Two days full of it to be exact. He left the bakery to give one last interview with a prominent entertainment journalist over a late dinner. And of course the cocky bastard gave me nothing more than a nod of his head and a crooked smile on his lips when he closed the door behind him.
But there are reminders of him everywhere: In the crooked lampshade that was knocked askew in our little make-out session. In the bakery’s furniture I decided to rearrange when we put it back after the interviews were over. And in the absence of paparazzi out front but in the presence of a line of people waiting to buy cupcakes today.
A line. That’s a first.
So I’m baking like a mad woman. DeeDee’s helping me too, along with a friend she brought in, so we can keep up with the demand. It’s a good problem to have.
And yet, a part of me keeps looking around, keeps waiting for Hayes to show up and tell me the ten days are up so I can answer his question and tell him yes to all of the above, whatever that may be.
I tell myself it’s no big deal. That he’s done enough and the only thing I really want is him. But I’m frustrated. Hell, if he’s still trying to prove his point, it’s been proven. We can survive the paparazzi. We can handle the craziness. And even when we’re surrounded by both, I still want him. Still need him. Still choose him.
Work overwhelms us. The sheer volume of customers today is ridiculous. Time passes quickly, but Hayes is always a constant on my mind. I look up every time the bell rings, grab my phone every time it alerts a text, and obsessively wonder when this ridiculous show or game or exercise in willpower will be over.
“Holy shit,” DeeDee says as she plops in exhaustion onto one of the stools when we have our first lull of the day. “Today is incredible!”
I smile because I’m still amazed at it myself. Joining her on a stool, I drop my head in my hands, and close my eyes for a moment just to soak it all in. When I look up, DeeDee is reading something on her phone, and her smile just keeps getting wider and wider.
“What is it?” I ask, curious but exhausted and suddenly realizing that I still haven’t heard from Hayes.
When she looks up at me, there are tears swimming in her eyes that contradict the ear-to-ear grin on her face. “Here.” She thrusts her phone out to me.
When I look at the screen, it displays a new post on Hayes’s Facebook page. And this one is meant for me.
ANSWER:
I knew I loved @SweetChks in this tree house. She thought I wanted to be with the cool senior girls when all I wanted was to look at the stars with her. Or maybe that was just my excuse to get closer to her. I knew it again, thirteen years later, when we came back here on the way home. I never told her the words though. Third time’s a charm. I wonder if she knows where to find me so I can tell her this time?
#NotMovieRoleResearch #RealLife #RealLove #ShipsAhoy #ImWaiting
My eyes flash up to DeeDee’s, and I can’t get out of the chair or grab my car keys quick enough.
It’s dusk when I run down the path to the old tree house. I bypass the house and Ryder’s car in the driveway. My mind is focused on one thing—getting to Hayes. And the closer I get, the wider my eyes grow. The structure has a fresh coat of paint and the slatted steps have been replaced.
The tree house my dad built us way back when has never looked better and I can’t help but feel it’s fitting that it’s Hayes who has made it over. Almost as if by bringing me here, my father is somehow passing my hand from his to Hayes’s and telling him he better take good care of me.
Overwhelmed, I stand beneath it and stare for a moment. That first time Hayes climbed in there with me comes back to me. It’s funny how those butterflies are still in my stomach all this time later. And they grow stronger with each step up I take.
The door swings open before I can do it myself and there’s Hayes with his hand outstretched to help me the last little bit. He pulls me up and the funny thing is, this time I love the small confines of the tree house because that means he’s within arm’s reach wherever he sits.
“Hi,” I say and press my lips to his without preamble. And he reacts by kissing me back with that kind of soul-searing, toe-tingling, soft-but-demanding, desire-inducing, fingers in my hair, my hands sliding up his back, never-want-it-to-end kiss.
And when it does end, when I’m so soft and mushy with a firestorm of emotion that I just poured into the meeting of our mouths, Hayes leans back, brushes a lock of hair off my cheek, and smiles that shy smile of his that he reserves just for me.
“Hi, Ships.”
My smile widens to epic proportions. “You’re talking to me now?”
“I have a few things to say, yes.” He shrugs and brushes another tender kiss to my lips. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
“Thanks for asking me.”
“I wasn’t sure you were going to see the post.”