“That’s a great idea,” I say, nodding. “Can you also send me a hotel or two? I don’t remember seeing any when we visited.”
He snorts. “There’s no way my mom’s letting you stay anywhere but her house.” Then after a beat, his mouth quirks. “Which probably means I’ll need to find somewhere else to sleep to make room for you.”
I lift a brow. “Very noble of you.”
“I’ll suffer quietly.”
I laugh, and the sound surprises me with how easy it is. “So,” I say, shifting the bookstore bag higher on my shoulder, “I guess we’re going to your hometown.”
He steps back enough to look at me fully, his expression softening into something sure. “It’s going to be okay, Robyn. You’ll see.”
I nod. There’s no trust left in me to embrace the confidence in his voice.
When I turn to leave, the book is still in his hands. I don’t look back—but I can feel his eyes on me all the way to the elevator until the doors slide shut behind me.
My fingers tighten around the book in my bag. I’ll get to see if he learned anything by shattering us. And even if he didn’t… well, maybe I can have a little fun with Tessa—Rebecca did ask for town hall games after all.
CHAPTER 28
The Confession
Nate
I never understoodwhy people thought Andrzej was a pain in the ass until now.
It was supposed to be Robyn and me driving from Chicago to Rockton. Just us. Long stretch of highway, coffee, and audiobooks. Maybe, if I got lucky, in-person conversation.
Somehow, my plan to get together with Andrzej for an hour after dropping Robyn off with Julian and Milo before we headed for the Illinois–Wisconsin border turned into Andrzej never leaving my side. The minute I told him Robyn and Tessa would both be at my mom’s retirement party, heinsistedon coming, couldn’t miss it. My mother would be “devastated.” From the man who hadn’t shown the slightest interest when I mentioned it the first time.
Now, he’s riding shotgun in the rental, talking animatedly while Robyn twists in her seat to face him, knees tucked, absorbing everything about these freaking Polish pastries Andrzej brought along.
“Wait,” Robyn says, shifting forward so fast the seatbelt tugs across her shoulder, and her mouth drags to a smile. “You bake these? Like… yourself?”
Andrzej nods proudly, a faint pink warming his cheeks. “Of course. Mybabciataught me. Every Christmas, Easter, birthdays—any excuse, really. She said store-bought pastries are for people who’ve given up on joy.”
“How did I not know this?” Robyn asks.
“Where did you think those paczki came from?” Andrzej says. “Kasia’s deli?”
“Or Roeser’s,” she says. “I figured Nate bought them.”
I exhale through my nose and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Right. Because that sounds like me. I’d buy coffee or paczki, drop them off, get a pat on the back.
“Uh-huh,” Andrzej says, grinning. “That was me.”
Robyn laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Are you serious?”
He pats my shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell her those were homemade?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I do know, though. Ever since meeting Robyn, time with her always felt scarce, and I became… protective of it. I didn’t want Andrzej’s baking stories—my friends, my life outside her—to intrude. So I drew a line. Robyn on one side. Everyone else on the other. Mom was the only exception. She was my only family, and I wanted Robyn folded into it.
Andrzej answers Robyn, oblivious. “Yeah. I also make kolaczki, faworki, and karpatka.”
“You’re a full-blown baker.” She leans forward and slaps his shoulder. “One of those are the angel-wing-looking things, right?” She gestures, hands kneading the air. “How do you get them that crispy?”
Andrzej launches into an explanation—oil temperature, timing, patience. I nod absently, pretending the conversation isn’t crawling under my skin.
