Page 104 of You Cake My Breath Away

Tilly

If I had a needle and thread, I’d be working on an Archer voodoo doll during this flight. To think I flew the entire way there assuming he’d be in his hotel suite, but he’s back in Texas doing God knows what during his two off days. You think he would’ve called, maybe apologized for the confusion or at least offered to meet me when I got home, but nope. Nada. I even messaged him after I realized what happened, but he hasn’t read any of my texts.

When the hotel concierge couldn’t contact Archer to ask if he could give me his room number, I called Shantel. She couldn’t get a hold of him either, so I went down to the studios to see if I could find him there.

A beautiful red-haired woman kindly let me know Archer wasn’t there but that they wereso blessedto have such an amazing carpenter on their show. Her pointed glances at my left hand made it clear why she was overly sweet in the beginning and then changed her demeanor once her eyes settled on my ringless finger. After talking to her, I didn’t want to talk to anyone and decided to turn off my phone.

“Pretzels or peanuts?”

Pulled from my reeling by a bag of salty peanuts, I smile and take it, pushing the image of the woman from my mind. The loud crunch of the bag garners me dirty looks from the passenger across the aisle trying to sleep, and a whiff of the nutty goodness makes my stomach grumble loud enough to rival the engines.

I stare out the airplane window at the fading orange light, but it gives me no peace, and as we descend into San Antonio, the disappointment of my grand gesture settles into my bones. I could’ve stayed, waited until he came back, told him I want to make things work, but if it was meant to be then it would’ve worked out.

As the wheels touch down, every nerve I channeled into anger comes rushing back in with the jingle of my phone going off airplane mode. Texts from Dad and Shantel overflow my inbox, and my breath vanishes when my eyes snag on Archer’s name. I sit back in my seat, hands shaking as I click his text.

Archer: Come home to me.

Tongue pressed against my cheek, I rest my head on the seat and try to calm myself down. I tried to go to him, and he wasn’t there. Why is he even in San Antonio? He hightailed it out of there the minute things didn’t work with us, and now he wants me to come home to him? The emotional whiplash makes my head spin.

Ignoring the anger, I concentrate on the underlying message. Where is home anymore? I thought I’d found it in the bakery, thought I’d found it with Archer, but neither of those worked out how they were supposed to, and each time my heart broke a little more.

A buzz in my hand draws my attention.

Shantel: Come to the bakery.

My heart rate skyrockets. Why does she want me to meet her there? Did something happen? Did it get broken into?

Me: What happened?

Three dots appear, dancing on the screen.

Shantel: There’s something weird going on…Need you here.

A lump takes residence in my throat. Once I’m off the plane, I dial her number and it goes directly to voicemail. My fingers tremble as I try my dad. Same thing. With a deep breath, I dial the last number I want to.

It goes directly to voicemail, too.

My hand clenches around the phone, wishing I could break it into tiny pieces.

I quickly make my way down to the arrivals exit and hail a cab. The less than ten-minute drive takes forty minutes during rush hour on Interstate 410, and when we get close to the bakery the traffic is completely grid locked. Fearing the worst, I pay for my fare and speed toward the bakery, my heart in my throat.

A line around the corner stops me as I approach the street. People have their cameras out, taking pictures of the line and of themselves, the local news station has set up, and I’m terrified to see why. Has the bakery been burned to the ground? A glance at the clear sky quells my unease about a fire, but the closer I get, I realize the line is comingoutof my bakery.

I move closer. “What’s going on?”

“Grand opening of this new hot spot called Tilly’s,” a college-aged kid in a flannel shirt and beanie says.

Grand Opening? Tilly’s?What the hell.

I basically levitate to the front of the shop.

“No jumping the line,” someone yells as if we’re standing in line for a club instead of a bakery. A laugh bubbles out of me when I squeeze through the doorway with my carry-on suitcase and find Dad, Gloria, Shantel, Nora, and Archer behind the counter.

“What the hell?” My voice squeaks, barely heard over the din of the bakery.

Like magnets, Archer’s eyes lift to mine, and a smile cracks his now bare face. It’s been years since I’ve seen him clean shaven, and the snare drum inside my chest crescendos.

“Attention everyone,” Archer yells. “Welcome to the Grand Opening of Tilly’s bakery. Here’s the woman of the hour!”

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