Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you not eat dinner?”

I grimace lightly. “I was too nervous.”

Ryan’s face goes utterly serious, and I think he’s about to comment on my lack of dinner, but suddenly Logan calls to us as he’s walking out of the church. “I thought y’all left a while ago!”

“June locked her keys in the car because she was so eager to see me.”

I turn and glare at Ryan even though I know for a fact Logan won’t believe a word of that. (Even if it’s a little true.)

Logan makes his way to us. “Shoot. They’re locked in there?”

“Yeah, but a locksmith is on the way,” I say, trying to sound more cheery than I feel.

Logan nods slowly, glancing back toward the building for a half second. “We were getting ready to head out, but Stacy and I can wait with you if you need us to.”

I don’t get the chance to tell Logan I’ll be fine, because Ryan interjects. “Nah—she’s hungry. I’m taking June to get some food while we wait.”

“You are?” I ask, but Ryan doesn’t acknowledge my question or my incredulous tone.

Logan nods with a loaded look that could be interpreted a hundred different ways. “Okay. See you guys tomorrow then. I gotta pull the car around to the other side of the church and pick up Stacy.”

The moment we’re alone, I whirl on Ryan. “You don’t have to take me for food. I’ll be okay until later.”

“Sure—but I want to.”

“But what if the locksmith shows up while we’re gone?” I’m grasping for an excuse that will keep me from being locked in close quarters with Ryan Henderson.

“We’ll be back in enough time.”

“What if we’re not?!”

“I’ll know.”

I frown. “How? Are you suddenly all-knowing and I didn’t realize it?”

“Yes. I’m omniscient. Get in the car, June.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Okay, listen. If I get in that car with you…I don’t…” My gaze drops and I shift on my feet again because these heels are really cutting into my skin now. “I don’t want you to talk about being into me or us going on a date or anything that feels as if it belongs in an alternate universe than the one I’ve known all these years, got it? Because I just…I’m having a lot of feelings tonight and I can’t take more stress to my nervous system.”

Ryan smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Okay, I promise.” And then he drops to one knee in front of me.

“Oh my god, Ryan, I just said no feelings and you’re proposing!”

The look he gives me—so very flat before he reaches forward and takes my calf in his hand, lifting my foot off the ground. “I’m taking your heels off. I can tell they’re killing you.”

“They’re not—” I start as he works the clasps, but then pause when he pulls off the heel and we both see the blisters where the shoes were cutting into the tops of my feet. And this, my dears, is why you should never wear new heels to an event without breaking them in first. I can’t help but wiggle my toes with their new delicious freedom. A fresh wave of feelings strikes me with the force of a monsoon. Ryan noticed I was uncomfortable before I even said anything.

It’s unacceptable for him to be sweet and attentive before he drives off after the wedding and leaves me behind again.

As he stands, my black high heels in his hand, I glare at him. “Next time, maybe just suggest I take them off instead of doing it yourself.”

He smiles and leans in closer to whisper in my ear, “No way, June Bug. Get in the car.”

—

In his rental car, we’re silent as we pull out of the church parking lot. I expect us to turn onto the main road and drive until we hit some place that Ryan deems suitable to eat, but nearly die of shock when instead, he crosses the main road and drives right into the parking lot of a Taco Bell.

My gasp is over-the-top loud. “His Supreme Chef-ness is taking me to get fast food?”

He cuts his eyes to me briefly. “Just because I make gourmet food doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good drive-through taco every once in a while.”

“I’m literally stunned.”

“Quit.”

“I can’t wait to watch you eat this. Can I take pictures?”

He grunts a laugh as he steers us into the line, guided by the neon glowing sign. “Out of context, that sounds extremely dirty.”

I lean back heavily against the seat and eye him. “It’s just so shocking. What kind of fast-food taco does a Michelin chef get, anyway?”

“Just tell me what you want.”

I order three soft tacos with no lettuce, and Ryan orders a Beefy Crunch Burrito. I’m floored even just hearing those words come out of his mouth. When our food is in hand and he’s pulled into a parking spot that faces the road (with a clear view of my car in the parking lot) he sorts through the bag of delicious goodness to hand me my tacos.

“Told you I’d know if the locksmith arrived or not.” He grins, gesturing out the window.

I take a huge bite of taco, feeling my nerves and sadness settle into something more comfortable and bearable. I want to say it’s the food and my blood sugar rising back to normal levels, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s Ryan. The man I don’t want to admit I like as much as I do.

He notices my smile. “Will you tell me why you were crying earlier?”

For a minute, there are only the sounds of our crinkling wrappers in the car, and Ryan doesn’t rush me. I look out at the church, where, in less than twenty-four hours, my best friend will get married—completely changing her life and mine as a result. “I’m selfish.”

“Try again,” he says in a soft tone.

“I am, though. I’m selfish because I don’t want Stacy to get married tomorrow. And I don’t want her to move away or sell her portion of our business.” I leave out that my heart is also wrenching at the thought of him leaving after the wedding. “I want her to stay here and keep showing up every day to the shop and run the business side by side with me.”

Ryan’s brows pull together. “Yeah, Logan told me Stacy is selling her half of Darlin’ Donuts.” I nod and he falls quiet for a minute. “Who is she selling it to?”

“Not sure yet. I’ve had a few meetings already with potential buyers, but I’d rather live in a smelly shoe than own a business with any of them.”

“Why don’t you buy it then and run it yourself?”

Again with that question. The same one Jake asked me and that I’ve been asking myself on repeat ever since Stacy told me she was selling her portion. I shrug and ball up my wrapper, going for taco number two. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Someone has a lot of questions tonight.

“Because I can’t. Can you hand me my second taco?” He moves the bag out of my reach. “Ryan.”