“Exactly! Without the baby, there would be no us! This is my whole damn point.”

It’s what keeps me holding back. Neither of us would move for the other. Not for the kind of feelings we had. Wyatt and I were dynamite in bed, but outside of that, we didn’t talk much.

“You still haven’t answered me. If you weren’t going to give this a real shot, why try?”

I don’t have an answer to give him, so I give him what I can and hope he understands the meaning behind the words. “You have no idea what it’s like to grow up thinking you’re worthless. It kept me from letting anyone in. It’s been easier to not get disappointed. I’ve kept my heart safe. So, when I push you, it’s because I’m scared. If I let you in fully, you won’t let me go!”

Wyatt lies back down, rolling onto his side, and I mimic the movement so I’m facing him. “You have every intention of going back, don’t you?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

Now, I’m losing more of my hold. I’m slipping each day.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything other than we’re having this kid. We’re going to be parents, and I don’t know how I feel about us.”

He smiles. “Okay, I can handle that. I’m going to work harder.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Each excuse that I had as to why this wouldn’t work is fading away.

And here I am, falling for him. Fast. I don’t trust myself. I’ve never been in love, and he’s only ever loved Presley. What if this isn’t real?

ANOTHER DAY OF SOAP OPERAS and surfing Facebook. I’ve been going slightly stir crazy the last week. Wyatt has to be ready to kill me. I’m at the farm every day, trying to fit in a little. Presley has been great, and I’ve been doing half her work since I’m bored. I’ve learned a lot about cattle, not that it’ll help me when I go back to Pennsylvania, but whatever.

Today has been harder for me. I’m depressed and really homesick. I miss the bakery, my friends (not that I have that many), and the city. I would love to take a walk through Old City, stop at a few stores, and then maybe see if anyone wanted to go to a Phillies game. Instead, I’m sitting here folding laundry and waiting for life to become fun again. Wyatt is normally home by now, but he said he had to stay late and help Cooper. Since Presley’s brother is the owner of the Townsend ranch, Wyatt doesn’t really get a say.

My phone flashes with a number I don’t know. “Hello?” I answer.

“Angie?”

“Yes,” I hesitate.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the voice rings of relief. “This is Mrs. Kannan, sugar.”

“Oh, hi,” I say with surprise. “Is everything okay?”

A few seconds of a pause. “Not really.” She coughs. “You see—” She breaks into another coughing fit. “I’m terribly sick and I have to get those cupcakes for the festival tomorrow.” She starts hacking and wheezing. She clears her throat and comes back on the line. “I can’t work and those cupcakes won’t make themselves.”

I see where this is going.

“I’m not the greatest baker. Presley would really be the better option,” I suggest.

Presley spent her time in the bakery part and was the real talent behind the curtain. I did a little, but I mostly worked in front and did bookkeeping stuff.

“I asked her, but she’s already baking pies with her mama. I’m desperate.” She manages the last word before hacking up a lung.

If I say no, I’d be a total bitch. “Okay, of course,” I say quickly. “Yes. I’ll help out however I can.”

“Thank you so much, sugar.” Hmm, she sounds much better. “I mean . . .” She starts to wheeze. “You’re saving a dear old lady from great embarrassment. I’ve had cupcakes at the festival since I can remember, which is a long time.”

I silently laugh. “I’m glad to help, Mrs. Kannan. Do I need to come by and get the keys?”

“No, no, sugar,” she replies instantly. “Wyatt knows how to get in. I don’t want you catching whatever I have. Bye now.”

She disconnects, and I look at the phone. I’ve been played. Expertly I might add.

I text Wyatt about the call, and tell him I need him to get me into the bakery to help. Thirty minutes later, he walks through the door with dirt all over his face.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming home. Presley called explaining I need to make about a thousand cupcakes by tomorrow.”

He grins. “Our festival is an affair.”

“Sounds like it.”

Wyatt walks into the bedroom and returns a few minutes later in only a towel. “I’ll clean up and take you over.”

I go to protest, but he shuts the door before I can say anything. I wonder why he didn’t ask me about going to the festival. I figure that would be something he’d attend. Maybe he doesn’t, though? Weird.

Once he’s all clean, we’re on our way to the small shop that sits in the middle of the main street, which is freaking adorable. The store fronts have the old version of the flag banners that hang in a half circle. There are big tents lining the street and little fair-looking rides down at the other end. If he doesn’t bring me here tomorrow, I’ll kill him.

“This is so damn cute,” I muse as we walk to the back of the store.

“It’s something.”

“Were you going to take me to the festival?”

He looks over with the key in the lock. “I figured you’d hate it.”

“Why?” I ask with shock. “Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t know if draggin’ you to a big event in town would earn me any points. I can’t tell if I should make you go to things or keep you away from them.”

That hurt. I guess I haven’t really wanted to become a part of the town. Or really a part of anything solid here. It makes sense why he’d feel that way. Ugh. I hate myself sometimes. “I’m sorry. I really would love to go.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “If you’d like to take me.”

He grins. “Honey, you’re working it now.”

“What?”

“You agreed to bake, but you also need to be out front to sell the cupcakes. There’s no way these ladies are going to let you slide.”

I gasp. “You knew!”

“Of course I knew. I’ve been getting worked by that group since I was in diapers. They knew you couldn’t say no. They found an in and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

Son of a bitch. I freaking knew it! Then again, I never would’ve been able to say no even though she was faking. Presley used to joke about their meddling, but I thought she was being dramatic.

They showed me.

We enter the bakery, and I’m taken back in time. The appliances are all older, well used, and loved. It’s beyond clean, but not stark. The entire bakery is filled with deep reds, navy blues, and worn whites. It’s Americana décor at its finest. All the pieces are eclectic, but purposeful. There’s linens on the five tables in the corner. The glass case in front is filled with different cakes and bakery items. The wall is chalkboard with all the flavors and their prices.