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25
Faith parkedbehind The Shack and let herself in the rear entrance. She opened the cupboards and tossed ingredients on the counter, not even pausing to think about how they might work together. Orange and cardamom—why not? While she was at it, how about double-chocolate fudge with a salted caramel swirl? Mm, that sounded like comfort to her. She grabbed cream, eggs, sugar, and was about to begin an all-new recipe—completely off the top of her head—when Megan came in from the shop. Faith froze, caught in the act.
Megan’s brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you be at Dylan’s birthday party?”
“I was,” she replied, unable to hold eye contact.
“Is it over?”
“It’s—it’s....” Faith trailed off, and then the dam burst. Tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her mascara and eyeliner. “It was so bad, Meg. I don’t know—" She hiccupped. “—how I’m ever gonna show my face again.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Megan’s expression softened, and she pulled Faith into a hug. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.” Maybe not ever. Although she’d have to eventually, or someone else would break the news to her best friend. “I just need to be alone to make ice cream and stuff my face.”
Megan released her and nodded. “We can do that. You wait right here.” She went to the fridge and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, which she uncorked and used to fill a glass. Then she headed into the shop and came back with one of her locally famous cocktail cupcakes. She handed it to Faith. “Eat a cupcake, drink wine, make ice cream, and we can talk whenever you want—or not, if that’s what you’d prefer. I’ll be in the shop if you need me.”
Faith took Megan by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, gorgeous. I love you.”
Who needed men when they had friends like this?
She set to work, but no matter how she tried to distract herself, she couldn’t forget the way Diana had outed her in front of everyone. And yeah, most of the town had already known she and Shane started out pretending, but not everyone. His family hadn’t. What must they think of her now?
And then there were the photos. Enough people had known about those to make her life unpleasant back at high school, but hardly anyone who’d been there today had been in the loop. Now her biggest secret was out.
Whisking cream furiously, she felt a burning ache in her arm and tried to focus on that rather than the tearing sensation in her heart. God, the party had felt like history replaying itself with the mean girl tearing her apart—only this time she’d truly been in love with the guy involved. She’d only had an idealistic teenage infatuation with Mason, and she’d long outgrown it. Her feelings for Shane were real, but she was stupid to have believed it could ever work out between them.
She peeled the wrapper off the cupcake and bit into it, savoring the sweetness of frosting as it exploded on her tastebuds. Normally, Megan’s cakes could make her forget almost anything, but now, no matter how tasty they were, they felt empty. She sighed. Surely a woman should only have to live with one great embarrassment in her life. Why did she have to suffer through two? It wasn’t fair. But maybe that was what she got for being idiotic enough to let her guard down.
Her tears renewed themselves, and she wiped her cheeks on a napkin, not caring that the smudge of color on the paper indicated her face was probably a mess. She collected the cardamom and sprinkled it into the cream mixture. It occurred to her that using powdered spice was probably a bad choice, but she didn’t have the energy to do better. She frowned at the mixture and jerked in surprise at the sound of a knock on the back door. Glancing over, she saw the outline of a dark-haired man against the frosted glass, and her heart shredded itself even more.
Shane.
She didn’t want to talk to him now. Her makeup was wrecked, her eyes were red, and she probably had remnants of cupcake on her face. Knowing he couldn’t see into the kitchen any better than she could see out, she ignored him. He knocked again, and his outline didn’t move. He must have seen her car, otherwise he’d have left. She grabbed her phone and sunk to the floor. She couldn’t face him. It would only be salt in the wound, showing her what she couldn’t have.
She tapped out a text to Megan.
Faith: Please make him leave.
She waited, and a few minutes later, a second figure joined Shane outside. They conversed briefly, and then parted ways. Shortly after, she heard his car engine start and he drove away. She flopped back against the cupboard in relief. Thank God.
By the time dusk fell,Faith had pulled herself together enough to leave The Shack. Armed with goodies from Megan, she headed home. She’d just gotten out of the car when Betty appeared from next door—where she didn’t live—puffing as she hurried down the path.
“Faith, I’m glad I caught you.”
Faith sighed. “This isn’t a good time.”
“I know.” Betty glanced at the carton of cupcakes. “I just wanted to make sure you heard what happened at Dylan’s birthday party after you left.”
Faith looked longingly at her front door. She should have realized Betty would know everything by now. The woman had a finger on the bay’s pulse at all times. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
Betty drew herself up to her full—and unimpressive—height. “Faith St. John. Be quiet and listen to what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve been waiting in Maude’s house for hours for you to come back.”
“Okay.” Chastened, she fell silent.
“I don’t know whether you’ve talked to Shane, but considering how upset that poor boy was last I saw him, I’m guessing you haven’t. He and his family all stood up for you after you left, and nobody thinks the worse of you because of Diana’s little stunt.” She reached out and touched Faith’s hand. “Do me a favor and go to his place. You don’t have to talk to anyone. Just go there. Promise?”
Faith ran a hand through her hair. The last thing she wanted to do was face up to anyone, but if Betty was telling the truth and Shane’s family had supported her, she owed it to them to go. Hope flickered in her chest. Maybe they didn’t disapprove of her after all.
