Page 192 of Worth the Trip

“There is no wedding.”

“Yet.”

“Nyla.”

“I need rehearsal time.”

“Go count spoons.”

“I’m a co-owner.”

“And yet the spoons remain vulnerable.”

She walked away laughing, while I returned to the production list, but the warmth she’d left behind stayed with me. Landon hadn’t transformed my life over one weekend. Crème & Chill still needed inventory. The chocolate wafers were still wrong. Payroll would still exist by afternoon.

I was simply happy.

Apparently, that changed the lighting.

The morning rush arrived before nine and refused to respect Monday’s reputation for restraint. A day care group showed up early. Two nurses coming off an overnight shift ordered enough coffee-flavored ice cream to suggest caffeine had personally betrayed them, and one father promised his children one topping each before learning that three small people had interpreted the number as a loose theological guideline.

I moved between the counter and prep room, taking orders, replacing pans, answering questions, and stealing occasional glances at the phone tucked inside my apron. I didn’t check Landon’s message until the line thinned near eleven.

Big Lando:

You eat yet, Hershey?

I glanced toward the wrapped breakfast sandwich beside the register.

Me:

I have food.

Big Lando:

That wasn’t my question.

Me:

You’re bossy from another city.

Big Lando:

Nah. Eat, love. Then go back to running your empire.

I stared at the screen.

That was it.

No explanation of why he cared. No paragraph about me deserving nourishment. Just a man who knew me well enough to ask the right question and trusted me to answer it.

I unwrapped the sandwich.

Nyla appeared almost immediately.

“Big Lando made you eat?”

“I made me eat.”