Page 110 of Almost Rotten

Instead, I smile, reach for her hand, bring it to my lips to kiss, and murmur, “I just really like looking at you.”

Chapter forty-seven

Mercer

Dammit. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

It’s Sunday evening in late October. Of course the bakery’s mostly sold out.

Edna appears behind the counter, and I straighten, stopping my incessant foot-tapping.

“What’s that one?” I demand, eyeing the white baker box in her hand.

Her salt-and-pepper eyebrows soar into her hairline, though they quickly lower as she fixes me with a glare.

Hands on my hips, I stare right back.

“This is salted caramel apple,” she declares, holding out the pie. “Take it or leave it. And lose the attitude. I pulled it from the freezer of holiday preorders, but for you, I’ll give it up. Just know this: you owe me one.”

I dip my chin. I’d gladly clean the walk-in cooler and do final inventory at the end of the season if I could guarantee tonight would go off without a hitch. And in order to do that, I need Sawyer’s favorite dessert.

“You’re sure this is her favorite?”

Edna smirks. “One of them. The girl likes variety, apparently.”

Rather than acknowledge the suggestive comment, I thank her and take the box. Then I turn on my heel and head back to the house.

When the back door finally opens sometime later, Noah’s presence is palpable. He’s in good spirits, his low baritone familiar and soothing when it registers.

Sawyer’s laughter is like a balm, too. It eases the anxiety thrumming in my veins and even brings a smile to my face. From what I can tell, they’ve had a good day.

Though I expected them home earlier. With a look at the clock above the stove, I grimace.

Dinner’s nearly ready, and we’ve all got a busy week ahead of us, so this can’t be a late night. But when she’s this joyful, I can’t possibly be upset.

She came back. That’s what matters most.

She’s here.

She’s back.

She’ll stay.

I’m okay.

Those phrases have played on repeat in my mind all day. It only hit me a few hours ago just how vulnerable I’ve allowed myself to become with this girl.

I can’t lose her again. These last few weeks have been hell. Yes, I’m concerned for Noah, for his need for stability, but I’m just as worried for myself.

I’ve fallen hard. I’ve crashed headfirst, stumbling into a relationship I never saw coming. My visceral need to keep her close is tragically codependent, and I promised a long time ago that I’d never allow myself to feel like this again.

I’m angry.

At myself. At that boy. At this entire fucked-up situation and at my inability to maintain control over all of it.

I can’t admit any of that to her, though. And I can’t come on too strong now that she’s back in this house and not pushing me away.

Not wanting to appear too eager, I turn back to the stove and give the risotto another slow stir.