If we can’t work past whatever this is and I decide to move right back out, then I’m essentially homeless. That has tears welling up again, but this time I sniff them back. Crying isn’t helping anything. The real question is if he feels like marriage is ridiculous, can I live with him? Should I stay and hope he changes his mind?
I’ve always wanted marriage, babies, the whole happily ever after thing. Can I just put my hopes on him changing his mind in the future? Can I give up my dreams of forever for something that’s a for now?
No, I don’t think I can.
A few minutes later, my text alert dings. Without looking, I’m sure it’s Amos again. I’m still not ready to talk to him, so I ignore the dings and go back to baking.
Time to make cupcakes. Three hours later, I have six dozen cupcakes—way more than I’ll ever sell in one day. Oh well, this wasn’t about stocking my shelves. This is my therapy. Once again, I perch myself on the counter, only this time, I have a triple chocolate strawberry cream-filled cupcake—a new recipe born of sadness but tastes like happiness. I eat two cupcakes before I dare to look at my phone.
It’s almost two in the morning, and I have a ton of missed calls and texts from Amos. With the level of concern in his texts, I’m surprised he didn’t just show up here to see me with his own eyes. Apparently, he got the message that I want to be left alone even if he doesn’t understand why.
I read through the texts that start with his usual ‘lock the door’ and go through to ‘I miss you, sweetness. Our bed is cold without you.’ That last text came in ten minutes ago.
I’m flooded with feelings of guilt at making him worry. I hit reply and can’t think of anything to say.
I’m fine, is what I finally settle on. Lame.
Three dots start bouncing almost instantly. Are you sure, sweetness? You’ve never stayed out like this…
I let out a troubled sigh. This isn’t a conversation that should be done via text. It would make it so easy, but that’s a cop-out, and I know it. Yeah, everything is fine. I’m just going to stay and finish up today’s baking since it’s almost time for me to come in anyway.
Amos doesn’t respond. I don’t know why, but tears prick my eyes again at how easily he accepted my excuse. I ignore the pang in my chest and start making things that actually fill my cases for the day.
Fifteen minutes later, there is a knock on the backdoor. “Margo, open up,” Amos shouts through the heavy metal door.
I stand frozen, staring at the door as if it’s a cobra ready to strike.
11
Amos
It’s been hours, and Margo hasn’t answered her phone nor any of the dozens of text messages I’ve sent. It takes all of my self-control to not crash into the bakery like a madman. I do drive past twice just to make sure her car is there. I have to know she’s safe even if she’s not telling me herself.
Finally, at nearly two in the morning, she responds, telling me she’s fine. I instinctively know that she’s using the universal “I’m not at all fine” kind of fine. That’s the last straw. I grab my keys and am out the door and heading through the night to Sprinkled With Sugar to see what’s wrong with my girl.
Maybe she’s just panicking about moving in? Our relationship has happened very quickly, but I thought we were both on the same page. I’m starting to regret not shouting from the rooftops that I love her. Could moving in cause added confusion about where we stand?
I’m not sure how she could mistake any part of our relationship as anything but love. I might not have said the words, but I’ve shown her in every way possible. I love her more than anything. She’s my entire world. I’m going to marry that woman.
I knock on the door and shout for Margo to open up. A few seconds later, I hear the lock disengage. My girl is there looking beautiful even though she’s covered in flour and has obviously been crying. She lets me inside and then shuts and locks the door. I look around the kitchen, and it’s an absolute wreck. It’s then I know for sure something is really wrong. Margo is meticulous with her kitchen. She works clean and seamlessly moves from project to project.
Before she can walk away from me, I grab her up in a fierce hug. She’s stiff in my arms, but I don’t let go. Ever so slowly, she starts to relax into me. I kiss the top of her head, just holding her. Offering her comfort from whatever it is that’s upset her.
“What’s wrong, sweetness?”
She buries her face in my shirt and shakes her head, refusing to answer.
“How can I fix this if you won’t talk to me?”
“I heard you,” she says with a whimper.
I pull away to look down at her upturned face. “What did you hear?”
“You told Torin this thing was all ridiculous,” she sniffles.
“Oh, baby, no. That’s… no. Nothing about us is ridiculous. Not a single thing. I love you, Margo. I was asking Torin if I was ridiculous for wanting to do this…” I say, kneeling on the flour-covered floor and taking the ring out of my pocket. “Marry me, Margo Schultz, make me the luckiest man alive.”
She blinks down at me in wide-eyed shock. For a brief moment, I feel anxious that I was right, thinking this is ridiculously fast. It feels right, though. Margo stares at me for what feels like an eternity, tears welling in her beautiful green eyes, then she throws herself at
