Page 83 of Take Two

‘Don’t decide now,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t say that just because I’ve dropped this on you. Take a week. Talk to Callie. Think about it properly. I don’t want—’

‘I have thought about it,’ Mae said, and to her own surprise, she meant it. She couldn’t leave.

He grabbed her hand, his grip still surprisingly strong.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted you to have the world. I’ve made such a pig’s ear of it.’

She choked out a laugh through the tears. ‘You haven’t.’

‘I have,’ he insisted. ‘But if you’re sure… if this is really what you want…’

It wasn’t, of course. She wanted Callie and a new life she couldn’t even picture yet. She wanted to be more than the girl behind the counter.

But she needed her dad more. She needed to be there for him.

***

Later, in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed in the dark, phone in her hand, feeling as if she were two different people.

One was the daughter, thinking about how to ease his load. Weekday mornings, delivery days, appointments. Making sure he ate. Making sure he rested.

The other was the girl who’d let herself fall completely and stupidly in love and let herself dream of a bigger life.

She stared at the screen. An unread message from Callie sat there, sent an hour ago, when Mae had texted to saytalking to Dad soonand nothing else.

How did it go? x

Mae turned onto her side, curled up. Her fingers shook as she typed.

Can you come round? Need to talk.She hovered for a second, then added:I love you.

She hit send and waited.

Mae had chosen. Or life had chosen. Either way, Mae wasn’t leaving with Callie. When she’d finished grieving her dad, she’d grieve that next.

Thirty-Two

Now

‘Oh my God,’ Sam crowed, eyes going bright. ‘You two are—’

Callie’s hands froze under Mae’s. For a split second, she forgot there was a bowl, dough, a show. There was only the fact that Sam was looking at their joined hands with too much interest.

‘—like my parents at Christmas,’ Sam finished, delighted with himself.

Callie laughed, loud. From relief, mostly.

Mae’s hands vanished from Callie’s as if someone had yanked her backwards on a bungee cord.

‘We’re not your parents,’ she said, too brisk.

‘No, yeah, obviously,’ Sam agreed easily. ‘But you guys must have been besties back in the day, right? You reek of history.’

Callie forced her mouth into a smile. ‘We’re just old friends,’ she said, carefully bland.

‘Were,’ Mae said.

Sam’s gaze bounced between them, curious, open, completely unsubtle.