"Not one word," I told him.
"Wasn't going to."
In my head, I started counting backward from ten until he said what he was going to say.
Four, three, two, one.
"So, the last time this happened, the ‘mass bakery purchasing to cover up some unknown emotional distress,’" he mused, handing over his card to pay, "was never. And I'm trying to decipher exactly what's happening here to cause such a phenomenon."
I kept my face even as I looked up at him. "Good luck with that."
He could decipher away. He could decipher until the cows came home, but my twin brother would never, ever guess what was in my head, no matter what kind of mental bond we shared.
Grady smiled at the skinny kid, lifting the bag that held all my goodies. We stepped out of line and as I tried to pull out the top container, he yanked the bag out of my reach.
"You motherfu—"
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a little old lady from the fair planning committee giving me a sternly disapproving look.
"Language," Grady admonished.
I scratched the bridge of my nose with my middle finger.
His eyes were more amused than I would've liked as he looked over my shoulder toward the entrance of the bakery. "Can I take a wild guess at what your problem is?"
While his attention was elsewhere, I snatched the container holding my croissant and clutched it to my chest. "Go ahead. You'll be wrong, which is always fun for me."
Grady waited while I flipped open the plastic lid and shoved half the croissant in my mouth in one massive bite.
"Ohmygah dis is goob," I said around the flaky sweetness. This is what baking was supposed to taste like. Happiness. Pure, sugary happiness.
"It's Tucker Haywood, isn't it?"
The croissant lodged in my throat, and I bent over as I tried to cough it loose. I could practically feel all the eyes in the bakery on me as I hacked like a cat losing a hairball the size of its head. Grady's big hand smacked me on the back, once, twice, and then three times until I could swallow.
A water bottle was shoved into my hand, and I greedily lifted it to my lips. The block of pastry moved painfully down my throat, making my eyes water and my chest squeeze tight.
"Good," Grady said when I sucked in a gasping breath, "looks like she won't need mouth-to-mouth."
"I think she would've needed the Heimlich, not mouth-to-mouth," a deep voice said from behind me.
I stilled at the sound of it. I'd been replaying the sound of that voice alllllll morning.
That's when I noticed Grady had his hands propped on his hips.
Which meant the big hand currently resting in between my shoulder blades, the one that smacked my back until I could breathe was not my brother's—it was Tucker's.
I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth and glanced carefully to the side.
His face was bent in concern, and given how close we were standing, I could see details that I'd not noticed before. Probably because when we were at the park, I'd been so careful to not stare openly in the way I wanted to.
There were blond hairs peppered throughout the brown of his beard, a light spray of freckles over the bridge of his strong, straight nose, and his breath smelled like mint.
My brain zipped straight to Rose Buchanan, and the peppermint candies she used to find tucked in the pockets of her dresses, the way she protected them under her pillow so her brothers wouldn't find them.
"Are you all right?" he asked, unaware of the places my mind was wandering. Like whether his tongue held that same cool, strong flavor if I were to slide mine along the top of it.
I blinked.
"Yeah. I'm okay." Grady was watching me steadily, and I gave him as much of a look as I dared. Don't you dare embarrass me, I all but screamed at him with my eyes. He held up his hands in supplication. Even though my body wanted to do the very opposite, I moved to the side, and Tucker's hand fell off my back. "Thank you," I told him.
"I seem to have good timing when it comes to you, don't I?" There was something, something meaningful behind his words, I could see it in the glow of his dark eyes. My stomach flipped and flopped, my heart skipped a beat or two, and all I wanted to do again was run.
Because his timing didn't seem all that good to me.
It seemed awful, what with his beautiful, long-term, been together for a million years girlfriend in the picture.
"Uh-huh," I said weakly. I gave Grady a beseeching look. "I'll see you at home?"
When I turned to leave, Tucker set a hand on my arm, and my entire body exploded with confetti and glitter, shivers danced up my spine and dropped back down like a rollercoaster.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked.
No. I wasn't okay at all.
I wanted to park myself in front of him and ask him everything about himself. I wanted to tell him my entire life story. I wanted to take his picture. I wanted to curl up next to him and see what his skin smelled like at the base of his throat. I wanted to hear his voice ring sweet and low in my ear as I drifted off to sleep. I wanted to lay my hand on top of his chest so I could memorize the beat of his heart.
I wanted to nod, wanted to be able to give him some false proof that I was fine.
But I wasn't. Levi told me to befriend him, get to know him. Doing that felt like someone was laying out all my favorite treats in a place that I could smell and touch them, but never, ever taste them. It was torture.
So, I decided not to lie. I met his eyes and gave him a weak smile. "I'll
