My hand was on her arm in an instant. I should have been better prepared for questions like that. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “You didn’t know. There was…someone. He wasn’t…”
Who I thought he was. Who he pretended to be.
Shaking my head, I finished simply by saying, “It didn’t end well.”
“I’m hearing you,” she said, dropping her voice too low for anyone else to hear. “Forget I said anything. Take your time. Men come and go. A good one will wait until you’ve recoveredfrom the last loser.” She pressed against me in a quick hug. “The only person you need to worry about is you, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime! Now…” Her grin was back. “If ballet is off the list… Did you hear the gallery is starting a candle-making class?”
“I’m in.”
“Really?” she squealed.
“I can’t guarantee my candles will stay upright, but I’d love to learn how to make my own…”
By the time Idropped by the village store on my way home, I was still overwhelmed by too many cake options.
The trolley rattled as I rounded the next aisle. I glanced at my list. Half the items I’d stacked next to all the junk I’d bought at the markets weren’t written on the scrap of paper I’d torn off my pink notepad. The vanilla ice cream was an impulse purchase. The hair treatments and face masks on the shelf in front of me weren’t on the list, either.
Another little treat won’t hurt…
I snatched one of each, dumped them on top of too many tubs of cream cheese, and kept pushing. The trolley jangled around the corner, but I pulled it back to a sharp stop.
Aiden stood in front of rows of vegetables, a basket gripped in his big hand. My heart leapt, but with my nerves tangling my feet, I rolled the trolley back.
His head turned. “Lola.” His chin dipped down in a nod hello.
“Hi, Aiden.”
Dark brows furrowing, his lips pressed together. He was like an ancient computer. Every sentence seemed to catch in spinning wheels and error messages before finally grinding out. I wished I were as careful as he was. My thoughts hurtled fullspeed to the night before, and a hot flush of shame crept up my neck.
I’d thought about Aiden when I shouldn’t have.
Alone in my bedroom, when all the lights were out, I’d imagined he’d hauled me onto his lap. Fantasy Aiden had whispered in my ear, telling me how pretty I looked. And when I’d slipped my hand between my legs, I’d pretended it was his fingers making me feel so good, his gravelly voice an urgent whisper, begging me to come for him. I had. I’d moaned his name into my empty bedroom—the first time I hadn’t rushed to get an orgasm over with as quickly as possible in years.
Flustered, my heart beating too fast, I fixed my eyes on my feet. This wasn’t the time for fantasies. This was the time to say thank you.
I gathered my courage. I wanted to tell Aiden how much I loved the eggs and the darling little box he’d made for me. He must have spent hours—days, maybe—crafting it.
“Thank you,” Aiden said, “for the cake last weekend.”
He’d beaten me to it. My eyes snapped up.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Chocolate is my favourite.”
“Mine too.”
“Something else we have in common. Other than…reading…and…and…” He stuffed a hand in his pocket and, sighing, added, “Cooking.” His lips pressed flat, and he returned to his silent thinking for a few beats until he nodded at my trolley. “How are you getting all this home?”
My shoulders hiked up to my ears. I looked helplessly at too many impulse purchases to carry. “A…taxi?” Was there a taxi in town? Rideshare? In a pinch, I could always call Brooke…
“I’ll take you home.”
“Aiden, I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s on my way.”
