Chapter fourteen

Naomi

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Robbie asks from behind me, his hand gently gripping my shoulder.

With his other hand, he slides a glass of strawberry lemonade onto the patio table.

I’ve been told my backyard deck is the ideal location for whatever he has in store for this second practice session of ours.

I’m assuming it’s because of the view and the ample fresh air out here by the lake, which he’s been adamant about me getting for days now.

His touch feels gentle yet firm, a heightened protectiveness to it that further confirms a truth I’ve been ruminating over the past few days—that something in our friendship has shifted.

I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but the air between us feels…

charged somehow. Call it the effects of sharing a vulnerable moment on the couch, or maybe it’s just his lingering worry from me being sick, but either way, there’s undoubtedly an unfamiliar tension between us now.

I’m not quite sure what to do with this awareness other than to silently acknowledge it…and wait to see what might come of it.

“As I keep telling you, I’ve been fully recovered for several days now.” My playful eye roll does nothing to crack his serious facade.

Luckily, while the illness did hit with a vengeance, it only lasted forty-eight hours.

However, it did cost me several refunded baking orders, which I’m still trying to appease the guilt from.

I’ve had to actively talk myself down from spiraling over potentially destroying my business as a result of all this.

“You were also moving around here at a snail’s pace for quite some time, so don’t look at me like that,” he says pointedly.

“Hello, Naomi,” Mrs. Pelinski calls as she steps out onto her own deck next door, squinting in our direction.

“Hi!” I wave, offering her a smile.

“Who’s that you’re with, dear?” she asks, pointing at Robbie. I stifle a laugh at her continued questioning of him.

“Still Robbie, Mrs. P. My boyfriend, remember?” The words feel different this time when I say them out loud…a little smoother, perhaps.

Robbie twists in his seat to wave to her across the yard.

“Oh, that’s right. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She points out to the lake, where the sunlight glistens across the top. The calmness of the water as it softly ripples has the same soothing effect on me it always does, and my shoulders loosen, relaxing me in a way only this view can.

“Gorgeous. Do you need help with that watering can?” I ask.

She places it under the hose that sticks out of the side of her house and turns the faucet on. I know her daily routine well enough to know she’s preparing to make the trek around the perimeter of her house to hit the many flower pots she has hanging. I attempt to stand to help her out.

“I’ll get it,” Robbie offers, jumping out of his seat to bound down the deck stairs.

A smile tugs at my mouth as I watch him trail behind Mrs. P.

, following her instructions as he waters wherever she points.

The juxtaposition of a sweet elderly lady and a strong young man working together is incredibly endearing, and I rest my chin on my palm as I soak it in.

When they disappear around the side of her house, I swat a mosquito out of my face and twist in my chair to soak up more of the calming view.

Robbie eventually comes back, settling into the chair across from me once again.

“She asked me to remind you to stop by to relax and chat on the porch with her later,” he says, “which I, for one, think is a fabulous idea.”

I huff a smile. “Noted.”

“Alright, let’s begin our second lesson of Operation Make Naomi a Boss, shall we?” He gives me a crooked smile, a boyish one that I’ve seen many times over the years but seem to get snagged on now for some reason. “As with every session, tell me one thing you for sure want out of your life.”

I twist my mouth to the side, thinking hard. What do I want? “Hmm. Okay, I’ve got one. I definitely want to travel.”

“Alright. Good one.” He nods in approval. “Okay, today is all about life rules for you to live by, also known as life standards. I was planning to do a different exercise, but given recent events, this was an emergency change.”

I cringe, pushing my lips into a sheepish smile.

“Look, I’m all about you growing your baking business, and I really do hope you keep getting flooded with orders, but I, under no circumstances, want you ending up back in the ER,” he says pointedly.

I listen patiently with a complacent nod.

This last week has taught me that arguing with him about the subject of my well- being is futile.

He took a no-nonsense approach to caring for me while I was sick, despite my attempts to convince him I was fine.

I found it to be both annoying and heartwarming at the same time.

“So, we’re going to make a list of general rules.” He taps his stack of papers on the glass table, looking at me expectantly. I hardly try to hide the lack of enthusiasm on my face.

“Go ahead. Tell me what you’re feeling. Excitement or dread?” He chides with another grin.

“Dread,” I answer flatly less than a second later, to which he chuckles.

“Too bad. It’s for the greater good. Now let’s get started. Number one.” He writes the number at the top of the page under the title Naomi’s Life Rules and begins scribbling words as he recites them out loud.

After an hour or so, we’ve successfully downed an entire pitcher of lemonade and filled both sides of the paper with the ideas that we’ve come up with.

“This is a pretty good list if I do say so myself.” Robbie peruses it. “Should we do a recap?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to do one whether I want to or not.” I settle back against the seat.

“Number one,” he announces, brushing right past my comment.

“Set baking hours. You will reserve any baking to be done during these set baking hours: five p.m. to eight-thirty p.m. on weeknights and nine a.m. to three p.m. on the weekends, at least until you are able to transition to full-time hours. In that case, we will reevaluate.”

“Yup.” I nod in agreement.

“Two. You will not bake past the allotted times except to take your delicious baked goods out of the oven to cool. Three. You will not schedule more orders than what you can easily complete during said baking hours, even if it means turning customers away.”

Another nod.

“Four. You will go to bed no later than ten-thirty p.m. on weeknights. Adequate rest needs to be a priority. Five. You will take a five-minute break every forty-five minutes of baking. And to piggyback off that… Number six. You will immediately take a break if you start feeling overwhelmed, stressed, or frazzled. Fresh air and a margarita outdoors will do wonders. Lastly, number seven. You will say no to any order that you do not have the capacity for in any form—logistically as well as mentally.”

“Works for me,” I agree. As uncomfortable and embarrassed as I am to need to do these little practice sessions in the first place, I’m beginning to see the value in them.

I’m determined to make these positive changes to improve my life if it means I’ll be taking steps toward fulfilling my dreams. These rules are an important step. I already know that.

“Great. I’ll laminate it and stick it to the fridge.”

I huff a laugh, not doubting him for a single second. “Wonderful. So, are we done here?”

“Oh, that was just phase one of our session today.” The way his mouth curls up into a sly smile immediately makes my stomach uneasy.

“I’m scared to ask what phase two is.”

“Phase two is…” He drums his hands on the table. “Bar Bingo at The Squirrely Bear.”

“No,” I protest, shaking my head vehemently.

“Oh, yes.” He nods with a grin.

“But it’s Saturday night,” I argue. “Everyone will be there.”

“That’s the point, genius. You’ll be my arm candy while the locals whisper about us, and I’ll be here for moral support if any of our friends are rude, which some of them most likely will be. We can’t ignore them forever. It’s time to show up.”

“Ugh.” I dramatically roll my head to hang all the way off the back of my chair.

“It’s one thing to practice confidence with just me, but you also need real-life experience out in the wild.”

I stick my tongue out the side of my mouth in disgust.

“Don’t look so enthused,” he chides. “Your eye roll is slightly insulting. You were fine when we went to dinner, remember?”

“Yes, but our entire group of friends from high school wasn’t there to overanalyze our relationship.

Not to mention most of the town. If our friends call us out and throw us under the bus, do you know how humiliating that would be?

In front of everybody? What if they find out this is all a facade and see it for what it is—a stupid arrangement all because I have no backbone? ”

“Well, then we just have to do a good job of convincing them, don’t we?” He scoots his chair back. “Come on, go get ready.”

“Fine,” I grumble, reluctantly taking his hand. “But no karaoke after bingo, okay?”

“Suit yourself.” He grins, following behind me into the house. “Meet you back out here in twenty.”