But right now, she just felt calm, serene. Almost too tranquil—like the eye of a hurricane.
She had a feeling the rest of the storm was imminent.
Bri tugged her fuzzy socks higher up her leg. She hadn’t been able to get warm since her fountain dive, despite the robe wrapped around her and the space heater blaring beside the sofa in her townhouse. It was as if the chill had reached all the way inside to her core.
Yet every time she relived that kiss, she melted a little. She gingerly touched her fingers to her lips, remembering how Gerard had stood there with her shoes like something from Cinderella. He was no Prince Charming, but seeing him pursue her, her pumps dangling from his masculine hands, had stirred something deep. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She was falling for him.
And it was the worst timing possible.
Her parents’ letters—well, her mother’s letters—lay in her lap, like a weight she couldn’t shake. She ran her finger over the flap on the top one, then closed her eyes. The events from the evening played in her mind on repeat—in fast-forward, then slow-motion. All the feelings Gerard had conjured in her with that kiss twisted around and knotted up until she couldn’t separate fear from elation.
After she’d seen to the closing reception duties, packed up the remaining petit fours, and waved her friend off into her new future with a handful of lit sparklers, Gerard had been nowhere to be found.
Her stomach twisted at the possibilities. Was he avoiding her? Regretting the kiss? Or just giving crazy Cinderella some space? She’d led him on quite the wild goose chase. But he’d come after her to the fountain in the middle of her breakdown. That meant something.
Right?
She adjusted the heat blowing on her legs and tightened the belt on her robe. What if it didn’t? What if he’d just been caught up in the romance of the evening and acted on impulse?
Ugh. She shouldn’t be sitting there, reliving it piece by aching piece. It was a dead end, anyway. Who cared what he felt? He was leaving in a matter of days.
And this feeling she had? This alleged falling in love? It was an illusion. She had to remember that—or she might end up like her parents.
Rejection was better than betrayal. It had to be. She was probably lucky that Gerard had changed his mind post-kiss.
Embarrassment tapped her on the shoulder as she leaned her head back against the soft material of the sofa. She couldn’t believe she’d climbed into that fountain in the middle of a wedding party—in a dress, no less—to find her parents’ key. It could have waited. She hadn’t even found it.
It shouldn’t be so important.
She picked up the packet of love notes. Their lock had been the first one on the wall, and now it all felt like a mockery.
She felt like a mockery.
A knock sounded on her townhouse door. Bri jumped, knocking over the space heater. She set it upright and turned it off, heart pounding as she checked her phone for the time. Almost eleven.
Had something happened to Mabel or Agnes? Fear pricked. They’d seemed fine at the wedding—Mabel had applied fresh lipstick between dances and Agnes had pretended not to putter around Mr. Hansen and all the desserts—but you never knew with women their age. Maybe all the excitement had been too much for them.
She set aside the letters and hurried to the front door, clutching her robe closed at her throat. She peered through the peephole, and her heart hitched.
Gerard.
She turned the lock, then hesitated. Was he coming for more kisses? Or to tell her it’d all been a huge mistake? Both thoughts make her borderline nauseated—for entirely different reasons. Regardless, she had to play it cool.
She opened the door, halfway. “Hey.” Her voice sounded more like a Muppet than the calm, normal vibe she’d been hoping for, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Hey.” Now it was too low, like she’d been a whiskey drinker for a few decades. She groaned inwardly.
“Warming up, I take it?” Gerard nodded toward her getup—fleece robe, socks pulled up to her knees, and fuzzy slippers. He was still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing his tattoos. His pants weren’t cuffed anymore, but the damp marks were still evident up his calves.
“Trying to.” She opened the door to allow him in, her stubborn heart refusing to return to a normal rhythm. “That water was pretty cold.”
“I remember.” He stepped inside and stood by the door she shut behind him. “I’m not staying long, don’t worry. I know you must be exhausted.”
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes, afraid she might break down again or worse—blurt out how she felt. When she didn’t even understand how she felt. And she’d probably do it in the Muppet voice again. She pressed her lips together.
He leaned against the wall. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He was being sweet again. She had no idea what to do with that. She nodded a second time, still averting her eyes and swallowing any attempt at words.
He shifted his weight, his proximity warming her much faster than the space heater’s feeble efforts. “So, you’re okay.”
She nodded a third time. Swallowed. “I will be.”
“It’s not as bad as you think, Cupcake. It never is.” His hands were tucked loosely in his pockets, and she realized how badly she wanted his touch again. How comforting it’d been—and how distracting. For those few glorious moments, she hadn’t thought about her parents’ love story or Charles or losing the bakery. She hadn’t felt the slow erase of her entire identity and security fading away. She’d just been herself.
With him.
“I need to ask you a question.” His eyes grew serious, and her chest tightened. Here it came. He was going to ask her to keep their kiss quiet. Because he regretted it. Because he didn’t want to sully his columnist reputation
