“Ryland and you have a different story, though,” I add, giving Buttercream a small pat on the head, happy that he lets me give him affection now—only in small doses, apparently, as he runs off into my bedroom.
“Yeah, you’re right. And everything that’s happened is meant to be a part of your and Luke’s story, both individually and together,” Raine says, reaching over, taking my hand into hers, and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes, the closer you are to something, the harder it is to see it. Luke loves you. He always has. I know you’ve always loved him too, even if you've tried to suppress it.”
I know she’s right. It seems as if my heart hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s supposed to be mad at him. It still skips when I think of his smile. It still aches with the want of him. I don’t know how to look him in the eye and say,What you did hurt me, but I still choose you.I don’t know if I’m ready to trust him again, but I know that I want to try. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?
“You both deserve to be together—for real this time,” she adds.
I open my mouth to reply, but my words are cut short when my front door swings open, and for a split second, my heart jumps into my throat because I think it’s Luke. But then Edna waltzes in like a woman on a mission.
She sees Raine and me on the couch and then looks at the current state of my kitchen before she slams the door shut and places her hands onto her hips.
“Olivia! This has gotten out of hand!” Shetsks, waving a hand dramatically in the air, before she rushes over and sits down on the ottoman in front of us. “Stop stress-baking and fake a break-in like a normal woman, and get your cop over here.”
“I don’t think faking a break-in is the way—” Raine starts to protest, but I cut her off.
“It’s fine. I’ve done it before.”
“So all of that…” Raine says, pointing a finger toward the mess in my kitchen, “is because you’ve been distracting yourself with baking instead of facing your problems? Not because you had last-minute orders?”
“I mean, some of it is orders.” I shrug my shoulders, a blush heating my cheeks.
Edna stands up and studies a tray of scones. “Can I eat these?”
“No.” I rush into the kitchen and swat at her hands. “The scones, biscuits, and muffins are going to The GroovyBean today.”
Edna reaches over and shoves a bite of blackberry-lavender-and-white-chocolate scone into her mouth. “That’s what you get for hitting an old lady,” is what I assume she says through her mouthful. She hums in approval, and before she can snatch another one, I pull the tray away and set it onto the only clear space on my counter.
“You’re so sassy when you’re hangry,” I snap at her.
“I’m only hangry because you’ve been hoarding all of this from me.”
Raine laughs as she begins rounding up all my empty dishes.
“Here, you earned a piece of my cinnamon bread,” I say to Raine.
“Thanks.” She smiles as I place a piece in front of her, and she takes a bite. “Hmm…so good.”
“Why does she get one?” Edna pouts, and I’d tell her she’s adorable if I knew it wouldn’t go to her head.
“Because she’s actually helping me.”
Edna scoffs, tossing both hands in the air, and says, “I’ve aged out of helping.”
Raine and I share a knowing look before I start packaging the goodies for the coffee shop. I hand Edna a whole loaf of cinnamon bread, because even though she likes to drive me crazy, I always make sure to feed her. It’s my love language.
“Since Raine is here to make sure you get your head back on straight, I have a book club to prepare for. Do you have the?—”
“Swirled blueberry-lemon-thyme cake. It’s right here.” I reach into the fridge and hand the cake to her.
“Thank you. Oh, and Raine, tell that future hubby of yours and his crew that they’re welcome to come renovate my old house anytime, as long as you don’t mind me staring at their perfect?—”
“Edna, you have no chill, do you?”
“None whatsoever. Ta-ta, ladies.” Just as quickly as she entered our presence, she’s gone.
Raine peers over at me with her arms covered in bubbles at my sink. “How do you put up with that woman being your neighbor?”
“Some would think that therapy would be the answer, but I’ve found that screaming at the top of my lungs for ten seconds does the trick.”
