Page 5 of If Tomorrow Never Comes

French vanilla soufflé.

She might die tomorrow or shortly thereafter.

And most importantly, if Number 3 came true, she’d love nothing more than to have her last act be something that would shock Yuka.

“Sure,” she heard herself say before she’d consciously made a decision.

He straightened, his torso tilting back in a surprised gesture that made him even more adorable. As if he had no idea how tempting those glasses and that dimple were, and had thrown out the invitation fully expecting a gentle letdown. “Really?”

“Yeah, it sounds fun. And you made me crave dessert. It’s basically your duty now to deliver.”

His lips spread into a broad smile—Hello, there—flashing impossibly white teeth. “It starts in ten minutes, so we’ll need to get moving.” He downed his beer and gestured to Gus. “Close us out, will you? Just put both on my tab.”

Reddish-orange brows rose, but Gus said nothing beyond, “You got it, man.”

Jamie stood—damn, he was tall—and Elliott grabbed her phone before sliding off her own stool. His hazel eyes were bright and happy, lips pressed together as if he was trying not to smile. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh. It’s ...” Elliott paused, Yuka’s words flashing across her brain.You’ve got all night to be something other than a cancer patient for once. Live it up, honey.

Elliott’s life had been full of the unexpected. When she was seventeen, she’d gone to the ER for a paper cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding and, within twenty-four hours, had started urgent chemotherapy for a leukemia diagnosis. At nineteen, she’d almost died from a virus most people don’t even know they’ve had. And at twenty-four, her previously cured disease that was supposed to have stayed that way came roaring back with a vengeance. It had lain dormant for a few years, just long enough to give her a false sense of control over her life again before pulling the rug out from under her.

Tonight, though? Finding this adorable bar, drinking the best cocktail she’d ever had, randomly sitting beside a man who’d struck up anargument about cheesecake, and filling in on another woman’s date ... It was all unexpected, too.

But in agoodway. That never happened, and a thrill shot through her at the realization, a high she hadn’t known since before her diagnosis.

Be something other than a cancer patient for once.

She swallowed, offered her hand, and blurted out her middle name. “May. My name’s May.”

They were late to the baking class, which normally would have made Elliott antsy to the point of distraction. She knew all too well how it felt to be kept waiting. Sitting in the lobby for two hours for an appointment booked six months prior, staring at the phone and wishing for good biopsy results, living on edge while waiting for the chemotherapy side effects to rear their ugly, unpredictable heads.

It always sucked; it never got easier.

She couldn’t control any of it, but she could make sure she was never responsible for causing someone else to wait for her. She was punctual to a fault, if such a thing could be considered a negative.

But tonight, and for the first time ever, she didn’t regret her tardiness. Not even when the instructor at the front of the room shot them a pointed glare and informed them, in front of everyone, that they’d need to read the recipe themselves because she wasn’t going over everything again.

In fact, Elliott would have taken another lap around the block and settled for a candy bar from a convenience store if it meant she could keep talking to Jamie. The man was kind, funny, and the perfect amount of flirtatious.

“Quick, tell me everything about you,” she’d said as they stepped out of the bar and entered the cool May evening—arguably the best month to be outdoors in Nebraska. She hoped to keep him talking, mostly because she was genuinely interested, but also because sheavoided sharing personal details about herself at all costs. Being her never-cancer alter ego tonight meant a large chunk of her life would be off-limits for conversation. She just hoped there was enough of her left to stay interesting.

“Wow, everything?” He puffed out his cheeks, stepping closer as a large group passed them on the sidewalk. “I’m Jamie, twenty-nine years old, certified arborist in this grand city of Omaha, where I was born and raised. Played baseball, loves dogs, hates cats, and has a hard time saying no to anything.”

“Arborist?” she asked. “Like a tree surgeon?”

“Sure, you can call me Dr. Jamie if you want to.” He winked at her then, which coming from some men would be creepy as hell. But he’d laughed right after, almost like he was embarrassed he’d done it, and landed himself firmly in the Charming category.

“Okay, Doc. Do you believe in horoscopes?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.” Yuka’d gone through a phase a couple of years ago where she’d chalked everything up to “the stars,” and Elliott had damn near taken a friendship sabbatical. “What’s your most useless talent?”

---