Page 97 of You Cake My Breath Away

She laughs and cracks an egg into a bowl. “Go change, we have flyers to hand out.”

My finger dances around the rim of the glass, eyes cast downward. “I’m going to sell.”

An egg falls to the ground, cracking and spewing albumen across my kitchen floor. I hurry to clean up the spill with paper towels, and Shantel stands still with her eyes trained on me.

“No, you’re not.”

I sigh, emptying the trash into the bin. “I can’t do it.”

“It’ll get easier once you’re open and busy.”

The invisible wound in my chest reopens when I think about opening the bakery alone. He was supposed to be here with me. His touch is everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. I can’t look at the shelf he spent an hour redoing because I put it together wrong, or the stupidly cute sign he bought that pulls together the funky style of the place, and I definitely can’t look at the bakery case without thinking about his body pressed against mine.

If I can’t have him, then I don’t want that bakery location.

Resolution settles in my gut.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, whisking another egg as the pan heats.

“What do you mean?”

She smiles. “You have that look in your eye like you’re about to do something wild.”

I laugh, but she’s right. She’s known me long enough to see when something is percolating inside my mind. I pushed Archer away because I was scared I wasn’t enough, and that I was too much at the same time. I didn’t give him a chance to truly show me he was serious about us, and instead of trusting his words from the book, I turned it around on him and made him feel like a cheap fling to me. I closed the door on my second chance, and it’s up to me to pry the door back open and put myself out on a limb.

I grab my laptop, restarting it as Shantel pours the eggs into the pan. The sizzling and popping of the oil is the background to my airline deep-dive, which takes less than five minutes.

“Are you going to visit him?” Shantel sets the plate of eggs in front of me.

I catch a whiff of something rotten, and my stomach roils. A sharp intake of air doesn’t clear the nausea and I’m out of my seat, headed toward the trash can to dry heave. Bile burns my esophagus because I haven’t eaten anything.

“Oh my gosh. Are you okay?” Shantel rubs my back as my stomach continues to constrict.

A minute passes, and the wave is gone. I step back from the trash can, and Shantel hands me a napkin to wipe off my face. I blink a few times to clear the tears from dry heaving and sit back at the table.

“Tilly.” Shantel’s voice is deep, a command. “Look at me.”

My cheeks heat, embarrassed by the state of my appearance and life. I should probably see a therapist again, but they’d probably commit me when I tell them even the smell of food reminds me of the losses I’ve endured. I’m sure Shantel can see my cheeks stained with pink as I look up and into her eyes.

Without a word, a smile cracks her face, and she lunges toward me.

Chapter forty-seven

Archer

Present

Spotlights move across the studio, highlighting the audience gathered for theStud Findersepisode. Assistants stand off to the side holding massive white applause and laughter signs, switching off when either emotional reaction is needed from the crowd.

When Gideon told me the new contract was for a reality dating show, I wanted to tell him no. I didn’t work my butt off running my construction company and hardware stores to host a dating game. But after reading through the benefits package and deal memo, I realized the money from this gig could help me fund the workshop I wanted to open. Surprisingly, networks will pay more money for a reality show where interior designers and carpenters try to work together without falling in love than they do for people looking to bless a friend with a redone bathroom.

You and Tilly could’ve been the poster children for this show.

“Cut,” the producer yells, drawing my attention to the wings of the stage.

The contestants begin to filter out, but two remain off to the side quarreling over their vision for the project. Bliss Calloway, an interior decorator for some large hotel chain, was paired up with Canon Martin, an easygoing small-town carpenter, and they’ve done nothing but bicker.It reminds me of how Tilly and I would get over certain things pertaining to the bakery.

My chest constricts when I think about her putting the finishing touches on the bakery case we made love against, filling the shelves she tried—and failed—to put together. Her opening is in a few days, and I wish I could see the line that’s going to form around the corner.

---