Page 80 of You Cake My Breath Away

Dinner at my house, 6pm?

My cheeks puff out with a breath, and I stifle the urge to chuck my phone across the floor. If I’m going to get the answers I need about what’s going on between him and me, then I have to buck up and be an adult about the situation.

Sure,I type back, looking at the clock. It gives me five hours to obsess over the conversation in my head, and that may not even be enough time to rehearse all the things I want to say.

***

Traffic during rush hour still sucks going out of the city, but at least the temperature has dropped enough that I can drive with the windows down and feel the breeze on my face. I’ve been sitting at the edge of Archer’s property trying to coach myself to drive the rest of the way up the driveway. I’ll either leave here tonight with a boyfriend or alone, and both options terrify me.

Staring down at my hand, I twist my wedding rings around my finger a few times, my heart galloping in my chest at the thought of taking themoff. When Jessie put these rings on my finger I thought it was forever. I didn’t expect a year later I’d be a widow. And I never expected I’d fall for someone else, least of all Archer.

It’s a big step, taking off my rings, but one I feel ready to make. Even if things don’t work out with me and Archer—a thought I hate even considering—it’s time.

I’m ready for the next chapter.

They tell you in grief counseling to go with what feels right, to not compare your journey to others, and while I know some people take years to find happiness again, my journey has been different.

My heart skips when I think of him inside cooking me dinner, waiting for me to come home, and the butterflies still flapping inside my stomach make me think Jessie is somewhere out there telling me it’s okay. Telling me I deserve to be happy again.

“Let’s do this,” I say, coaching myself to get the rest of the way up the driveway and out of my car.

Through the window, Archer’s broad frame comes into view. He’s wearing a hunter-green Henley, sleeves rolled up on his strong forearms as he stirs something on the stove. I sink my teeth into my lip and stare at the tight pants he has on, the material hugging his muscular butt and thighs. Smoothing my sweaty hands down my dress, I gather up the courage to knock.

“Wow,” he says, opening the door. “You look gorgeous.”

I look down at my burnt orange sweater dress and black booties. I wouldn’t call the outfit gorgeous, but it definitely highlights my curves in a way I’ve always loved. “Thanks, you look good, too.”

I follow him into the house and skitter to a halt once I’m in the foyer. Gone are the pictures and couches Deidre decorated with, and in their place are the pictures from out in the garage. Curiosity pulls me furtherinto the room, wondering if our picture is up there or if it’s still hiding on his desk.

Stomach spinning, I move closer to the wall, wondering if he’s been planning to do this or if the Thanksgiving fiasco made him want to change things around just to make me more comfortable here. My fingers dance over pictures of Archer and his brother I’ve never seen. They look alike. Dark hair, green eyes, slim frames and tan skin, but Archer is taller. His smile is wide in every picture with his brother, and the slight twinge in my chest reminds me he basically lost two brothers. Unconsciously, my thumb swipes along my now bare ring finger, breath hitching at the weird feeling when my eyes land on the picture of me, Archer, and Jessie.

“Like the new living room?” Archer asks, startling me.

He’s leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, a smile on his face.

“I love it.” If he’s changing his house, moving pictures of us into the living room, maybe weareheaded in the right direction.

“Food’s done.” He reaches out for my hand, and I take it with renewed spirit. His forward movement stops as if something clicked in his brain, the moment when you finally slide the last puzzle piece into place. He glances at our entwined hands, and his throat rolls with a swallow as he notes my bare ring finger.

A declaration that I’m serious about moving forward together too.

He squeezes my hand with a shy smile as leads me through the house. The aroma of garlic and oregano floats into my nose as we move into the kitchen. Archer hands me a glass of white wine and pulls the chair out for me to sit. It feels vaguely like our first official date, even though we’ve been out together before. There’s a candle, and the table is set for two. It’s casual but intimate.

He pulls a lasagna out of the oven and places it on the potholder on the table beside the homemade garlic bread. My tongue is heavy in my mouth with all the words I want to say, but I swallow and push them down for after dinner.

“Shit,” I say. “I forgot to bring a dessert.”

He laughs. “I have some extra snickerdoodle bread we can warm up.”

“Where’d you get that?”

He rubs a hand along his beard like he’s nervous. “I stopped by your parents’ restaurant and got some.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline, and my heart squeezes in my chest. “You bought some of my treats from the restaurant? I could’ve made you some.”

He shrugs. “I was hungry.”

Not only is he supporting my baking, but he’s also supporting my parents’ dream.

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