Page 4

Part of me wants someone simple to blame. Instead, there is my frightened mother and a man who thought he knew best. I remember Mom holding my acceptance letter as though it might fly away. She worked doubles to buy my first sewing machine. I understand her fear, even if I don't agree with what happened.

“I wasn’t giving up school.” I step closer. “I wanted to ask whether we could try. Visits. Calls. Something to come home to.”

His mouth tightens. “I thought you deserved someone who could follow you anywhere.” He drags a hand over his beard. “I had the business, the cabin, Mom still recovering from surgery. I saw all the reasons I couldn’t be enough.”

“You didn’t ask what I needed.” I blink back the tears. “I wanted you to let me into your life.”

“I know.” He holds my gaze. “I shut the door instead.”

Hearing him say it shifts the hurt. I wasn’t wrong to think there was something between us. I didn’t make up the way he looked at me or how he went quiet when we were close. I wish I’d known that before all those nights I spent feeling ashamed of what I told him.

“I thought my inexperience bothered you.” I sink deeper into his coat. “After I told you I’d never been with anyone.”

His hand opens between us, then falls. “Anissa, no.” He takes a step closer. “There wasn’t one part of you I didn’t want.”

“I can’t decide what this changes tonight.” I stare into his eyes, searching for an answer. “You don’t get forgiveness because you look sorry beside a pond.”

“I’m asking you to let me show you who I am now.” He rests a hand on the bench. “Only if you want to.”

“What does your plan involve?” I turn toward the festival, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

“I didn’t get much past asking you to speak to me.” He glances toward the square. “There’s a schedule.”

“Two thousand dollars without a plan.” I almost smile. “That seems unlike you.”

“I had a plan for a pergola.” One corner of his mouth shifts. “This seemed more urgent.”

He waits for my answer, unguarded hope in his eyes. I can give him the next half hour without promising the rest of my heart.

“I said I wanted donuts.”

“Then we start there.” He steps back so I can walk by.

I duck under his arm and unintentionally rub against his chest. When I look up, he glances at my mouth then steps aside before either of us can do anything else, and as we walk to the bakery, I notice the space he leaves for me—and how much I want to close it.

four

Silas

Mae puts four donuts in the bag and watches until I meet her eyes. I nod, accepting the warning, then carry our cider to a narrow standing table. Anissa reaches into the bag, and I do too. Her fingers slide between mine, and we both freeze.

She looks up, lips parted. I slowly loosen my hand, giving her time to decide whether to keep hers there. She takes a donut, but her cheeks stay flushed. A moment later, sugar catches at the corner of her mouth. I want to remove it with my thumb. Then I think about kissing it away, and I set my cup down.

“Have I got something on my face?” She lifts a napkin.

“A little sugar.” I point to my own mouth. “Left side.”

She finds it while watching my eyes, and a slow smile crosses her face. I want to kiss her. I want her to want the kiss tomorrow too.

“Are you still making rocking horses?” She wraps her hands around the cider.

“A few each winter.” I fold the festival program. “Mostly furniture now.”

“I saw a walnut table on your website.” She looks into her cup. “I liked it.”

“You looked?” I try not to make the question sound as important as it feels.

“The internet exists in Chicago.” She breaks off a piece of donut and pops it into her mouth.