Page 84 of Forbidden to Fall

Would I ever be free of them?

“Actually,” I said, “I should get going.”

“Not so fast,” he said. “You still have a few hours left of your break.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got family dinner later, and I’m taking dessert.” No one had assigned me that task. I’d taken it on myself. But the more I considered it, the more sense it made. I could make a test batch of s’more maple blondies.

And take some time away from James.

The phrase family dinner acted like water on the fire of James’s smile.

“Okay. You want to grab something from the house to take with you for breakfast?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some stuff at home.” Stuff being stale cereal and potentially expired milk. I had to stop at the store for groceries anyway, though.

We loaded up with sleeping bags and mats and made our way to the house.

It was quiet this time, like both of us were in our heads. I sure was.

It wasn’t until we’d offloaded the stuff on the porch and reached the truck that I realized I was still wearing his clothes. “Oh,” I said, looking down. “I can run inside and chang⁠—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get them from you later.”

I considered insisting—wearing James’s sweats probably wasn’t the best way to get distance from him—but the air was cold and my clothes wouldn’t be nearly as warm as these. Besides, I just needed to get out of here and clear my head a bit. I’d change at home.

“Thanks,” I said. “For all of this.”

“It was nothing.”

I stared at him, feeling a bit hurt by the word choice, but he was looking back at the house like he was distracted. Or maybe he was hurt too.

All I knew was I was already missing my more playful James.

He opened and shut my door for me. May had instilled Southern hospitality too deeply in him not to.

I pressed in the clutch and turned on the truck, then smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he copied the thumbs up.

S’more maple blondies would never be featured in Martha Stewart Living. With the wonky shapes of the ones on top, I could see why Mrs. Keller had considered marshmallows an abomination. They didn’t fit her aesthetic.

The only chance at redemption for the s’more maple blondies was to be delicious—something I hoped my family would give the verdict on after dinner.

A text vibrated my phone on the counter.

Wade

Here

I grabbed the pan of blondies and hurried downstairs and outside. I’d realized half an hour ago that I couldn’t just roll up to family dinner in James’s truck, so I’d asked Wade to pick me up.

I opened the door of his truck with my free hand and climbed in.

“Feels like high school all over again,” he said.

He’d taken me to and picked me up from plenty of after-school activities back then.

I pulled my door shut. “At least in high school you didn’t have that furball on your face.”