Page 70 of Sweet Escape
I tune out the rest of the conversation. I’ve already heard too much. My thoughts trail back to that night on the tailgate. What must it be like to have been loved as deeply and irrevocably as Jess was?I’ve never known a love like that, and I’m not certain I ever will.
It’s not until I lock eyes with the woman that I realize I’ve been staring. “Congratulations,” she says.
My heart squeezes as I watch her leave, and Wilder turns to me with a haunted look in his eyes.
“Was that?—”
“Jess’s mom. Yeah.”
I step up beside him, sweeping a lock of hair off of Emmy’s forehead, then peer into those beautiful, broken eyes of his. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head jerkily. “No. We should get home.”
Home.But it’s not that for me, is it? I don’t have a home anymore. Not the little apartment above the diner, not the penthouse in Colorado, and certainly not Wilder’s quaint farmhouse at Whispering Oaks. I don’t know where I belong anymore.We—wherewebelong. Because I’m not alone anymore.
He reaches for me, twining our fingers, and it’s the exact reassurance I need to know whatever it is I’m feeling isn’t going to last forever. I might stumble for a while, but eventually I’ll find my footing, and I’ll have Wilder by my side helping guide me. That’s enough for me. Hisfriendshipis enough for me.
Before I can think better of it, I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard against my lips.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“Nothing. Take me home.”
“Ok, Emmy Lou. We’re going to lift the spoon very carefully now,” I say, holding onto her hand while we raise a measuring spoon filled to the brim with granulated sugar. Her hand wobbles beneath mine, and some of the sugar dumps onto the island.
“Uh oh,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok, Em. We can clean it up after. Keep going.” Once we reach the rim of the mixing bowl, I place one hand on the base of the spoon. “Ok, now tip it into the bowl.”
Emmy squeals. “I did it!”
“You sure did. Wanna try to crack an egg?”
She nods, her little pigtails bouncing with each movement.
“Alright. We’ll do it into a small bowl in case some of the shell falls in. Take this one,” I say, placing an egg into the palm of her hand. It’s bigger than her fist, and I’m left wondering if this might’ve been a bad idea. Oh well, no turning back now.
I guide her hand to the edge of the ceramic bowl and tap the rim, creating a small fissure in the shell. “See that? Now we’ll take our thumbs and pull the sides apart. Do you think you could do that?”
“Uh huh!”
She fumbles with the egg, recovering with impressive speed, before placing her thumbs in the crack. The egg splatters a little as she attempts to pry them apart, and half of the shell ends up in the bowl with the egg.
“Oh noooo,” she whines, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
“You did such a good job for your first time. Wanna know a secret?”
She perks up, leaning in like I’m about to tell her something completely mind-blowing.
“I sometimes drop the shells, too, but we can pick them right up and pretend it didn’t happen.” To demonstrate, I pluck the half shell out of the bowl and toss it into the garbage can beside the island. “See? Just like new. We all make mistakes sometimes. The important thing is that we don’t give up. Wanna try again?”
I glance up and lock eyes with Wilder. He’s standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room with his arms crossed over his chest as he so often does, watching as I teach Emmy the finer points of my fake it ‘til you make it mantra.
His lips tip into a small smile, and he nods.
I hand Emmy another egg, and she cracks it flawlessly this time.
“That was A-MA-ZING!” I say, pulling her in for a side hug. “Now we add the vanilla to the eggs and pour that into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients.”
