Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Trevyn emits a low, appreciative whistle while Skylar squeals. Remy gives me an approving look.
“No wonder you can’t focus on pickleball,” Skylar says.
“Your head is replaying that whole move, isn’t it?” Remy asks with an arch of a brow.
“You’d all do the same,” I counter saucily before I remember to tamp down my enthusiasm. As I grab a ball from a bucket on the side of the court, I put on a serious face. “But the thing is, it’s not going to happen again. It just can’t.”
The mood shifts instantly.
“Because you’re business partners,” Skylar says with a sad smile.
“But not because your brother’s a protective caveman,” Remy clarifies. “Though he is.”
“A hot caveman,” Trevyn points out.
“Gross,” I say. “But Theo’s not the issue. Sure, I appreciate that they’re friends, and I wouldn’t want to cause friction between them, but it’s also not my brother’s call who I do or don’t date.”
“Preach,” Skylar puts in.
Trevyn voices his take on the problem. “It can’t happen because you’re chasing the same dream and you need to keep your focus on it.”
Bingo. “Yes. That. But also, I’m taking a break from dating. That last breakup really sucked. I felt so stupid.” The familiar self-loathing swims up inside me, as it does whenever I think of Dax, the way he left, and the things he said about me. Things that clearly resonated, judging from Gym Girl’s weird excitement over meeting me. “I feel stupid half the time in this town too. When I go up and down Main Street introducing myself to the other business owners, sometimes I feel like people are waiting for me to fail just like Dax was waiting for me to fail. Like this woman at the gym,” I say, then tell them about the selfie sneak attack.
“I hope you took her phone and smashed it,” Trevyn says.
I laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“But it doesn’t sound like she was waiting for you to fail. More like she thinks she’s kind of floundering and saw some sort of kinship,” Remy says.
I chew on that for a beat, then concede, “Maybe.”
“The people here aren’t that bad,” she reassures me.
“I know.” It’s true there’s been some real kindness. Like from Zakiya, of course, as well as the woman who owns the Green Pantry, and the bookshop owner. But I can’t shake the mailbox incident, the llama drama, the meme. “But really, why do I want to get into a relationship that might not work out? I’ve got to focus on the bakery. I don’t want to fail at that.”
“You’re not going to,” Remy says, firm and supportive.
“I have faith in you,” Trevyn seconds.
“And we’re all going to show up at your opening day and gorge ourselves to make sure you sell out,” Skylar adds.
And at the end of that day, Corbin and I will read another love letter from years ago.
I can’t wait for our opening for many reasons.
I toss the ball in the air once and catch it easily. “Now, stop distracting me with your names for dry-humping styles. I have to serve underhand this time.”
And I do.
When the game ends, my friends take off, and even though a part of me is dying to walk the long way downtown by going around all the shops via side streets, I force myself to go along Main Street, saying hello.
I say hi to Luis, who runs a cute little clothing boutique with a rainbow flag in the window. I avoid the town square, where the retired guys who play chess outside like to eat grocery store Danishes and drink gas station coffee and disparage hipster bakeries (they told me as much when I handed out a flyer earlier in the week for the upcoming opening day). But I stop for a minute to chat with the woman who runs the sandwich shop that makes excellent vegetarian fare. She’s been particularly supportive, one vegetarian to another.
I pass The Meet Cute, where the frosty-faced little dog lounges in his chair sleepily. I wave to Clementine, who owns the store, and she waves back from behind the counter. She’s a friend of mine, and it’s comforting to know that she’ll definitely be coming to the opening since not only do we get along, but her brother, Lake, plays on the Foxes with Corbin.
A Good Yarn is a couple of shops up ahead, and then I’ll turn onto Holly Springs.
A trio of older women pours out of the shop. The knitting club, I think, judging by the craft bags slung over their shoulders, some with needles sticking out, another with the tail of a knitted scarf flapping in the breeze.
One of them says, “I give it a month.”
I wonder what they’re talking about.
“Three,” the woman in the middle says. “The hockey player will keep it open.”
My gut twists as I have the answer. Me. They’re talking about me.