Page 38 of Ardently Yours

It seems shiny and filled with possibilities because we’re desperate. But what if it causes more trouble in the end? I’m unsure about all of it, but I do know one thing.

I do want to help Will.

And I need to help myself.

“I’m in,” Will says. “Are you?”

His question catches me off guard.

But the only thing I can think to say in response is, “I’m not sure. But I’m all out of options, so you’re it, Darcy.”

He rubs his hands together like he just finished baking a masterpiece. I’ve seen this look on him before when he’s really excited about something he baked, or even more excited after I taste it and tell him how good it is.

He has that glint in his eyes, that smile on his face, and I can see it then. He is handsome. I’m not blind, but I never really stopped to look at him like that.

The other day, when I was having my mini meltdown, I looked at him enough to think fake dating him could ward off all my relationship drama. But I hadn’t really looked at him.

Now, as I watch him smile, I realize he has dimples, dark brown eyes, and smooth dark brown skin. He has a perfectly shaped beard and soft-looking dark brown coils cut short. I know Wolfsheim probably hooked him up because he’s the best barber in town. That aside, Will looks nice and always seems put together.

Most of the time I see him, he’s dressed for work. But looking at him now, seeing him after leaving small group Bible study, I realize he cleans up nicely. Not that he looks terrible when he comes to work.

It’s just that we see each other all the time, and now all of a sudden I’m realizing he’s not just Will, the baker and my friend. He’s a whole man. A man who can wear a cardigan that somehow makes him look both sophisticated and sexy all at once.

And then I realize I shouldn’t be thinking about him that way because he’s still Will. And this relationship is going to be fake. But if it were real, and if I were being honest with myself, he is exactly the kind of guy I’d go for if I were actually open to dating anybody.

He’s driven, handsome, loves God, goes to church, and has a good job. Just saying. Except I’m not saying. Because I will never let those thoughts leave my mind.

“Okay, let’s lay out the ground rules then,” he says, still smiling at me.

I pull out my journal from a drawer in my desk, flip toward the back, and find a blank page. I know that what I’m about to write down has nothing to do with making coffee or buying supplies for my cafe. But it does have something to do with saving it. And possibly saving me from my terrible love life.

Picking up the pen I almost stabbed Will with when he showed up out of nowhere tonight and scared me, I title the blank page in my journal: The Contract.

Will looks over, reads what I wrote, and snorts. “Very original.”

“It’s very straightforward and to the point, which we have to be if you want to make this work.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. He lowers them back into his lap and puts on his thinking face. “How do you want to do this?”

“We need to talk about boundaries, a timeline, and the things we’re going to have to do to make people actually believe we’re a couple. And we have to finalize the actual business partnership to make sure we both agree to those terms.”

Will asks, “What happens if we actually fall in love?”

I look away from the journal. My eyes land on his. Is he teasing me? I look for the signs of sarcasm. It’s there, but so is the look he’s giving me. His eyes are questioning, like I have the power to answer that question and change our whole dynamic.

Or I’m overthinking it. I roll my eyes at him, because he has to be kidding. Then, I say, “If we fall in love for real, then we have to make a new contract.”

In my journal, I create two categories, one for the Business Partnership and one for the Romantic Partnership. I hear another snort from Will, but one look from me silences him.

I watch as he puts on a neutral expression, or at least he tries to. I can tell by the corners of his mouth twitching upward that he’s trying hard not to laugh.

“Let’s start with the business side of things,” I offer, slipping into professional mode so I can keep us on track. “Here’s the thing. This cafe is my baby, and I don’t play about my work. I know you know this, but we’re moving from me being your boss to us being partners. So we’re going to have to make sure everything is laid out the right way. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for.”

“Of course,” Will says, agreeing, no longer joking around.

I continue, saying, “So I propose that we become fifty-fifty partners only if you promise your funds will help sustain the cafe by covering what the grant no longer can. And, I need you to take on some of the responsibilities of ownership without letting it go to your head. If we’re going to do this, I need to know I can trust you, Darcy.”

“I don’t want to mess this up for you,” he says thoughtfully. “I can make the investment into the cafe. I can cover fifty percent and take on more responsibilities. I already handle supplies for baking. I can help hire new employees too. Just let me know how you want to do this.”