Page 83 of Love Me, I Dare You

Bailey

I’m in love.

Technically, I’m about eighty percent sure I never fell out of love with Nash, but right now, I know for a fact this is it for me. It’s been an entire week of bliss. From the first night we spent together after the disaster that was the speed dating event, to spending the day out by his family ranch, just the two of us, away from the noise and chatter of those closest to us. It was one of the best moments in my life where I felt truly cherished, seen and heard by another person.

The attention Nash gave me when we were together was something I’d never received. I was blessed to grow up in a wealthy family who loved me and gave me a life unlike any I could have ever gotten anywhere else, but it came at a price. In exchange, I gave them my utter loyalty and submission. Yet that trust and respect was taken away once I was no longer the obedient girl they raised to do as they saw fit. I didn’t harbor any resentment for my parents. It’s what they were raised to believe. What they thought was right.

That’s when my friends became my family. Billie and Monroe respected my life choices and admired me for them. For stepping out of the mold my parents had set for me and forced me to fit into. It was not a shock they reacted the way they did when I broke free.

Being with Nash would be another reason to further divide me from my family, but it was one I was willing to take a chance on.

The rest of the week went by in a flurry of life as usual, working at the cafe and bar, while Nash kept busy completing the remodel of the house. They’re so close to being done. I’m both excited for him and Monty, who’ve spent so many hours and hard work making this possible, but I’m also terrified of what this will mean for us.

The original plan was that this arrangement of Nash moving in with me would have a two-month timeline. After two months, Nash was supposed to be done with the ranch, out of my house and possibly even out of Crossroads. He’d made it known upon his arrival that his return was temporary. A means to an end. He came to help his brother and then he’d be gone, back to the life he was living before.

Though all of that was before. Prior to us falling into this mess of sexual tension and passion. Before we allowed our need for one another to consume us completely. Nash felt something for me, that I was sure of. There’s no way he could react to my body, our being together the way he does, if it means nothing. No one is that good at faking it.

However, what I’m most afraid of is that he’ll ignore all of it in order to prove to himself, my brother and father, that he’s in control and none of it’s true. We’ve never spoken about that night. Not after the one time I brought it up and he refused to tell me anything. I swept it under the rug, as I did with most things,and went on pretending like we would never have to address it in order to move forward.

But that’s me fooling myself and blindly looking away from the bright red flashing lights before my eyes. Nash Bishop came with a warning label. I was just the sucker who thought she could ignore it.

Though that ends tonight. I have to swallow my pride, kick the coward in me to the curb and ask him what our next move will be. If Nash plans on leaving town, then it’s better I know now before I fall deeper than I already have. It won’t hurt any less, but at least the fall will be expected. I’ll be able to plan, and we won’t have to involve or hurt anyone else.

Other than Billie, who’s currently standing beside me in my kitchen, flour covering her entire frame as she puts a batch of cupcakes into my oven, no one else knows about what’s been happening between Nash and I.

I haven’t spoken to Monroe about it. Not since the night after the speed dating event when she asked me where Nash and I ran off to. The last thing I told her was that I was unsure of my feelings for her brother, or about his feelings for me, and assured her I would let her know the moment any of that changed.

Monroe had a lot on her plate, especially since Billie and I were still the only two people who knew about her pregnancy. There was no hiding it forever since she'd have to say something soon once she was showing. She’s always been thin and incredibly fit, so any sign of a baby growing inside her is going to be visible. Luckily, she can rock the baggy t-shirt look if necessary.

As for my brother, Jase hasn’t even bothered to ask. However, that may change soon enough, because Thanksgiving is just a week away. I know I’ll have to face the fact that my family is going to find out about Nash and me sooner than later. I just hope I’m prepared to give the right answer when they ask.

Thanksgiving will be a King family reunion. Camden and his wife will be in town, and I’ll be forced back home for my mother’s traditional southern Thanksgiving dinner. It used to be one of my favorite holidays. As a baker, I absolutely loved baking pies and casseroles with Brynn while my dad and brothers would cook a turkey out in the smoker, and my mama and Nana Dorothy would make all the sides. But the last few years have been less traditional.

My parents may not agree with my lifestyle—they tolerate Jase’s, but that’s only because he’s the prodigal son now that Cam’s starting his own family—but somehow during the holidays it was as if none of it mattered. The spirit of what it meant to be together as a family was a perfect reminder that we should love and accept each other regardless of our flaws.

Not that I had many, but that’s the way my parents saw it.

“And that’s the last of the batter,” Billie says, wiping her hands on the skirt of the apron I let her borrow. This one’s one of my favorites, with tiny little apple pies in the shape of hearts along the ivory fabric.

After my mishap in the cafe kitchen last weekend, Billie promised to help me get back into the groove of baking and set everything up for the Harvest Festival happening the day after Thanksgiving. It’s tradition for the Festival to be held the Friday after the beloved holiday, and when Macey Whitmore, the woman in charge of literally every single thing there is to be done at the festival, fell and broke her foot, they were so close to postponing it a week.

My father, of course, refused, stating it would significantly affect the number of tourists stopping by for the holiday. Unlucky for me, that means I don’t have an additional week of preparation.

“Thank you, Bills. I really appreciate you helping me with all of this.”

She gives me a sweet smile, wiping away the flour on her face with the back of her hand. “Not only is it my job to support my partner during the busiest season for us, but you are my best friend, B. I’d do anything for you.”

Throwing my arms around her neck, I embrace her in a tight hug, letting all my worries and uncertainties from the last two months flow out of my eyes and onto the back of her shirt.

Her hair is a tangled heap of curls on her head, the bright shade of pink fading back to the light auburn almost strawberry blonde shade of her natural color. She runs her fingers through the fleck of curtain bangs falling over her eyes, hair now dusted with flour, as is every single surface in the small space.

I have no idea what I would ever do without her in my life. Billie and I grew up together since her family farm is just down the road from my family’s property. Her parents belong to the same group of parishioners as my mama and dad, but they are a bit more understanding of their only child’s life choices. Morgan and Mary Cole value the relationship with their daughter more than anything.

There have been so many nights like these Billie and I spent baking, drinking and crying together, especially in college once Monroe joined our group. The two of them were always shedding tears over their boy troubles, unlike me who was hung up on the same boy I’d given my heart to even after he never returned it.

Though, I’m not able to cry for long because the front door of my apartment is suddenly swung open and on the other side, with his eyes flicking back and forth between Billie and me and our compromising position, is none other than the man himself.

Nash stares in disbelief at the mess we’ve made, surely judging us for losing our minds as he takes in the flour in our hair, egg yolks smeared along the wall, and raw cake batter dripping off the counter.

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