“I’ve always loved you more when you’re a mess.”
I clamp my mouth shut as a rush of excitement runs through me. King seems to know exactly what he just said, and there’s no embarrassment or hesitation in his eyes. “That’s a big word,” I mutter. And it’s one I haven’t heard him say in almost a decade.
He nods. “I know.”
I need to say something in return—he’s clearly waiting and hoping for it—but all of my words catch in my throat. Yesterday, it was easy to think I could be happy here for the rest of my life, but in the light of a new day, all of my old fears come creeping back in.
I press my palm to his cheek. “Let’s see what’s going on at the bakery, and then we can talk. Okay?”
He nods again, but I don’t miss the disappointment in his eyes before he sits up.
When we get to the bakery half an hour later, there’s quite a crowd gathered around the doors. Whoever is inside, he’s drawn a lot of attention, and I really hope it’s something good and not some kind of impending disaster. The knot in my stomach seems to think I’m not going to like what’s inside.
Holding King’s hand a little tighter, I start working my way through the crowd. Some of them are locals, and they’re quick to make room when they see us, but the tourists are more interested in the man inside than the two people trying to get past them.
I’m ready to start shouting by the time I reach the doors—I could still be in bed with my husband, but I’m stuck squeezing past sweaty Northerners because I wasn’t smart enough to use the back door. Even if this mystery person is someone good, I’m not going to be happy about him disrupting my morning.
I finally stumble inside, King right behind me. Through the mass of people in the lobby, I see the cameraman first, and the knot doubles in size because I recognize him. I recognize the man next to him even more.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I breathe. “Lane?”
Lane jumps to his feet when he sees me over the heads of the crowd. “Georgie!”
Ned, one of the cameramen from Home Baked, quickly lifts his camera to his shoulder and starts filming.
“The idiot ex?” King asks quietly as Lane starts making his way across the lobby. “How do you want to handle this?”
I can’t decide if he’s asking what methods I want to use to throw my ex out of the bakery or if he’s really wondering if I might still harbor some feelings for the jerk, so I do my best to be as clear as possible with the limited time I have before Lane reaches us.
“I’m probably going to need you to hold me back from punching him in the nose. But I’ll see what he has to say before we kick him out.”
“‘We,’” King repeats with a grin.
“Follow my lead?”
“Always.”
“Georgie, I’m so glad I finally found you!” Lane wraps his arms around me, ripping my hand out of King’s as he turns us to give the camera a better angle. “I’ve been worried sick about you ever since I heard you left New York.”
I’ve been in Willow Cove for almost two weeks now. It’s been nearly a month since we last talked. “My phone number hasn’t changed,” I say, squirming out of his almost suffocating hold.
Lane puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m lucky Cecily told me where you went.”
“Didn’t do that,” Cecily says. For some reason, she’s behind the counter with Emily, the pair of them scowling at Lane. Meg, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying this little show as she leans against the door frame of the swinging door. “I want it on the record that I specifically told you that you can stick your so-called apology up your—”
“You came to apologize?” If I sound shocked, it’s because I am. I don’t think Lane has ever apologized to me. Not in so many words, anyway. He has a knack for saying things that sound like an apology but ultimately put the blame anywhere but on himself.
Lane nods almost theatrically. “The way things went down, I couldn’t… I didn’t want to break up with you, Georgie.”
I fold my arms and take a step back so his hands fall from my shoulders. “Okay. So when you said we were going in different directions and that you couldn’t keep letting me hold you back, that was…not a breakup?”
“That was me being an idiot.”
“I agree with you there.”
“Georgie.” He glances at the camera and then steps in close, dropping his voice to a low murmur. I would believe he really means for what he says to be private if not for the microphone pinned to his collar. “I didn’t want to break up with you. It was the network. They thought we were too perfect of a couple and that maybe a little drama would spice things up again. It was never supposed to be permanent.”
I lift an eyebrow. While I can’t see King behind me, I can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves. I really hope Ned is keeping King in the frame because this is going to make television gold if Lane keeps being the idiot that he is. “Okay,” I say again, pretending to understand his logic. “And how was kicking me off the show supposed to get us back together?”
Lane’s mask slips for a second, like he didn’t expect me to question his reasoning. “Oh. Well, obviously it was going to be a victorious comeback. Make our viewers miss you before you return as the triumphant hero.”
“I don’t see what’s triumphant about being dumped on live television.”
Frustration sparks to life in his eyes. It’s a familiar sight, and suddenly I’m wondering why I ever thought it was worth trying to make things work with him. He’s never looked at me the way King does, like just having me nearby makes his life better. Lane has only ever cared about himself.
“I told you,” he says. “It wasn’t a real breakup.”
“Maybe you should have told me that before you dumped me.”
“But then it wouldn’t have been authentic.”
“Why are you here, Lane?”
He huffs a quick sigh, looking around the bakery as if seeing it for the first time. He was probably too busy enjoying the attention of his fans to really take in the space I’ve been spending all my time, but he’s seeing it now. And he clearly doesn’t like what he sees. “I’m here to get you out of this dump, obviously. Home Baked isn’t the same without you.”
I laugh, though I don’t feel especially amused. “I know. That’s because the only reason our show did well is because I was on it. Let me guess—you’ve been doing old recipes since I left? Rehashing the few things you actually know how to make?”
Color splotches in his face as a murmur spreads through the lobby and out the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
