Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
A grin tugs at my lips as I merge onto the highway. This is it. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I walk into Slice Slice Baby unannounced, maybe right in the middle of lunch rush. I might bring her flowers, or maybe just show up at the counter and order a slice.
The miles stretch ahead, but my chest feels lighter with every sign that points toward Nashville. I turn on the radio, letting some old country songs fill the cab, ignoring the swirl of traffic. My mind drifts to the memory of holding Aubree’s hand, the warmth of her gaze, the way she’d nudge me whenever I was too serious. In just a few hours, I’ll be there.
She has no idea I’m coming. And I can’t wait to change that.
Chapter 30
Aubree
It’s late afternoon at Slice Slice Baby, and the usual hum of conversation and sizzling ovens is starting to wind down. School let out a while ago, so the rush of teenagers has tapered off to a quiet trickle of customers. I rub my temple, a dull headache forming from a day of slinging dough, mixing sauces, and managing the constant chatter of orders. My mother stands behind the counter, reorganizing our brand-new menus for what feels like the hundredth time.
“You need a break,” she insists, her brow furrowed with maternal concern. “You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends like this, Aubree. You’ve been back for a couple of weeks, and you haven’t stopped once to breathe.”
I sigh, busy punching an order into the system. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
She gives me a pointed look. “That’s what you always say right before you crash.”
The computer beeps, confirming the order, and I tear off the receipt. “Well,” I respond quietly, “I can’t exactly take time off. Not when we’re still picking up the pieces around here.”
Her gaze softens, and she sets the menus down, coming around the counter to lay a gentle hand on my arm. “Aubree, I see how exhausted you are.” She hesitates, then touches on the subject I’ve been avoiding all day. “And I know you haven’t heard from Boone in a few days.”
The mention of Boone’s name sends a pang through me—like a needle prick in my heart. “He’s been busy, I guess,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “I know he’s got a lot going on in Saint Pierce.”
Mom’s expression turns sympathetic. “You miss him, don’t you?”
I force a small laugh, feigning a casualness I don’t feel. “Yeah. I do. I miss him… a lot. But maybe this is just the way it is, you know? We live in different places, and life is hectic. I can’t expect him to put his whole career on hold just to call me every night.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to protest, but then closes it. After a moment, she steps in and pulls me into a quick hug. I hug her back, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. I didn’t realize until this moment how much I need the comfort.
“You’ll figure it out,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “One step at a time. Now, I have a meeting with our realtor about some changes to the house. You going to be okay closing up alone tonight?”
I step back and nod, forcing a smile. “Of course. Stuart’s already headed home early for once, but I can handle it. There’s not much left to do.”
She gives me one last searching look before grabbing her purse. “Lock the door as soon as you’re done, okay?”
“Will do, Mom.”
About an hour later, the last straggle of customers has left, and the shop is officially closed. I flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED, lock the door, and go through my usual closing routine. Wiping down the counters, putting leftover dough in the fridge, loading a small tray of unbaked pizza crusts into the walk-in cooler. Every so often, my mind flicks to Boone. Where is he now? Probably busy with some intense security job, or maybe he’s just buried under a mountain of work. Part of me worries—what if he’s drifting away? And I hate that I feel that dread creeping in, but I can’t help it. Love can be terrifying when you don’t know where you stand.
I push the thought aside and focus on brushing the last bits of flour off the stainless-steel prep table. The overhead lights buzz softly, casting long shadows across the now-empty dining area. I can’t help but glance outside, at the dimly lit street. It’s quiet tonight, just the glow of streetlamps and the occasional car passing by.
Finally, I turn off the majority of the lights, leaving only a small overhead bulb in the kitchen. I’m about to head to the back to grab my purse and keys when I hear it: