Pretty please? My eyes beg him while my posture remains rigid.
“Sure.” That’s all he says. His expression is guarded and gives me no indication whether he thinks I’m crazy. If I were him, I’d be pissed if someone treated me like I did—made the assumptions I made—and he has every right to want to walk out of here and never want to see me again. “I’ll give my mom your condolences.”
He picks up the first three stacked boxes of cupcakes and I scramble around the counter. “Here, let me help you.”
“No. Please don’t,” he says as he heads toward the door. “I don’t need your help, either.”
I stop in my tracks as he pushes open the door with his hip and disappears outside. Pride has me needing to save face. The unknown I feel inside has me wanting to make things right so the lasting impression he has of me is not this schizophrenic woman.
Grabbing the remaining two boxes of his order, I make my way out of the shop to where he’s placing them in the trunk of a ridiculously sexy, sleek sports car. When he stands up and meets my eyes, a lock of hair has fallen over his forehead, and I’m reminded of who we used to be together. He takes the boxes from me without a word, sets them inside, and shuts the trunk. His eyes are on the keys in his hands as he walks slowly to the driver’s side of the car.
So many things I need to say to him, about what happened minutes ago and over ten years ago, and yet I think I’ve already said enough.
He rests his forearms on the top of his car, his eyes still focused on where his fingers toy with his keys. “You always were quick with that temper, Say. Used to cause a lot of problems for you. Seems it still does.” He lifts his face to meet mine but his sunglasses hide his eyes. “Thanks for the cupcakes. I’ll see you around.”
Without another word, Hayes lowers himself into the car. The engine purrs to life, rumbles in my chest, and he pulls out of the parking lot while I stand there watching him leave.
The difference is this time I know he’s leaving.
And at least I know why.
Was it my fault he left last time too? My impatience? My assumptions? Had I not read him then as I couldn’t read him today? I hate the unanswered questions that drift through my mind and despise the doubts that weigh them down. Because regardless of how many times I’ve discredited them in the past, they still linger.
Still haunt.
I don’t know how long I stand there and stare but I’m well aware that DeeDee is waiting to pounce on me for information the minute I go inside. When I push open the door, the sight of her standing there—arms crossed, foot tapping, grin so big her cheeks might crack—confirms my suspicion.
“No. Fricking. Way.” DeeDee’s eyes bug out of her head as I walk into Sweet Cheeks. “That was . . . he was . . . oh my God, you know Hayes Whitley. Like know-know him.”
I hear what she says, her prattling, yet I walk past her and into the back kitchen area without a word. I just need a few minutes to wrap my head around exactly what happened. My assumptions. My temper.
Why, when Hayes drove off, so did a small part of my nostalgic hope that he’d come back for me. And that in itself irritates me.
Ten years have passed. I’m no longer that young girl he once knew. I’ve lived and grown and learned from my mistakes. Most notably the ones I made in loving him.
“Saylor.”
“Not now, Dee.” I hold up my hand to her, my heart racing and head reeling.
“No. You don’t get to ignore me on this one, Saylor. How did I not know that you know him? I mean I knew he grew up around here but, holy crap, I just made a complete ass out of myself in front of him.”
I snort. “You and me both.” I head straight into the back room and unlock the door that leads up to my apartment. “Give me a few.”
When I shut the door behind me, DeeDee is still talking. Still telling me she’s not going to stop asking questions until I answer. And all I can think as I enter my apartment is that the answers don’t matter. Hayes Whitley was a part of my past. Is a part of my past. And if seeing him has churned up all of these unacknowledged emotions that I swore I’d dealt with a long time ago, then he needs to stay right where he is.
In the past.
Because by never looking back, he let me know he didn’t want anything to do with my future.
“You up there, Ships Ahoy?”
I cross my arms over my chest, roll my eyes. Sigh. Will he ever stop calling me that stupid nickname?
The sound of his feet clomping up the stairs of the old tree house greets my frustration and I know like always, he’s not going to leave me alone. He’s so annoying. And such a guy. Ugh.
Keeping my eyes fixed on the hole in the roof of my most favorite place in the world, I stare at the stars above in the night sky—visually trace the constellations—rather than look over to where the makeshift door has creaked open announcing his presence.