Page 35 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

“I know,” I continue. “I thought it had to be fucking rainbows and daffodils and expensive dates. But love’s also playing together. It’s board games and tickling and sharing a pizza. It’s the freedom to be silly together.”

Tears fill her eyes, and she nods. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Me too.”

I type out another quick text to Erika.

Please answer.

I’m not getting back together with Annabelle.

Erika? Please reply.

When I look back at Annabelle, she’s standing there, waiting for something. Maybe wise words from me or a joke. Something to make this suck less.

“I’m not the right person for you.” I need to be perfectly clear. “I never was. I understand that now. And if you can’t laugh with Neil—if you can’t be the absolute truest version of you when you’re with him—then he’s not your person, either.”

Another tear rolls down her cheek. “I feel like an idiot.”

“At least you’re an idiot who gave me the best damn dog on the planet.” I step around the bar and pull her in for a hug. “You’ll be okay. You were brave enough to come in here and say what you said. That means you’re brave enough to do what you’ve gotta do with Neil.”

She squeezes me tightly, then draws back to look at her ring. “You’re right.” Tugging it off, she tucks it in her pocket. “I never felt truly at ease with him. I knew it in my heart, even if my head wanted so badly to get it right this time.”

“You’ll get there.” I stop short of saying I know what love feels like. I didn’t before, but I do now. “Take care, Annabelle.”

“You’re a great guy, Mason.”

“Thanks. You’re pretty great yourself.”

I watch her walk out, feeling fondness and pity, but no trace of love anymore. Not like I’ve gotten with Erika.

Erika, please?

I’m not interested in Annabelle.

I love YOU.

I stare at those last words and decide not to send them. What kind of dickhead does that via text? I’ve screwed up plenty, but the first time I tell Erika I love her better damn well be in person.

Ten minutes later, my manager sails through the door. Maizy hangs up her coat, gets one look at me, and blanches. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I pull on my jacket and pocket my keys. “Something’s come up. Can you take this next shift on your own?”

“Sure thing, boss.” She flings a hand toward the window, where the rain is now dumping by gallon-sized buckets. “The weather’s crummy enough, we shouldn’t be too busy.”

“Thanks.” It wouldn’t matter if we had hordes of beer-swilling customers fighting to get in with fistfuls of cash. I was ten seconds away from just locking the doors and flipping the closed sign.

“Good luck!” she shouts as I sprint through the door, making a beeline for my truck.

I drive even faster than I did the day Erika and I raced home in our Kenny and Dolly gear. Was that just a few weeks ago? It feels like a lifetime, like so much has happened since then.

Why didn’t I tell her last night that I love her?

Or the day before that or?—?

“Shit.” I pull into my driveway, but there’s no sign of her truck. The house is pitch dark, except for the living room window where Scrumpy stands wagging on the back of the sofa.

I open the door, greeting my dog with as much joy as I can muster. “Hey, buddy.” He sniffs at my pant leg, still wagging. “Where’d she go, big guy?”

He toddles off to his food bowl, his sharp canine brain focused on chow time. There’s a big mound of kibble there, so Erika must have just fed him.

That’s when I see it. A lone sheet of paper tacked to the fridge above Scrumpy’s dish.

Dread pools in my gut as I grab it and read.

Hey, Mace!

Seems like a good opportunity to get breakup plans rolling, huh?

We can say we’re taking time apart—maybe we moved too quickly or something?

I’ll stay with Hazel for a few days, then go back with my dad when the roof’s done.

We’ll play it off at the wedding like we’re trying to patch things up, but not doing so hot.

Then give it a few weeks and we go back to being friends like we planned.

Mission accomplished! I’ll leave it up to you to decide when you and Annabelle announce you’re a couple again. Congrats, buddy! This has been fun.

—E

I don’t know what’s weirder. How perky she sounds—Erika doesn’t do perky—or that she really believes I’d hop back into bed with Annabelle. Is that what she thinks of me?

Or maybe she means it.

I stare at the letter, not sure what’s right. If I take her at her word, it makes sense. We'd always planned to split up a few weeks after Lucy’s wedding. This is how things were supposed to happen.

What if I’m the only one who caught feelings? Do I want to keep throwing myself at a woman who doesn’t want me? Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt and discovered it itches and has a hole in the armpit.

I picture myself chasing Erika down at Hazel’s place. I imagine the pity in Erika’s eyes, the poor baby look on her face. How she’d stand in my cousin’s big doorway, looking at me like a lost dog who peed on the mat.

“Oh, Mason,” she’d say with way too much kindness. “Let’s just be friends again, ’kay?”

I crumple the letter in a fist. “Fuck it.”

If Annabelle’s brave enough to say how she feels, I can damn sure do it with Erika. Grabbing my keys, I storm out the door and drive to my cousin’s.