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I widen my eyes, reach out, and open and close my hands with a cheeky smile on my face. “Gimmie!” I say. My mom laughs as she gives me the bag. I tear open the wrapper and take large bites in quick succession.
“Damn girl, you’re gonna get a stomachache the way you eat,” I hear Ray say, his voice breaking the silence of the room. I look over and see his eyes still closed, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “You’re just jealous that I found the hospital’s secret stash of snacks.”
“That’s not hospital food,” Ray lets out a weak laugh, his eyelids fluttering open. His gaze meets mine, and even though his body is weakened, I’m glad to see he can still make jokes. “You know, you’re not getting out of dad jokes that easily.”
I raise an eyebrow, a mock-serious expression on my face. “Oh, so you’re saying I should start collecting my own stash of cheesy one-liners to fire back?”
He grins weakly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Hails.”
Just then, my mom walks over to his other side, her presence bringing a sense of comfort and warmth. “Hi, honey,” she says softly, her eyes reflecting a combination of weariness and relief.
“Took you long enough,” Ray says, his smile growing wider. Despite the pain and the hospital gown, his charm and wit never seem to dim.
My mom chuckles, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “You know me, always fashionably late.”
Ray winks, a glimmer of his old self shining through. “Well, I suppose I’ll forgive you this time.”
“Get a room, you two,” I laugh.
“I have one already.”
I roll my eyes and smirk.
* * *
As I siton my couch hours after visiting Ray, I wonder about my future wedding. Will I ever have one? What will it look like? The only man worthy enough to walk me down the aisle is dying and there’s nothing I can do about it. Either I never marry, or I walk down the aisle by myself, a beautiful bouquet of roses in my hands, face guaranteed to be bright red from embarrassment. I don’t care about the spotlight. My body shakes so much when I am nervous. I chuckle, thinking about how I might fall on my face before I reach the altar.
The TV is casting light through my dark living room and I sigh while trying to pick something to watch. I have work in the morning, so I should be going to bed instead of flicking through channels. I grab my phone and look through it. Photos from Zack’s party on Saturday pop up on my social media feed. As I scroll through the photos, I think I see Eric in some of them and wonder if I should have gone to the party after all. I had decided to skip out because I wasn’t feeling up for it.
Scarlett is aware of my difficult situation, but I don’t expect her to be with me every moment. I want her to have a good time. I sigh, locking the screen and turning the TV off before making my way toward my bedroom. I plug my phone in and get cozy underneath my blankets, dozing off into dreamland.
CHAPTERELEVEN
The Friday morningrush demands my full attention as I craft lattes and cappuccinos, each drink a canvas for my artistic touch. Amidst the steaming milk and espresso shots, Eric’s image keeps surfacing in my thoughts. I wonder when I’ll see him again.
Finally, the initial wave of customers subsides, allowing me a moment to wipe down the counter and adjust the display of freshly baked pastries. Glancing around, I notice the café’s vibrant atmosphere—couples huddled over tables, friends catching up, and individuals engrossed in their own worlds.
With a quick glance at my phone, I see a text from Eric.
Eric
Hey, hope you’re having a great day. Would love to catch up sometime soon.
The words swirl in my mind, but before I can muster the courage to type them out, Scarlett appears by the counter.
“You look like you’re lost in thought,” she teases with a knowing grin.
I smile back, attempting to hide my slight embarrassment. “Just thinking about today’s specials and how much cinnamon goes into the latte art,” I reply, my fingers lightly tapping on the counter.
Scarlett arches an eyebrow. “Cinnamon, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
I chuckle, feeling a warmth creep into my cheeks. Scarlett has an uncanny knack for picking up on things. “You caught me,” I admit, raising both of my hands up in defense.
“Uh-huh, sure. Well, if you ever need someone to spill the cinnamon with, I’m here.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
