And if swooning were a real thing, a physical reaction, I’d be doing it right now. Because damn if something so simple doesn’t mean more to me than the expensive oven.
I read the post again, my heart bursting, and then when I look down at the thousands of comments that have been made on his posts to me today, I notice a shift. They started out being crappy. Negative about me. But by the last one, the comments started becoming more positive. A Get the girl, Hayes! Or If someone makes you this dedicated, you must love her.
I switch over to my phone to text Hayes, like I have after every gift has arrived, and type: You can keep it as long as I can keep yours. Thank you for my gifts.
FOUR DAYS LEFT
TWITTER
@HayesWhitOffcl
Get ready for my mad A-game @SweetChks. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined
I watch the video on TMZ of Saylor again. Of her walking out of Sweet Cheeks looking so composed and innocent with those brilliantly creative cupcakes, giving her little speech, and then smashing them in her hands. Shocking the hell out of the paps. The subtle dig to Mitch the Prick that will definitely be noticed. She comes off as playful, confident, and unaffected by the cameras being pointed at her. Like the unbelievably cruel things that have upended her world the last week don’t matter at all.
She played them perfectly. And when she turns to head back inside, the angle of the video affords me a glimpse of the Saylor Rodgers smug smile that says she’s figured this game out. Goddamn sassy, gorgeous, and without a doubt going to be mine.
God, I fucking miss her.
We went ten years without speaking so why is my self-imposed moratorium of not talking to her for ten days killing me?
Because this time I know it matters. This time I’m not willing to walk away from her again or let her walk away from me. I’ve chased my dreams. Followed my passion. Been successful. But what does it mean if I don’t have her around at the end of every day?
To kiss hello.
To laugh with.
To dirty up a counter in flour with.
Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I review the agenda sent over for the interviews being held the day after tomorrow and check the list of things I need to do to pull off the surprises I’ve planned.
And then I hope like hell this has all been worth it. That not talking to her, not seeing her, not kissing her will only make her realize how damn lonely it is without me in her life.
Now back to researching cheesy pick-up lines to tweet.
If I’m making an ass out of myself, I damn well better be getting the girl in the end.
FOUR DAYS LEFT
TWITTER
@HayesWhitOffcl
You must be a banana @SweetChks because I find you a peeling. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game
I laugh when I see his newest tweet. I can’t help it. I’m standing with my hip against the butcher block, my hand to my mouth, and a smile on my lips. He’s relentless. And adorable.
He has over one million followers, and he’s posting cheesy pick-up lines and doesn’t seem fazed in the least by what people are going to say about them. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he wants me to know he doesn’t care and neither should I.
I skim through my own account, surprised to find more positive than negative this time around, and notice a lot of people commenting on my cupcake-smashing incident with more amusement than degradation.
“He’s adorable, you know?” I look up to see DeeDee standing in the doorway voicing my thoughts out loud, tissue paper in her hand, and a smile on her face. And maybe it’s because he’s softened me with his humor, but I just stare at her for a moment and realize how lucky I am having her here to help me take this all in stride: making the bakery work and the chaos that comes with Hayes. “His tweets and his posts and everything . . . they’re just adorable.”
“I know. He’s the closest thing I’ve seen to the guys in those romance novels of yours, Dee.”
“Really? In all aspects?” Her eyebrows lift and a coy smile forms on her lips as I recall our conversation about romance heroes and guaranteed orgasms.
“Yes. In all aspects.”
“Damn.” It’s all she says, and I love that my comment has rendered the always-talkative DeeDee momentarily speechless. “What were we talking about?”
I chuckle at the flush in her cheeks. “His adorable tweets and posts and . . . everything.”
“Not many men would put that much thought into trying to win a woman over.”
“I know. He’s being ridiculous.”
“And you love every single second of it.”
I nod. “Yeah. I just wish he’d pick up the phone and talk to me. He’s already won me over.”
“Isn’t that the point though?”
“What do you mean?”
“Winning you over is one thing. But now, he’s telling the world he chooses you. He’s making a statement so you don’t forget. And so they don’t either.”
The phone rings by the cash register and she hesitates for just a moment to make sure I heard what she said. And I did.
Loud and clear.