The way she says itis so obviously transparent. She’s hitting on me. On another day, in anotherlife, where I hadn’t met Alexa, I might find this woman with her long goldenhair and expensive boob job and professionally applied makeup kind of hot, in aslutty way. But this is the kind of woman that men designate as hook ups. She’stoo flighty, too stuck on herself, and too spoiled rotten by her father to evermake a good girlfriend.
If Britta were herewith either one of my cousins, they’d no doubt be hooking up in the largemaster bedroom closet by now, but that won’t work with me.
I shake my head andanswer her question in a way that will let her know I’m not my cousin. “Nope.Bachelor life for me.”
Her face falls andthen she shrugs it off. “Let’s look at the back yard.”
When she’s seenevery inch of the house, she decides to go home and call her dad and beg for moremoney. I stay and lock up the house, then sit on the front porch a minute tocheck my accounts. I have half a dozen work emails that need to be responded tosoon, and exactly zero Facebook notifications from Alexa.
I sigh and stareout at the sprawling and well-manicured front yard of this estate. This isdefinitely the kind of gorgeous house I’d love to raise a family in. Feelingweird for still being here, I get in my car and head back to my office. I replyto the emails and drink some coffee and go about my day, trying very hard toavoid the tempting pull of social media.
I make it all theway until six in the afternoon, and then I can’t help myself anymore. My sneakyFacebook post didn’t garner any replies from her all week, but that won’t stopme from checking out her page again.
This time is worthit. She’s posted something to her page! It’s an invitation, a glorious olivebranch extended to me. I guess it could be an invitation to anyone she met atthe convention, but … I’m included in that. Right?
I take a deepbreath and I know I’m grinning like a psycho, but who cares. Alexa posted toher Facebook page right after I posted to mine. It’s a back and forth, althougha sneaky one. This couldn’t have been a coincidence. It’s been two weeks andcoincidences don’t take that long.
Alexa is offeringme a cupcake and coffee.
All I have to do isshow up.
***
I clear my scheduleon Thursday. It was my least busy day of the week and Janie wouldn’t be taskedwith too much work in my unexpected day off. I am a bundle of nerves as I makethe drive down to Mable Falls. It’s ironic how forty-five minutes in downtownHouston traffic can feel like an eternity, but the same amount of time on theseback country roads seems to flit by in the blink of an eye when you’re nervousas hell.
My grandpa used tohave this saying. “Will it matter in five years? Ten? If not, then stopstressing about it.”
I try to take hisadvice to heart. Yeah, I’m nervous, and yeah, maybe Alexa didn’t mean for me toshow up in response to her post. But what’s the worst that can happen?
She might be coldand illusive and ask me to leave. Or she could be polite but still not want todate me. It’s really not that bad. I’ll be embarrassed and rejected but I’ll goon with my life.
If she rejects metoday, it won’t matter in five years.
But what if shedoesn’t? If she meant for me to come here and see her again, well then my lifefive years from now will be a thousand times better than I ever could haveimagined. I’d say that’s worth the risk.
Instead of parkingright in front of the bakery, I drive around and park on the other side of theroad. That way she can’t see me arrive and watch me looking like a nervouswreck. I park next to a motorcycle shop and then check my reflection in themirror. My hair looks good, my beard is trimmed. No pit stains, despite hownervous I am. I’m ready.
I take a deepbreath of warm summer air and make my way toward Sweets Bakery.
Chapter 17
A fresh batch of ministrawberry shortcakes stare up at me from the glass display counter. I haven’tmade them in a while, and they look amazing and I’m dying to eat one. It’snever good business sense to eat your own inventory, especially when then shopis busy like it is now, so I hold back and tell myself that if there’s any leftover by five, then I’ll eat one.
I love busy days atthe bakery. We’ve already earned over a thousand dollars and it’s still a fewhours until closing. These days are the best, because any extra money I earnafter paying the bills goes right into my retirement account. I hope to retirewhen I’m young enough to enjoy my life and travel and do fun things, and maybeeven keep the bakery open but just hire people to run it for me. That would bethe life.
The door opens andI glance over, putting on my friendly customer service smile, only to realize amoment later that the guy who just entered isn’t a customer. Disappointmentswallows me up, and I feel bad about it. I wasn’t expecting him, but I guess Ishould have. I invited him here, after all.
It’s Thursday. Mycoffee date.
Lee walks up to mewith his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his face in full on bashful littlekid mode. Geez, would it kill him to at leastpretendto be confident?
“Looks like you’repretty busy,” he says instead of a hello. “Do you want to reschedule?”
Yes, let’s reschedule for never, I think. But I shake my head. I’dpromised Livi and myself that I’d give this guy a chance. So when I told him weshould have coffee at my bakery, I can’t just back out or get upset when heactually shows up. I planned this little date, after all. I need to see itthrough.
“Livi and Keeshacan take care of the place,” I say with a smile so fake it’s making my cheekshurt. “What kind of coffee do you like?” I ask, gesturing toward the menu withall of our options.
“Just regular dripcoffee is fine,” Lee says. He rubs his neck and then touches his hair and it’slike the picture perfect example of how people act when they’re nervous. It’skind of cute, I guess, if I’m the reason he’s nervous. Maybe he likes me morethan he’s letting on.
