Me: Sneaky!
Landry: I should be home around eight. I’d love for you to be there.
Me :I might be able to pull that off.
Landry: If you need a moving truck to help you . . .
Me: What happened to one day at a time?
Landry: That idea sucks. I’ve moved on. Note: You have too. ;) Jumping in shower. See you soon.
Me: xo
Danielle
I’ve done three loads of laundry, folded them, and put them away. I’ve reorganized my bathroom cabinets and purged about twenty bottles of crusty fingernail polish that outlived their expiration date by a few years. Then I sorted my lingerie into two piles—pretty and Aunt Flow. Looking at the clock, I still have a few hours before Lincoln is done.
There would be no issue with me going over there early. I have a freaking key. While that seems like a winning idea, and one that will make me less likely to end up in the looney bin this afternoon, I don’t want to do it. It’s too presumptuous.
I’ve jumped into a lot over the past few weeks, much of which I promised myself I never would. But I trust him. I want him. I even love him, which is enough to make me want to absolutely freak out if I think about it too long. So I don’t let myself go there.
Rushing into my bedroom and opening my suitcase that still sits on my bed, I toss in a few days’ worth of clothes and cosmetics and latch it shut. Grabbing a phone charger from the wall in the kitchen, as well as my keys, I head out the front door and lock it behind me. Within a few minutes, I’m in my car and heading across town towards the Smitten Kitten.
When I arrive, the eatery is bursting with aromas unusual for a Saturday afternoon. My brows are pulled together as I make my way to the counter.
“What’s that smell?” I ask. “What are you doing?”
Pepper is covered in flour. It dusts her nose, cheekbones, front of her apron and both arms. She blows out a breath and little white particles go floating. “The mixer had a mishap.”
“You or the electric one?” I laugh. “You look like a ghost!”
“I’m trying to make this soup I found online from China. I spent a fortune, a literal fortune, Danielle, on ingredients and it turned out to be the worst thing I’ve ever made.”
“Maybe it’s not,” I suggest. “Maybe it’s just not what you’re expecting.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m grieving.”
Laughing at her dramatics, I order a chocolate croissant and a cappuccino and then burrow down in my spot in the corner. Pulling out a notepad, I plan on making notes for work next week but instead finding myself sketching the tree line from the Farm.
“What’s that?” Pepper asks, sitting my items in front of me. “And why are you here now?”
“I’m waiting on Lincoln to get done at a meeting,” I tell her. “We had the best time in Savannah.”
“What was it like?”
“Perfect,” I gush. “His family is incredible, the property was breathtaking. Now I can’t stand to be home alone. It’s just too mundane compared to the Landry’s.”
“Don’t go comparing stuff,” Pepper warns. “That’s a dangerous game.”
“I know.” I lift my c
appuccino and watch the foam swirl. “I need you to make me feel better about this.”
“About what?”
“About this thing with Landry.” Taking a hesitant sip, I feel a sting as the drink trickles down my throat. “Tell me this will end okay. Tell me I’m not foolish to try this. Tell me this isn’t Einstein’s definition of insanity.”
“Well, it is,” she laughs, “but . . .” She slides into the booth across from me. “Did you know I owned two eateries before the Smitten Kitten?”