“What do you mean?”
Gerard hesitated. “There might be one more thing I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet.”
And here they went again. She tried to brace herself and hang on to her new no-expectations policy. She took a deep breath. “What?”
“Remember the photographer I idolized for years, Remy? The one who took the photo of me on the street near the bakery where your parents met?”
She nodded.
“That’s T.R.”
Bri’s legs wobbled, and she pulled away, dropping into her chair. Blood rushed from her face, and she clenched her hands into a fist. What? No. “That’s impossible.”
“When you showed me the picture, I couldn’t believe it either. But it’s definitely him.”
Her brain raced to connect the dots. “Your idol had an affair with my mom?”
“I guess that’s one way to put it.” Gerard hesitated. “I have a better way, though.”
She raised her eyebrows, not trusting her voice.
“I like to think of it as God using a man who interfered negatively in both of our lives for an overall good. It connects us in a way that sort of feels meant to be, doesn’t it?”
Maybe. Bri rolled in her lip. How could so much have changed in just a few weeks’ time? Gerard had roared into town and upset everything she’d ever known. But she couldn’t find the room to be even remotely resentful about it. He was right. It was like it’d been meant to be. All of it. Her mistakes. His.
Her parents’.
“I put Remy on a pedestal, and he fell off—hard. You did the same with your mom.”
Ouch. But true.
“Remy spoke negativity into my life, and it came out in my relationship afterward. I was so guarded, always assuming the worst about my fiancée—and eventually, that self-prophecy was fulfilled. She became the worst.” Gerard pulled the empty chair closer to Bri and sat down, their knees brushing. “Remy was broken and hurting because your mother dumped him for your dad. She did the right thing—but he couldn’t handle it. He stayed bitter. He kept running from one location to another and had me convinced I had to do the same. Avoid love—avoid heartbreak. I thought he was onto something.”
“Wow.” Mabel’s voice echoed across the room from the bakery counter. “Now, that’s a small world.”
“Mabel!” Bri jerked around just in time to see Agnes hissing the same. She grabbed her sister’s sleeve. They briefly scuffled in a flimsy slap fight, then the two sisters disappeared back into the kitchen. But not before Mabel’s desperate voice pierced through the still-swinging door. “Kiss him, Bri! Fly!”
Bri closed her eyes, torn between her desire to laugh and sob. It was like living in a cartoon lately. Nothing made sense, nothing was as it seemed to be. But maybe that’s what she’d needed all along. Picture-perfect wasn’t real. This was.
And real was pretty romantic.
She opened her eyes. “You were saying?”
“My boss reminded me the other day that there’s a time—and a purpose—for everything. Ecclesiastes.” Gerard sighed. “The last few years, I’ve sort of been in a permanent state of ‘time to refrain from embracing.’” He rubbed one finger over her jeans-clad knee. “Until you.”
“And now?”
“I’d like to think I’m in the ‘time to love’ portion of the Scripture.” He clasped her hand. “You still haven’t said it, you know.”
“Said what?” She couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
He kept a deadpan expression. “That your coffee really does suck.”
She playfully slapped his shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”
“Am I still incorrigible?”
“Apparently some things never change, after all.”
“Some things do.” Gerard sobered.
“And some things do.” Bri hesitated, then remembered her wings. Time to fly. She scooted over into Gerard’s lap, perched on his knee, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You live in Chicago.” Speaking of wanting facts to change.
“For now. Lucky for you, I work for a travel magazine.” Gerard lifted one shoulder. “Seems like there’s some good possibilities there for relocation.”
“You’d move to Story?”
“There’s a blonde there I hear makes it a pretty appealing place.”
“You’re going to have to explain the blonde thing eventually, you know.”
Gerard’s arms hooked around her waist. “Thankfully, I’ve got plenty of time.”
Joy ballooned in her stomach. Still so many unanswered questions, but hope rose high. They’d figure out the details, somehow. Right now, she needed to celebrate. “You know, I’ve been instructed to kiss you, and it’s never wise to disobey love angels.” Her heart stammered in anticipation.
“I really hate that phrase.” His gaze darted to her lips then back to her eyes.
“I can live with that.” She pressed her lips against his. “Are you always going to tell me like it is?”
“Always.” He kissed her again, longer this time, and her stomach applauded. “Are you gonna love me even when I do?”
She searched his gaze, then breathed a new kiss onto his lips. “Always.”
One year later . . .
“We’re out of macarons.”
“Again?” Bri slid the next tray of petit fours into the display and turned to Gerard in surprise. “How many did you eat?”
He avoided eye contact and shrugged. “Not as many as you and Junior.”
“For the tenth time, you don’t know that this is a boy.” Bri touched her rounded belly under her apron.
Gerard sidled up to her, tugging at her apron ties. “You don’t know that it’s not. And, hey, I’m just being a good husband and trying to gain sympathy weight.” He patted his own flat stomach with pride.
“Try harder. But not with my macarons. You’re stealing them from the customers.” Bri waited until he stepped up to help the next guest at the counter—old Mr. Peters from the shelter across town—then snuck a bite of a petit four. Junior—or Juniorette—sure loved them, too, during this second trimester. Sweets were almost all she’d eaten. Thankfully, they’d left the pickle-chip stage behind in the first trimester. She almost turned green at the memory.
“Have I mentioned I love that you’re a baker, and you have a bun in your oven?” Casey popped an apple slice into
