Page 19 of Suddenly Yours

What if she pulled back?

What if I lost her?

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. No. I couldn’t go back now, not after tasting what it could be like, what we could be. I’d always loved her in my own quiet way. Tonight just ripped the quiet part right out of me.

But the fear was there too, sitting heavy in my chest.

Because wanting Missy wasn’t new.

Admitting I couldn’t live without her?

That was.

For the next few days, every time I pushed open the bakery door hoping to catch even a glimpse of her, she was gone. No doubt somewhere in the back. Busy with orders or with deliveries. Anything and everything except standing at the counter smiling at me like she had the night I’d kissed her senseless.

Was she was avoiding me?

That possibility sat heavy in my chest every time I left the place with a paper bag of pastries or sandwiches for my crew.

I threw myself into work. My crew was working hard on the new subdivision out at the edge of town that we’d finally broken ground on last fall.

There were half a dozen new homes currently under construction and more coming soon. So I threw myself into the mix and did what I loved.

But every hammer strike in footings or framing was a reminder of how her lips had felt.

Every saw cut whispered, Idiot, you should’ve talked to her already.

With every nail I sank into fresh lumber, I asked myself, What if you ruined everything?

By Thursday, sleep was a rumor. I’d checked my phone more times than I’d ever admit. I was too afraid to be the first one to text.

That afternoon, I got a call from East Haven Resort.

A fuse panel in the east wing was giving them trouble again, a hum and flicker that told me moisture had gotten where it didn’t belong. And of course it had to be the resort. The most expensive, pristine, polished place in the entire county. A damn postcard for the rich and bored.

Just the place our families would have vacationed when we were younger.

I took the ferry over to the private island the next morning.

East Haven Resort rose from the shoreline like a white colonial dream. It had over 200 rooms, wide porches with crisp navy rocking chairs, and long sweeping lawns that spilled into a private sandy beach. There were three pools that shimmered like jewels between manicured hedges. Several gazebos dotted the garden paths like secret hideaways meant for wedding vows or whispered scandals. Even the air smelled expensive: salt, sun, and whatever spa oils they pumped through the vents.

I’d been here a handful of times, usually at the request of Sarah, Crystal’s daughter. Sarah’s name was actually Serenity, but everyone called her Sarah. She ran the place with her husband Ben, and thank God she was one of the few townsfolk who didn’t treat blue-collar workers like invisible wallpaper.

She met me in the lobby, all polished warmth and professionalism.

“Cade! Thank goodness. The lights in the east wing have flickered three times and we have a VIP in that suite. He’s… particular.”

“Particular” was Sarah’s way of saying that if the man saw a dust mote, he’d demand a refund and write a 4,000-word manifesto about it.

“I’ll take a look,” I told her.

The issue ended up being a corroded neutral bus bar in the breaker panel—tiny, inconvenient, and absolutely something that could burn the whole damn wing down if ignored.

“I can fix it,” I told her, wiping my hands on a towel. “But I need a part that I don’t have and it is going to take a few hours to rewire the box. I’ll have to come back.”

“Oh, then I insist that you stay for a night,” Sarah said immediately. “I’ll block out a room for you.” She waved her hand. “My treat.”

I blinked. “Uh…”