your corner, Mia. Let us help you."

"Thanks, Linda," I say, the weight on my chest lifting slightly.

"Anytime," she says, standing and heading for the door. "Now, finish your work. I’ll handle the disasters."

As she walks away, I take another deep breath, and for the first time since the florist called, it feels like I might actually be okay.

It’s been three days since my world momentarily spiraled into chaos, and somehow, everything feels… settled. Well, mostly. My things are officially at Miguel’s apartment, mostly unpacked, and the sight of my books on his shelves and my favorite coffee mug in his kitchen still makes me feel a little teary.

Not in a bad way. In a howdid I get so luckykind of way.

When I walked into his apartment two days ago and saw that he’d not only unpacked most of my stuff but arranged it like it had always belonged there, I didn’t even try to stop the tears.

"You’re incredible," I’d whispered, burying my face against his chest.

He’d kissed the top of my head and said, "I told you everything would be okay, Mia. You just need to let me take care of you sometimes."

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