Page 89 of You Cake My Breath Away

“Absolutely.” My voice rises in pitch, heartbeat racing.

“We need you in Knoxville at the beginning of the week to go over contracts and legalese. You get the gist.”

“Okay.” This is what I’ve been waiting for, the break I’ve needed to get out of this town, away from all the destruction I’ve caused.

“Great,” he replies. “Kelly will send you the flight and hotel details right now, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

The phone disconnects before I have a chance to find my words. I drag my hands down my face, put the truck in reverse, and head back up the driveway. Days ago my life was calm and easy. I hadn’t receiveda call about the hosting gig yet, but I had the woman of my dreams. I could stay here in this city, under the scrutiny of my parents, running my construction business and hardware stores and not long for anything else. But now, everything has changed.

I can’t go to Tilly and ask her to take me back when I don’t know if I’m staying.

If I leave, I can save us both the heartbreak.

Inside the house, I plop onto the couch and run my hands through my hair. Long gone is the warmth of the fireplace, and Tilly’s filled wine glass still sits on the table, a dried ring around the bottom. I sink into the cushion and close my eyes, letting my mind wander.

Shantel told me I need to give Tilly time to deal with her feelings about us, but with the job offer on the table, I’ve got a lot to think about too. As if on cue, my phone dings with an email. I swipe the screen and scan through the details from Gideon’s secretary. My flight leaves in two days, and once I have more information about the job I can come to Tilly with a plan.

If she’ll forgive you.

***

Clumps of freshly mowed grass pepper the country club parking lot as I pull up to the back entrance and off load the heavy slab of wood. I hadn’t planned on taking other jobs while I finished what needed to be done at the bakery, but when Mr. Kennedy told me he’d pay top dollar for a Wilson original counter, I couldn’t turn it down.

“Is that the new bar top?” Mr. Kennedy comes inside from the golf course, slicking back his hair and putting on his hat.

I smooth a hand over the lacquered wood, chest puffing up with a bit of pride. “It is. What do you think?”

He takes in the gold logo in the center of the top, the sprawling black letters of the club’s name etched into the wood grain, the built-in coasters, and slats for bar mats and caddies to rest. His smile is wide, and when he claps me on the back I hear a door opening somewhere in the back of my head. Impressing the owner of The Dominion isn’t a small feat, and it’s one more step toward my name becoming my own, no longer associated with surgeons and doctors.

“It’s magnificent,” he says, waving over one of his golf buddies to show him. “I have another project you might be interested in, too.”

“Okay, great I—”

“But we can talk about that after your brother’s event tomorrow or sometime next week,” he says, extending his hand.

Words freeze on the tip of my tongue, and I almost ask him to repeat what he said. An event? For Sebastian? I slip my phone out of my pocket and check my calendar. It’s empty, and a quick check of my texts with my mom shows no mention of the event.

“Okay.” I turn away to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be out of town until Wednesday.”

My swallow is pained, and I glance around the room looking for answers to questions I didn’t know I needed to ask. Why are they having an event for Sebastian? And why didn’t they tell me about it?

After saying goodbye to Mr. Kennedy, I hop back into my truck and head to the one place I hope I’ll get a straight answer.

Claire’s Hill Country estate is small in comparison to my parents’ 6,500 sq. foot house, but it’s not humble by any means. I could fit two of my houses in here, plus the three-car garage. She’s lounging in front of a fire, eyes trained on the cooking show on the TV, when her maid lets me in.

“Hey sis.” I sit beside her, legs stretched out before me. “Where’s Ben?”

“He got an emergency call.” She shrugs, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth. Her husband is one of Texas’s top plastic surgeons, and more often than not his ‘emergencies’ consist of rich women or men who have messed up their noses by drunkenly faceplanting into the ground.

“Ah, I see.” I lean back, crossing my arms behind my head. “So about this event for Sebastian…”

Her munching comes to a halt, eyes wide and pinned on the screen. “What about it?”

My elbows move to my knees, fingers steepled in front of my lips. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

She blows air through her nose, reaching forward to grab the remote to pause her show. Her teeth saw into the bottom of her lip, eyes downcast as she turns to me.

“What do you want me to say, Arch?”

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