“No! That’s not what I—”
“See ya, Dessy!” Jack says, a broad smile clear in his tone. Jerk.
He hangs up, and my over-the-top dramatic music starts up again. With a sigh, I change the song. I’m well past my cry until I make myself laugh part of the drive.
Anne’s Donuts, the local bakery housed in a whitewashed barn, appears on my right. I turn into the drive-thru lane equipped with a crackling, static two-way speaker installed in the 1970s when the shop opened. I stop in line behind another Subaru. A “This Car Climbed Mt. Washington” sticker clings to their rear bumper.
With a calming breath, I soak in the beauty of the surrounding area. Just down a gently sloping hill, Mr. Martin’s cows graze peacefully in their pasture. Moulton’s Apple Farm sits to the left. Tractors with wagons attached to the back are loaded with hay, ready for October. A pumpkin patch and corn maze stand as decorations on the farm, signaling fall hasarrivedin New Hampshire. The “Leaf Peepers” will head north this weekend for the autumn scenery, and we’ll be ready.
The car in front of me pulls forward, and I follow suit.
“Welcome to Anne’s Donuts. How can I help you?” The voice of Blake Bailey, the mastermind behind an over-the-top Mrs. Bennet and a pompous Mr. Elton, crackles through the frozen speaker.
“Hi, Blake! It’s Aulie. Can I have my regular, please, and thank you?”
“You’ve got it! Drive up!”
Blake’s sparkling green eyes greet me at the window. “Good morning!” they say, tucking a loose golden tendril falling out of the bun behind their ear. Powdered sugar is swept across their cheek, forehead, and nose, coating their pale skin in an early dusting of snow. The Chawton Falls landscape won’t be too far behind if these frigid morning temperatures continue the way they have in the past week.
“Morning! How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know, same old! Hey—um—have you been on Instagram this morning?” Blake swallows, avoiding my eyes with the question.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I groan. “Any chance you know anyone who could help us out? Because all Emy offered for a solution was for me to fill in. Wouldn’t that be ridiculous?” I laugh off the suggestion, hoping Blake agrees with me.
It’s a terrible idea. Probably. I don’t know. Iamdesperate, and maybe I could play the naive, foolish woman in love and not let the role seep into my own life. Maybe I’m overthinking all of this and there isn’t even a foolish side to unleash anymore.
“You totally should do it!” Blake brightens, a broad smile stretching wide across their face. “Getting into acting again could be good for you.”
“It really wouldn’t be,” I grunt, feeling betrayed. I was looking for validation, not another person on Team Emy. “It’s kind of the opposite of what I need.”
“It’s been a rough few years for you.” Blake regards me sympathetically, hinting at what everyone always tiptoes around. Being raised by a group of people far older than me was a huge blessing when I was little. But now, after the past few years and far too many funerals, I only know the icy grip of mortality. “Maybe it’s time you did something fun. Something for yourself. Besides, I miss my leading lady out there.” They pass my tray of coffees through the window to me. “Wouldn’t getting back out in the theater world be a great way to show you’re over that shitty ex? Or maybe you could turn your attention to the hot hockey player who sends you moon eyes when you aren’t looking.”
The tray wobbles in my grasp, and I inhale sharply. I stabilize it and narrowly avoid spilling scalding hot coffee on my lap.
The whole “your best friend has the hots for you” theory my friends refuse to drop rattles my nerves more than it should. Probably because it’s absurd, and I’m a practical, level-headed woman.
And entertaining the idea that the bad boy of the National Hockey League harbors feelings for me, a woman who holds the record for most cardigans owned, threatens my sensibility.
“I’m going to pass on the Jack idea,” I say. “We’re friends. That’s it. That’d be like dating you or Emy.”
“Or it could be more like Emy dating Gus, which is working out.” Blake smirks, handing me a bag with three apple cider donuts—one for me and two for Emy and Gus.
While I was gone this summer, Blake played the part of matchmaker, encouraging a budding relationship between my brother and best friend. Alone in our house on King’s Pond, the forced proximity and Blake’s nudging allowed Emy and Gus to know the best parts of each other’s hearts.
Parts that I adore in each of them.
Honestly, I love their relationship. I just sometimes wish I wasn’t as privy to it since I’m now with them in the confines of that same house again.
“I wouldn’t know. I have safety perimeters in place mentally where they’re still in separate rooms at night, and the squeaking is Gus playing with a rubber duck.”
“I worry about you sometimes.”
“I always worry about me, so that’s fair.” I laugh.
A less-than-polite but understandable toot blares from the vehicle behind me.
“Thank you for the coffee, as always. I love you, bye!” Hastily, I take my foot off the brake and pull forward.
