Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“What are you doing?” I whisper to my reflection. I can’t stop primping. I can’t stop these damn flutters either.
I’m twisted and torn as I head to the door right as Mom sails out from the kitchen.
“I need to run some errands in town. Want a ride, darling?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved I don’t have to drive with all this want taking up space inside me.
As she drives down our street, she tosses a glance at my top, visible since my red coat’s open. “Cute sweater. That would be nice for your date with Oliver.”
My heart pinches with guilt. But for a woman who’s usually agile with words, I have nothing to say.
Mom, though, has plenty. “Especially with that pretty scarf.”
Looking down, I take my time adjusting my newest scarf, a sliver of guilt wedging into my heart. Mom’s trying to play matchmaker. And Oliver seems like a good guy. But I didn’t wear or buy this midnight blue scarf for him. I picked it up yesterday in the city before I left. The sweater’s new, too, but I can’t tell any of this to my mom. I don’t want her to worry about me wanting someone I can’t have.
I raise my face and put on a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”
“You look lovely in anything, though,” she says, then shoots me a warm smile as we near Main Street. “So, does this mean I can set it up? The date?”
I can’t put this off any longer. Especially since I know the answer, thanks to that conversation with Mabel earlier. “I appreciate your efforts, Mom,” I begin as she maneuvers her car into a spot outside the Sugar Plum Bakery. “But I don’t feel sparks with him.”
“Oh,” she says, deflated. Her cheery expression falters as she turns off the car and looks to me. “I just thought…that you’d be a good fit. But it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, somehow feeling worse. She’s trying so hard. “I can tell him—Oliver that is. I know how to let people down gently. It’s part of the job.”
She shakes her head. “First off—don’t apologize. Sparks are important. And it was only a conversation with his mother. I don’t think she brought it up to him yet, so there’s no need to let him down.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. “That’s good. And I feel better for telling you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
I want to tell her I’m inappropriately lusting after a client, but I keep that to myself. “I know,” I say, then reach for the door handle.
“Isla.” There’s concern in her voice.
“Yes?”
“Is it also that you’re not quite ready to put yourself out there yet? After JD and all?”
“I don’t think so?” But it comes out as a question. Maybe because…it is.
“It takes time. And if you need more of it, that’s fine too. But someday, I hope you’ll see the world isn’t full of JDs. That there are love stories like your dad’s and mine.”
My throat tightens with emotion. “That’s what we all want…I suppose.”
“You believe that, don’t you?”
“Of course I believe it,” I say, taken aback she’d even ask. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugs, but it’s a hopeful shrug somehow. That’s fitting for her. “I know you believe in it for others, but I hope one bad romance didn’t make you stop believing in it…for you.”
I freeze. Have I stopped believing in true love for me? No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that. Even though my romance with JD isn’t my only romance that’s failed. My others did too. Perhaps not as spectacularly, but there was Peter, the guy I dated before JD, and after two years we simply petered out. There was also Tristan, a man I met on the apps, since of course I had to try them. How could I commiserate with clients over them if I didn’t know how they worked? He said he was interested in love in his profile, but his attitude on dates said otherwise.
A dark cloud forms over my head as I think about my ghosts of romance past. The dates that went nowhere. The love stories that came to an end. The promises broken.
“Of course, I believe in it,” I say, as bright and cheery as I can be. “That’s why I do what I do. Love you, Mom.”
Dropping a quick kiss to her cheek, I grab the door handle and get far, far away from my doubts. There’s no room for those dark thoughts at this time of year. Or anytime.
I hustle back into the bakery, closed now, for our secret meeting. Aurora’s letting us use the cellar as HQ. We’re surrounded by fifty-pound bags of sugar, huge buckets full of chocolate chips, and shelves lined with vanilla extract, and all I can think is—Rowan would love all the sweetness here.