Page 112 of With a Cherry On Top

I hum, reveling in the fantasy of bringing her to my brother’s wedding. Of kissing her in front of my friends and family—hell, of kissing her at all. I wonder if she’d let me. Of dancing with her, getting her a second serving of cake, watching her win over everyone so fast they wouldn’t even notice it. “I don’t know, Charlotte. You might end up falling madly in love with me, and I’ve got a strict no-refund policy.”

Listening to her giggles, I feel my shoulders relax. I want to stay here all day, talking to her and making her laugh. Pouring our feelings out to each other one moment, then playing around the next.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

A beat of silence, then, “What do you mean?”

“Just...you keep talking about thissecretI don’t know. Thesethings, thesereasons. You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to, you can.”

“You’ll run away, Aaron.”

“No, I won’t. I—” The doorbell rings, and I glance at the time on my phone. Miss Delaney.

“You have to go, don’t you?”

“Yeah. There’s . . .”

“Penny,” Charlotte chimes in.

“Yes, Penny. She’s here to help me figure out the menu for the Mother’s Day recital.”

“Uh-huh.”

Is she annoyed? She sounds annoyed.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

I don’t even have theenergyto put my mouth on another woman, let alone the will to do so.

“No, of course not.”

“Okay.” Her voice still sounds clipped. “’Cause you know, I?—”

“Relax, Chef. We’re good.” She clears her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

I’m about to suggest I could call her later, but she’s hung up already.

“So,what are we thinking in terms of menu?” I ask Miss Delaney—right,Penny—as she takes the first sip of a cup of coffee. After some awkward chatter about Sadie, who’s currently at her grandma’s, we set up in the kitchen.

She’s wearing makeup—a heavier application than what she usually has on at school. Her lips are glossy, and there’s a touch of eyeliner that makes her eyes pop. She’s not in her usual overalls either. Instead, she’s wearing a blue sweater and a pair of fitted jeans.

Did she dress up for this?

“We’d originally planned some finger food. Mini sandwiches, fruit skewers, cheese cubes for the kids, and then crostinis and stuffed mushrooms for the parents. We expect about forty moms and forty kids.”

“Piece of cake,” I say before taking a sip from my cup.

“Great. We just need to make sure we avoid these ingredients,” she says, holding a piece of paper out. “Allergies, intolerances.”

We’re silent for a few moments as I read through the list, though I can see her fidgeting in my peripheral vision.

“It looks—” I start at the same time she says, “I was?—”

We both fall silent, and I gesture toward her. “Sorry, go on.”

“No, I...” She swallows. “Do you want to get coffee? With me?” She looks down at her mug with wide eyes. “I mean as a date. Like, outside. Or here, just not...oh, I’m messing this up.”

I look up at her—this pretty, slightly awkward woman who loves my daughter dearly. She’s exactly my type too, and she’s obviously into me. Nervous just to be around me.