“Butterscotch Cream Pie,” I answer excitedly. “Yes, it is.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and that little bubble of hope I felt blossoms into something much more. “My grandma used to make that,” he whispers.
“I know.” His eyes widen in disbelief and he seems to be at a complete loss for words. That’s okay, I can talk e
nough for the both of us. “I don’t have her recipe, but I’ve been working to perfect that pie for the past eight years and this is as close as I can get to your grandmother’s.” Something in Levi’s expression shifts, though I can’t quite pinpoint what it is. An appreciation of sorts . . . maybe? “I hope you like it.”
I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE made me Butterscotch Cream Pie. And on top of that, Laney said she’s been perfecting the recipe for eight years. Eight freaking years.
I’m fully aware that I’m staring at her like a fucking idiot, but I really don’t know what to say. She made my Grammy’s pie. I can’t remember her ever eating my Grammy’s pie. How the hell did she even remember my Grammy used to make it?
I’ve been working really hard at keeping my distance and not allowing myself to get too close, but fuck me, she’s making it hard. If I don’t get a grip on what I’m feeling now, I’ll most likely get in way over my head. But I can’t just ignore this . . . this is so much more than just a pie. I’m just not sure I’m ready to explore exactly what it is.
“Well?” she asks hopefully, shoving a fork in my direction. “Are you going to try it?” She looks so damn cute in her pink apron, hair piled messily on top of her head and flour smeared across her face, and the sight of her tugs at something deep inside of me—something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Something I’m not sure I ever want to feel again. Unfortunately for me, Laney is my weakness . . . my kryptonite. One look from her makes me want to forget that the past eight years ever happened and beg her to start right back where we left off. I can’t let that happen.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I blurt, needing to remind her—and me—that what we had is in the past. Laney’s smile slowly falls, along with the fork that she is holding up, and I resist the urge to reach out to her.
I know I’m partly to blame here. I bought her a drink last night, mostly because it killed me that she thought she couldn’t afford it, and I stupidly let my guard down, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. It’s no secret that she hurt me, but after seeing her again and being around her again, I’m reminded why I loved her so much. She’s spunky, tenacious, caring, and her smile could light up the darkest night. And although I know I can’t let myself love her again, I would still very much like to be friends with her.
“But it can, if you let it,” she says, stepping toward me. And this is where the challenge lies. Laney has a determination like no one I’ve ever met, and if I have any hope at all of walking away from this intact, I need to tread lightly. “We need to talk about what happened that night, Levi.”
“We did talk about it.”
“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “I tried to talk about it and you blew me off.”
“Fine. Talk,” I concede, leaning against the counter, knowing that this isn’t going to go well. She blows out a slow breath and looks up at the ceiling as though she’s praying for the strength to get through this. “Well . . .” I urge, wanting her to get on with it. If she insists on reopening these old wounds, the faster the better so I can close them back up . . . for good this time.
“I made a mistake, a terrible one, and I want to make it right.” She takes another step toward me and I take one back. She sighs. “I should have never left. I should’ve stayed here, with you.” You’re damn right you should have. I bite down on my lower lip, trying desperately to keep my thoughts to myself. “I’m more than willing to take the fall, but let’s face it, you weren’t innocent in all of this either.”
And that’s all it takes to set me off. Blood slowly rises, seeping into my cheeks, and I fist my hands at my side. “You left me,” I spit, pounding a fist into my chest as I step toward her. “You didn’t choose us. You chose to leave.”
“But the ultimatum should’ve never been given,” she argues. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to make it work, and yes, I know it was going to probably be the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but I was willing to try. I had faith in us.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I shouldn’t have given the ultimatum, but selfishly, I wanted her here with me, not thousands of miles away. And also, I just wanted her to pick me.
“My mom left us,” I growl, looking away because it’s easier than looking her in the eyes. I hear her sharp intake of breath. I never told her this. She’d asked, but I never told her the truth because it hurt too much. The one woman who should have loved me unconditionally walked away.
“You told me your mom died in a car accident,” she whispers. I look over and her eyes are glistening under the bright fluorescent lights. Telling her my mom died was the easy way out. Mason and I told all of our friends our mom had died, because to us, she did die. She cut us out of her life, so we cut her out of ours.
“Yeah, well, I lied.” I shrug. “She left us. I was only twelve, and Mason was ten. Don’t”—I shake my head—“don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you pity me,” I snap, running a hand through my hair and down the back of my neck. “Don’t pity me. We’re better off without her, and—I’m getting off subject. I’m telling you this because I trusted her. She was my mother. She should have loved me and cared for me, no matter what. But she didn’t. She was selfish. She saw a better life for herself and she took it without batting an eyelash.”
I can see the instant Laney registers what I’m saying to her because her hand flies to her mouth and she slowly starts to shake her head. “So you see,” I nod, not giving her the chance to talk. “You left, just like she did. You saw an opportunity to better your life and you took it. And you know what, I’m not even mad about it anymore because now I get it. I get why you did what you did, but it doesn’t mean I agree with it. And it certainly doesn’t mean that we can go back to what we were because I can’t put myself out there like that again. You broke my fucking heart, Laney. You shredded it in two and it took me eight years—eight goddamn years—to get over it. And you know what? Now that you’re home, I’m still not sure I’m over it.” I can see a flash of hope behind her wet eyes and I continue quickly. “I gave you the ultimatum because I wanted you to choose me. I was in love with you and I needed to know that, when push came to shove, I was your first choice.”
“You were my first choice,” she sobs, running an arm across her tear-soaked face. “I didn’t want to choose. I wanted both, but you insisted so I made a rash decision, one that I’ve regretted every single day since the day I left.”
“I don’t believe you,” I argue, remembering our conversation shortly after she left.
Please pick up. Please pick up. “Hello?” her voice is soft, timid, and nothing like my Laney.
“Laney, baby, thank God you answered. I’ve been trying to call you for days.” This is the third time I’ve called her today, and probably the hundredth time this week.
“I know,” she says softly. I can tell by her thick voice that she’s been crying. I hate when she cries.
“Please don’t cry, Laney. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” I take a deep breath, trying to remember what I’ve been rehearsing in my head for the past couple of days. When words fail me, I say ‘fuck it’ and go for broke. “I didn’t mean it, Laney. I didn’t mean to make you choose. I was just scared and afraid that I was going to lose you, which I did, and now I’m miserable. I need you, Laney. I miss you. You’re all I think about, baby, and I want you back.”