“For the two days he’s remaining in the states, sure. As long as it’s done in the cafe, with both of you standing at all times.”
Skylar groaned and smashed her face into his shoulder a few times before she glanced at the passenger seat. “What about Emma?”
Nick couldn’t hide the wince in time. “She’s going home.”
“But you like her. Don’t lie to me. You’ve done enough of that.”
Damn, she was going to use that one for a long time. Nick shook his head, trying to find a way to tell Skylar she was wrong, but… “Yes, I like her. A lot.”
“So…?”
“So she has her life to live and…it wouldn’t be right to stop her.”
“Are you kidding me? That is exactly what you’re supposed to do. Run to her, tell her you like her. That you don’t want her to leave.”
Just like that?Chase after the woman walking out his door? He almost had—taken her hand, held her cheek, kissed her, and begged her to stay. But his damnable pride and a fear of a second broken heart stopped him.
“Sky, what about…?”
“Forget Rachel. Forget Abby’s mom too. They’re not the one for you. Emma is. I can tell.”
“Well, as long as I have the blessing of a fourteen-year-old.” Nick tried to laugh it off, but his heart was beating faster in both fear and exhilaration. Take that tiny hand in his, look deep into her big brown eyes, and tell her everything. Tell her that he never wanted her to leave, that he needed her in his life. Not as a baker, not as a teenager wrangler, but…
“Okay. I’m going to find her. I’m going to…where the hell do I look? The mechanic’s. She’s got to be there.” Nick dashed out of the parking lot, no longer feeling the cold of winter. His entire body glowed like the sun as he broke into a run down the sidewalk. “Skylar? No kissing that boy!”
Holy shit, he was really doing this. He was going to talk to her. What should he say?Emma, I want you to stay in my bed and never leave.No, too kidnappery.Emma, you are the light of my life and…I don’t know how to do poetry. Emma, let’s shack up.
Dear god, he should have asked Skylar for help.
Nick shoved on the glass door, his sinuses filling with the stench of diesel and motor oil. The whirr of pistons fired through the air, and he hunted for Emma and her gray Soul.
“If it isn’t my coffee supplier.” Daryl pushed up his face shield and stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Emma? The…the Kia Soul?”
“She left twenty minutes ago. Probably on the highway already.”
No. Nick’s chest caved in. He could have held her, could have told her everything. Instead, he let another woman—the only woman for him—walk out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“LEAVING LAKE HOLLY” blew past Emma. The highway was nearly deserted from the winter storm. Ice and snow pelted her windshield, but she couldn’t stop. If she did, there was no chance she’d be able to start again. She’d even left her luggage behind, too much of a coward to ask for Nick…
Damn it.
Emma wiped vigorously on the inside of her windshield, but this fog came from the tears in her eyes. She tried to shake them away while keeping her focus on the road.
It was what was best for him.
It was what was best for her.
What? Did she think he’d have fallen in love with her and refuse to let her go? That didn’t happen in real life. No, Nick could get his second chance romance. Skylar would charm her Italian heartthrob and Emma… Well, she’d keep trying.
“This was supposed to be easy,” she whined to her graduation tassel hanging off the rear view mirror. When she’d moved it across her cap, her dreams had seemed so simple. Work her way through the ranks in a kitchen. Become known for her delicious, innovative, and magical desserts. Get noticed by a world-famous chef and impress people around the globe.
Nowhere in there did she have ‘fall head over heels for a small-town coffee man who made her toes curl and lips part.’ Nor did she intend to care about a teenage girl who needed a woman’s hand to get through this complicated life.
Emma’s phone beeped. Her sister sent another text asking where she was and reminding her about the job interview. Was she really going to do this? Hide away in her sister’s spare bedroom scraping by on minimum wage while washing off the stench of burnt tomatoes and mozzarella? Was that all she deserved in life?
