But it does mean I’m obliged to him.
I feel like I owe him.
And I told him I was doing it by myself.
I’ll concede he made some points tonight. Annoying as that is, he’s right… it feels good to imagine what it could be like to have somebody out there for me. Even during a time when I’m super busy working toward my goal, and I could still be safe and secure.
I bark a laugh—ha—dream on.
Daydreaming time over, I put the pies into the oven and clean up. Then, with nothing to do but wait for them to bake, I pour myself an ice water and sit down in Popster’s booth. I lean back and tip my head to the ceiling and stare at it. And, of course, I think about Ryker’s kiss.
I distract myself and grab my phone to look at my to-do list. I start jotting down details and time frames for the things I need to get done. Now that the inspection is this week, I should thank Ryker, but I’m too mad at him right now. Mad at him for kissing me. Mad at him for yelling. Mad at him for butting into my business.
My heart says otherwise, nudging me to interpret each of those from a different point of view…
I could love that he kissed me and woke my body up.
I could feel that he was sexy when he yelled.
I could appreciate that he helped my situation.
Devil or angel?
Nah. I’ll go the angry route. He’s the devil.
I look back down at my phone and add a few more items to my list. A half-hour later, I’m satisfied, if a bit daunted, at the list I have before me, now that the timeline is sped up. But I know a lot of the things will get done with Mom and Popster’s help, and we’ll have a contractor lined up to work on the renovations as soon as possible.
I have to wait until I have the key in my hand, and everything is finalized before I take next steps, anyway. I go to the kitchen and take the pies out and set them on the counter to cool.
Once the pies are put away, I turn off the lights and let myself out of the bistro, locking the door behind me.
I get into my car and drive home. Content and satisfied, for a couple reasons. Though I hate to admit that anything about Ryker would ever be satisfying to me.
It’s a sunny morning as I pull up to the homeless shelter to deliver the pies I made. Correction, Ryker and I made, last night.
As I get out of my car, I see contractors’ work trucks out front. Interesting. I grab a few pies, and when I walk inside, I see the homeless shelter is getting a facelift. There are people painting, hammering, and moving things around. There are new beds, too!
I take the pies to the kitchen, and Leslie, the young gal who manages the shelter, comes in. “Hi, Aspen! Your pies look amazing! As always, thank you so much for donating them.”
“You’re welcome! I have more pies in the car and 30—well, 29—boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I’m still unloading.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” she offers, and we walk out to my car to get more.
“So, what’s with the renovations?”
“Oh, Aspen! The most wonderful thing has happened for us. We received an anonymous donation of a million dollars the other day. Can you believe it?”
“Seriously? A million? And anonymously?” I immediately think of Ryker. This is a small town, and although I don’t know everybody in it, nor everyone’s financial status, I find it mighty coincidental that a billionaire who seems intent on working his way into my heart—or pants—or both, is back in town, and he knows of my passion for helping the shelter.
“That’s amazing, Leslie. You must be thrilled.”
“You have no idea, Aspen. This helps us so much. We depend on private donations, and when people step up like this, it means the world to us. We couldn’t survive without other people’s help.”
Other people’s help.
Her words needle their way into my brain, bypassing my heart because my heart already knew this. It’s why I make the pies and donate them every month.
“This donation will feed so many people, Aspen, and keep us solvent for years. We’re even planning to expand by opening another twenty-bed shelter in Flint,” she says, and her eyes fill with tears of gratitude. “I just wish I knew who it was so I could kiss the person! I don’t care if it’s a man or woman!” she says, chuckling.
A stupid chill hits me as I think about Leslie kissing Ryker, despite my appreciation for what I think he did here. Leslie is petite and beautiful. And available. My gut twists.
We unload the rest of the pies from my car and take them into the kitchen. I give Leslie a hug goodbye, telling her I’ll see her next month. I wish I could make pies for them every week, but there’s just no way. Not with the cost or the time required.
I get into my car and start the engine. I turn on the air conditioner and let it blow full force on my face as I think about Ryker. I’m sure this was his donation, and I think how great it is that he could do that. He just wanted to help them. He could’ve spent his money anywhere, and although I could claim he has an ulterior motive—me—he did it anonymously. It warms my heart.
I tilt my rearview mirror so I can see myself. Pep talk time. “Stay focused, Aspen. Keep your eye on the prize. It’s almost yours.”
And then, for the first time, I wonder what exactly the prize is.
I pull my car into the parking lot at the bistro, jamming out to Taylor Swift. It’s time for fun! I pop out of my car, still humming as I walk into the bistro
