Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I didn’t fail at college since he didn’t exactly give me a chance to make any of my own choices. Instead, I tell him to be safe before I end the call.
Having a sibling that’s ten years older than you is weird. Jamie isn’t quite a brother but he’s not quite a parent either. He’s a mix of the two roles though he definitely seems to think he’s more of a parent. I still don’t even have access to my trust fund despite being twenty-two.
As I’m hanging up, Amos reappears with a toolbox in hand. “Figured we’d need these at some point.”
“That’s perfect,” I say as I reach for the box labeled decorations. There’s one thing that needs to be put in place first. It’s my favorite item but when I open the box, the splintered wood that greets me has my eyes filling with tears.
“What is it?” Amos pushes away from the donut case that he was inspecting to come stand beside me. He scowls at the broken wooden sign. It’s in so many pieces that it’ll be next to impossible to fix it. “I take it that was custom-made.”
I blink away the tears, not willing to cry in front of Amos. He already thinks I’m a little kid and that phone call with Jamie probably reminded him of all the reasons we can never be together.
“My dad.” My breath catches in my throat. I don’t know if I can even put into words how precious this little blue sign is or rather was. It’s too badly damaged to be repaired.
I’m silent for a few minutes before I finally manage to compose myself enough to speak again. “He made it for me when I was eight. I’d just started this silly little roadside bakery stand. My desserts were awful, but he believed in me. The sign used to read Lyla’s Bakery in these pretty block letters.”
He was the only person in my entire life that’s believed in me wholeheartedly. When I told Jamie I was dropping out of college to focus on my baking full-time and wanted to use my trust fund to build it, he was angry with me. He told me I’d amount to nothing and end up living on the streets.
The next day, Jamie called and apologized. He told me he’d support my dream, whatever that looked like. That’s a big reason why this little donut shop has to succeed. I want to show my brother that little Lyla can stand on her own two feet without his help.
“I know it’s silly, being sad over a sign.” I step away from Amos and will myself to calm down.
“It’s not silly,” Amos offers, compassion shining in those blue eyes of his. I wish he’d hug me, wrap his strong arms around me and offer me the comfort of his body. But that would probably be dangerous ground, given the way we were flirting before that phone call.
“With that sign, I felt like he was still with me,” I explain, feeling the familiar rush of heartache all over again.
Grief is a weird thing. You think you’re over it. You think you’ve managed to put it all in this closet in your mind. Then you accidentally open the door and suddenly all of your emotions from the loss are spilling out, creating another mess on the floor.
Squaring my shoulders, I pull out the few decorations that survived in the box undamaged and set them aside before I tape the box closed. “I guess this goes out by the garbage now.”
“I’ll take this to my employee area and discard it later,” Amos says, scooping up the box into his strong arms.
I frown when I notice it. “You’re still wearing that.” It’s a paracord bracelet I gave him before his final mission.
He glances at the green rope. “I never take it off.”
Amos never talked about his missions but for some reason, he seemed uneasy about that one. I gave him the bracelet, promising it would bring him home safely. I want to ask him about it, why he’s never removed it.
But I don’t and he leaves to take the box to his employee’s room.
The coffee machine dings, letting me know the coffee is finally done. I grab the cups and pour both of us a mug. Those times spent camping together taught me a lot of little things about him. Like how he prefers his coffee with cream only, no sugar.
When he returns, I pass him his coffee then make my own drink. The warm beverage burns all the way down, comforting me.
Amos takes a sip before clearing his throat. “I do too.”
I frown at him over the rim of my coffee cup. “What?”
“You said your dad believed in you. I do too. Just thought you should know.” He sets his coffee cup on the counter and moves to the front of the shop, eyeing a bakery display case that set me back nearly ten grand. Starting a business is not cheap. “Where do you want me to put this one?”