Page 72 of We Can Do
As soon as I open the passenger door and settle into the passenger seat, a familiar scent wraps around me like an accusation.
Coffee. But not just any coffee. The specific blend that only comes from Rye Again.
My stomach clenches. “Did you go to Rye Again?”
I try to sound casual as she backs out of my driveway, but my voice cracks on his bakery’s name.
“Uh, yeah. I did.” She glances at me, guilt flickering across her features. “But only to see how heartbroken Noah is,” she adds quickly.
“It’s fine, Devin. You can go there.” I hate how desperate I sound when I ask, “Did he... look heartbroken?”
“Soooo heartbroken! He looks like he hasn’t slept all week, and when he saw me he got this mournful look in his eyes. Like I was reminding him of you.”
I smile, but it’s a sad, twisted thing. “Thank you.”
“I mean it.” She turns onto Main Street.
The information sits heavy in my chest. Noah looks heartbroken. He hasn’t been sleeping. Part of me thinks good. But the larger part, the part that still loves him despite everything, wants to drive to Rye Again right now and wrap my arms around him. To fix whatever’s broken. But he’s the one who ended things. He chose his bakery, his book, his reputation over us. So why should I care if he’s suffering the consequences?
The lights of downtown come into view, and Devin parks across from Knit Happens. The yarn shop glows warm against the evening. Through the windows, I can see our friends already gathered.
The moment we walk through the door, I’m ambushed by love.
“Alexis!” Maya bounces up and wraps me in a hug that smells like vanilla perfume.
“Want some hot chocolate?” Hannah’s already at the kettle, not waiting for an answer. “Marshmallows?”
“We were worried about you.” Flick rushes over, her hands fluttering like she wants to touch me but isn’t sure if she should.
The warmth that floods through me has nothing to do with the shop’s cozy temperature. This is what I’ve been missing, hiding in my house like a wounded animal. These women who show up, who understand without explaining, who love me even when I’m at my worst.
“I’m okay.” I accept the mug Hannah presses into my hands and sink onto my usual cushion. “And I’ll get even better.”
It’s hard to imagine that future from where I’m sitting, but I know it’s true. Hearts heal. They have to.
“So what have you been doing?” Flick asks from across our circle, her knitting needles already clicking. “Busy with work?”
“And baking my feelings.” The laugh that escapes is real, surprising me.
“What about the sourdough book? Are you...” She trails off, probably seeing something in my face.
“I have to finish it.” The words come out on a sigh. I stare into my hot chocolate where tiny marshmallows bob like life rafts. “It’s my only in right now for a full-time editing job.”
That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. That this is about my career, about securing a position at Kitchen Lore Publishing. Not about the fact that editing Noah’s book is the last thread connecting us.
“How does that work with Noah?” Hannah’s question is gentle.
“We’re doing it all through email. We don’t have to see each other.”
Flick’s lips twist into a frown. She’s holding something back.
“What?” I press.
“Are you sure this book is your only opportunity? Is editing cookbooks really what you want to do? I’m just asking because you’ve never talked about it like you, you know...”
“Actually like it.” Devin finishes the thought.
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. “I mean, I don’t love it.” My fingers tighten on the warm ceramic. “But I need a job that will replace restaurant reviewing.”
