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TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m still on such a high from kissing Brandon, that I barely get any sleep.
Wanting to have breakfast with Momma before she leaves for work, I crawl out of bed at sunrise, glimpsing Dad on his phone in the living room. He looks stressed.
“Morning, Momma,” I croak out, leaning against the doorway.
“Hey, you,” she says cheerily and resumes flipping pancakes. “You’re up early on a Saturday.”
“Woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”
“Want some tea? Pancakes are almost ready.”
“Sure.” I mosey to the counter and pour some of the brewed lemon ginger tea into a mug.
Dad enters as I’m sitting at the table.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says and scratches his head. “Honey, please tell me you don’t have any plans.”
I frown, thinking about Brandon. He wants to spend the day with me, which includes doing some very pleasurable things.
The desperation in Dad’s deep brown eyes prevents me from telling him I have a date.
In its place, I ask, “Why?”
“Rochelle called in sick,” he explains. “You mind helping out and work the register while Isaiah and I make deliveries? It should only be for a few hours.”
Guilt seeps in. I feel conflicted.
I’ve wanted Brandon to open up to me, and the moment he decides to, I’m bailing on him.
But my dad needs me. I can’t put a boy over him.
Doreen would never.
Swallowing, I nod and say, “Okay. I’ll shower and head over with you.”
Worry dissolves from his appearance. “Thanks, Kayla bug. I’ll pay you.”
“On top of my allowance?” I joke.
Momma chuckles.
Dad clicks his tongue. “All right. Hurry on now so you can eat before we leave.”
I head to the bathroom for a quick shower, then dress in jeans and a striped tee.
I’m nervous about Brandon’s reaction once I tell him I won’t be able to hang out until later. Considering it’s after seven, I decide not to wake him and call once I’m afforded a chance at the bakery.
I’ve helped out at Dad’s beloved establishment a few days during summers, so working the register isn’t complicated.
Isaiah leaves me to it the instant Dad and I arrive. They take off in the bakery’s van to deliver orders for the various events happening today.
McNeils stays busy throughout the morning, but I manage to keep up, selling homemade delights that Dad bakes every evening before coming home.
When there’s a break in traffic, I call Brandon.
“At last, my little artist is going to confess she dreams about me,” he teases the moment he answers.
