Page 37 of Booked on You
“I have.” I can’t help but glance toward the cottage that’s splashed in sunlight.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” she begins. “Not even with Sara, and you almost married her. So glad you didn’t.” She folds her arms. “That girl never saw your art as anything more than a phase. She thought you’d grow out of it, like you’d eventually come to your senses and put on a tie.”
“She wanted stability. I will never blame her for that,” I say.
“No, she wanted to mold you into someone you’re not,” Millie says. “You’re an artist, Ezra. She knew that when you met. That’s who your mother raised you to be.”
I nod, the memory of that last fight with Sara flickering in my mind. She’d stood in this very kitchen, asking me to choose between a life she wanted and a calling I couldn’t let go.
“Does the writer know what you do?” she asks.
“No,” I admit. “She thinks I’m a pottery collector, and I find it so fucking adorable.” My smile spreads. “She’s been to the shop,though, and bought a mug. She’s already a fan, without knowing I’m behind it.”
Millie places her hand on my back. “You know, anyone else would’ve named their pottery line after their truck or their dog. I find it sweet that you picked your mama’s middle name. You’re a sentimental little shit.”
I smile. The nameParisstill catches me off guard sometimes. Even now, years later.
“Your mom would be so proud of you,” she says, looking around. “I am. She would’ve loved to see how far you’ve come without compromising who you are.”
I nod once, swallowing the lump that forms in my throat.
“Thank you.” I drink more coffee to give myself something to do before my emotions take over. I’m a pro at tucking them away.
“You seem happy. Haven’t seen that smile in a long time.” Her phone buzzes and steals her attention. She slides it out of her pocket, and her eyes widen. “Oh, honey. I gotta get to the bakery.”
Millie chugs her coffee, then gives me a quick hug. “Let me know when I can meet her.”
“She’snotstaying,” I confirm.
Millie shrugs. “Maybe not. But she’s here now. My schedule is conveniently clear.”
“Love you. Time for you to go.”
She lets out a hearty laugh. “You better be glad I have some town gossip to collect this mornin’ or I might be offended that you’re forcing me out. I expect an update.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I singsong as I follow her onto the front porch.
“Yes, you do.” She throws me a glance over her shoulder as she takes the steps. Her Cadillac is parked in the driveway. “Have you unpacked your mama’s boxes upstairs?”
“I haven’t.” I cross my arms over my chest, knowing I’ve been putting it off for way too long.
She gives me a look and a wave. “Bye, honey!”
When Millie backs out onto the street, she gives me two honks, then burns off.
If my aunt noticed the change in me, I’m fucking doomed.
She knows me better than I know myself.
CHAPTER 11
SCARLETT
Ireturn to the cottage, the toast already cooling in my hand. The butter is glossy against the surface. I set it on the counter and smile. It’s just toast. Bread. Butter. Jam. Something I’ve made for myself a hundred times in a hundred different moods. But this was made especially for me. I can’t seem to get past his selfless gestures.
Had I stayed, he would’ve cooked me an entire breakfast. I’m not used to anyone caring about me in the most basic ways. I’ve always been independent, so sometimes it’s hard for me to accept Ezra’s kindness. I’m trying, though, and that’s what matters.
He didn’t hand me bread. He sliced, toasted, and buttered it like it was his religion. And then added jam that I’m positive he made himself.
