“Now that’s not very hospitable, French Fry,” Willard calls.
I glare up at the sky. “That bird and I have already met, and we do not get along.”
French Fry squawks something that was probably obscene and flaps off.
I take the last sip of my latte and realize my hands have stopped shaking.
“I should keep walking,” I say.
Willard nods. “Loop’s not going to walk itself.”
I stand and brush the cardboard bits from my shorts. Then I hesitate.
“Thank you, Willard.”
He tips his hat just a little. “Chip and I are happy to help.”
I smile. “Thank you, Chip.”
Then I start down the path, heart thudding a little harder with every step.
Excitement slips in beside the nerves.
The thought of seeing Jake again.
Of not slipping past him this time.
For the first time, I don’t speed up to outrun the feeling.
I let it walk with me.
CHAPTER 7
EMORY
“There’s something I need to do,” I tell Granny, who’s perched on her stool as if it’s a throne and she’s fully prepared to rule another day from behind the counter.
She swivels toward me, slow and theatrical. “Go, go, honey. Take some doughnuts.”
“That’s actually a great idea. Thanks, Granny.”
I grab one of the pink boxes already assembled and flip it open on the counter. Crullers. Glazed. The old-fashioned kind with the cracked top Jake always claimed he didn’t want and then somehow finished every time.
I pause with my hand over the tray, then add one chocolate glazed. For courage. Or nostalgia. Or because I don’t know what else to do with my hands.
How did I know someone so completely—every order, every habit, every tiny preference—and now the only things I know about him come in headlines and sports segments?
I don’t know how he takes his coffee now. Or if he still hates sprinkles. Or if he still smiles the same way when he’s trying not to.
I blow out a breath so hard my lips vibrate and glance around to make sure nobody heard me.
Granny watches me over the top of her glasses.
“Don’t,” I say.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“That’s because your whole face is saying them.”