Page 37 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

KAMERON

I smile when I see Jillian’s reply. I’m glad she took a nap and is relaxing on her day off. She’s been working tirelessly all week and deserves a little downtime. I only wish I were taking it with her. I wouldn’t mind curling up beside her on the couch, enjoying a mid-Sunday afternoon nap.

Instead, I take a second to return a message.

Me

Gonna be the usual time getting out of here, but you’re welcome to stay at my place.

Is it bad I want to fall asleep with her in my arms and wake the same way? Hell no. It just feels right at this point, and it’s one of the moments I look forward to the most.

I set my phone to the side and finish cleaning up the grill from the last order.

It’s approaching dinnertime, and I’m sure it’ll be picking back up soon.

Sunday afternoons are usually somewhat steady, with customers enjoying meals at any point throughout the day.

It’s why we’re open eleven to nine. We generally pick up after we open, thanks to the post-church crowd, and then also again midafternoon.

Sunday nights are usually our slowest evening of the week, most people heading home to get ready for another workweek the next day, but we do have the occasional late-night diner or small group party.

That’s why I haven’t shortened the hours on Sundays to closing before nine.

I probably could shut down at eight, but I never want to miss an opportunity to serve food.

Maybe I’ll consider it during the winter months.

The thought of spending even just one hour more with Jillian has a lot of fucking appeal.

Except…you’re not really dating her.

But I want to be.

Real.

That’s how this feels to me, and I need to get off my ass and tell her.

My problem is, I’m afraid she doesn’t feel the same.

I can assume my feelings are somewhat reciprocated, since she seems to be enjoying our time together as much as I am, but we all know enjoying time with someone doesn’t equal love.

It only proves our friendship is on point.

But I know what I feel for her is more than just friends, and it’s a hell of a lot greater than this fake relationship plan we devised.

Well, I devised.

My point is she could easily not feel the same, and that would suck.

Bad.

I’m certain that’s exactly why I keep hesitating when I consider sharing my feelings with her.

The last long-term relationship I had didn’t end well, and I’d hate to go through that again.

Not that a few weeks is considered long-term, but I definitely have strong feelings for Jillian.

Maybe even greater than I ever experienced with my ex.

It’s early evening by the time my phone chimes with her reply. I practically drop what I’m doing and dig my phone from my pocket. I make sure everything is good for a few seconds before reading her message.

Jillian

I’m just going to crash early here. Still drained and blah. Don’t want to share my germs if I don’t have to.

My gut twists when I read her words. She’s been battling this stomach thing since Thursday. At least it’s not severe, but the constant upset stomach and tiredness isn’t good, especially when she has the job she does, up before the sun to head to her bakery.

I feel a wave of guilt that I’m even considering begging her to stay anyway.

As much as I’d love to hold her and take care of her while she’s under the weather, maybe this is exactly what she needs.

Her own bed and a lot of rest. My own desire to be near her will just have to take a back seat right now.

Me

I hate that you’re still feeling under the weather.

Just as I hit send, an idea pops into my head. I turn to see if Marlin is still here, happy when I spot him over by the sink. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

He nods. “Sure, what’s up?”

“On your way home, can you drop something off at Jillian’s house?”

He gives me a look, one single eyebrow shooting toward his hairline. “Uhh, maybe?” he teases.

“She’s not feeling well, and I’d like you to take her some soup,” I state, already moving toward the side station where the steam table is kept.

I scoop two hearty ladles full of baked potato soup, and instead of adding the toppings, I choose to place them inside a small container, just in case she doesn’t want them.

When I place the sealed containers inside a bag, I add a handful of cracker packets and fold it closed. I want to write a little note inside, but I know my attention is needed back over at the grill. So instead, I set the bag aside and glance to Marlin. “It’s ready.”

“Great, I’ll drop it off on my way home.”

I nod. “You know her address?” I’m pretty sure he does, considering most of the town knows where everyone lives, but I want to confirm anyway.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“All right, I’ll send her a message to let her know you’re coming, but if she doesn’t answer the door, just leave it on the small table beside the door.”

“Will do, boss. See you Wednesday,” he says, giving a quick goodbye to the rest of the kitchen team.

“Later,” I reply, retrieving my phone one last time.

Me

Marlin is bringing you dinner. If you don’t answer the door, I told him to leave it on your table. Get some rest, sweetheart.

I click send, not even worrying about the term of endearment.

Because of the circumstances surrounding our relationship, the use of the word might seem unnecessary.

No one is witnessing it. It’s not for show or because someone is watching.

It’s because I feel that term in my heart.

Sweetheart. So timeless and simple, but yet so meaningful and perfect.

Now I just have to get through the rest of the evening without worrying or fretting over her. Easier said than done, that’s for sure, but submerging myself in work helps. For so long, work is where I truly feel at peace. Behind the grill, preparing food has always been my lifeline, my solace.

But I feel the shift.

Jillian is causing it, and it doesn’t feel like such a bad thing.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

I just have to figure out what to do about it.

She’s ignoring me.

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and for some reason, she’s not communicating.

Of course, it could be exactly what she says it is.

She’s busy. But even when I dropped by yesterday to say hello and invite her to dinner, I felt the disconnect.

The distance. The shortness between us as she told me she had too much work on her plate to have dinner with me, and she really needed to focus on her cake orders.

So I left, even though I didn’t want to.

I would have rather stayed and helped her, like I did the week before when I was off work.

Hell, even if it was just to sit back and watch her decorate cakes, I wanted to do it, because witnessing her create her masterpieces is so much better than sitting at home, alone.

I still worry that something’s wrong. She still looked tired and maybe a little pale yesterday when I dropped by, and I don’t fucking like it.

Now here it is. Tuesday. And she hasn’t responded to my text asking about her afternoon. Not to mention the one she replied to earlier today was a short “thanks” when I told her to have a great day.

I toss my phone onto my couch and glance around the living room.

I can’t sit here anymore. I’ve already mowed my yard and cleaned up the back patio.

I even ran to the grocery store to grab some necessities for my own fridge, all with Jillian in mind, in hopes I could cook for her tonight when she gets off work.

Maybe even fall asleep in my arms later.

But I don’t see that happening when she’s not responding to me.

Sure, I could drop by the bakery, but I’m not sure I want to.

If she’s as short today as she was yesterday then I’d feel like I was bugging her, and I don’t want that.

Flour Power is technically closed, but I’m sure she’s there, prepping what she can for tomorrow and working on orders.

I was hoping to discuss our first dessert collaboration, which is coming soon.

First of October is when Jillian will officially start making sweet treats for Prime.

Needing a change of scenery, I grab my keys and phone and head out the front door.

I don’t live too far away from our small downtown area—not as close as Jillian—but it’s a beautiful day for a walk.

So, I walk. I find myself reaching Main Street, and since it’s nearing the end of the workday, I spot several people I recognize on the sidewalk and offer polite greetings as I go.

The bakery is just up the street on the opposite side, but instead of heading there, I find myself entering a different business.

A bell chimes over the door and a familiar face looks up from the reception desk and smiles.

“Well, if it isn’t Kameron Markley. What brings you in?

” She glances at her computer screen. “I don’t see your name on the schedule for an appointment. ”

“Hi, Stella, and no, I don’t have an appointment.”

A look of relief flashes across her face. “Okay, good. I was worried you got deleted or moved somehow.” She stands and offers a smile. “What can we do for you?”

“Actually, I was wondering if Dr. Rhodes was available for a few minutes. It’s a personal call, not professional,” I tell her, realizing this was a bad idea. I can’t just drop by my friend’s medical practice at the end of the workday just because I want to chat.

“He’s in with his last patient, Kameron. If you want to have a seat, I can let you know when he’s done,” she informs me politely.