When my alarm beeps at four thirty on Friday morning, I roll over in bed and bury my face in the pillow, howling in frustration. I thought about Nate Crane all night—his eyes on me, his dirty words, his wicked touch. And when I managed to fall asleep, I dreamed about him.
My body is a live wire of hot need at the memory, an ache pulsing between my legs that I don’t want to ignore. For thirty seconds, I lie there with my eyes closed and contemplate sliding my hand beneath the sheets to banish the ache, but guilt has me climbing out of bed.
I take a cool shower before dressing and heading for the bakery, where I lose myself in the comforting motions of baking.
Liz comes in at six and works the front while I experiment with a new cupcake recipe—stress management for bakers.
When Drew comes in after school, Liz hands over front-counter duties and drags me away from my flour and sugar. “Time to stop stewing and get cleaned up.”
“What? Who said I’m stewing?” I let her lead me up to my apartment, and I unlock the door for us and push inside.
“You are, aren’t you?”
My shoulders sag. “Totally.”
“Want to share?”
“I had a Nate Crane memory.”
She frowns. “Was it bad?”
I chew on my lower lip and shake my head. “No. It was good. Really good. And now I’m having memory guilt.”
We sit in silence for a minute before Liz asks, “Does it bother you not knowing what made you choose Max?”
The question makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. I want to say no. To swear that I don’t need to know. To say that every morning when I wake up, my heart chooses Max.
But that’s not true. My heart? It doesn’t know what it wants.
“You don’t have to answer that,” she whispers.
I sigh. “Bridesmaid dress fitting this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Yours is going to need to be taken in. We ordered them a couple months ago. I think we’re going to choose bridesmaid dresses for your wedding while we’re there.”