I lean my forehead into my hand and blink back the fresh tears that threaten to fall. How can I possibly lose him? How can I ever forgive myself for letting this feud go on for so long? For never talking to him and letting years of stubbornness and pride fester between us?
“Rowan.” I look up at him. “It’s going to be okay, lad. The life I’ve had has been beautiful. I’m a blessed man, and even though our time is short, I plan on making the most of it.” He reaches for my hand. “Take me back to Corsekelly. Please.”
For the second time today, tears streak down my cheeks as I nod. At this point, there is nothing else I can do besides soak in the moments I have left with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BONNIE
Broken heart: One . . . still.
Times I’ve thrown up from nerves: Three.
Texts and calls that have been returned: None.
Amount of cake eaten to mask my feelings: Let’s just say I’ve had to make a lot of cherry cake this week.
Today is the big day, and I’m not sure if I want to cry, smile, or go throw up again.
Deep breaths.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Everything is going to be okay.
In one two three, out one two three.
Tamping down the threatening nausea, I glance around the coffee shop one last time. One minute to open, and I don’t feel ready—despite burying my head in work the last few days.
I’ve baked, practiced drinks, perfected every last detail when it comes to the shop, and made sure to collect pamphlets from everyone around town so I can promote all the special points of Corsekelly to tourists. Even with all that, I don’t feel ready, and I think I know why: I don’t have my two rocks next to me.
I haven’t heard anything from Rowan or Dakota, and it’s slowly eating away at me. My only hope is that they show up today and let me apologize profusely in person, which will lead to us hugging it out and everything going back to normal.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I quickly pull it out to see the alarm I set for myself. Opening day.
With one more deep breath, I go to the front door, reach out my shaky hand, and open it. Expecting to see a few smiling faces, I put on a smile myself and step outside, where I’m greeted by . . . no one.
My smile fades, and my heart sinks. I glance around and look down the street, off toward the Hairy Coo Footpath, but . . . nothing. Not one soul.
Not one friend.
Not one boyfriend.
Absolutely no one.
Trying not to get upset—I just opened, after all—I place the OPEN flag in its holster, prop the door open completely, and then step back into the coffee shop, where I try to busy myself.
I move around the counter, straightening mugs for the tenth time this morning. Then I check to make sure everything is stocked up, confirm that there are plenty of butteries, scones, and cake in the pastry case. I tuck in the napkins to be sure they’re not crooked. All set, just like it was a half hour ago.
Tables are clean.
Vases have fresh flowers.
Drinks are ready to be made.
There’s nothing else I can do.
I glance down at my phone. Ten thirty.
My heart sinks.
I can’t believe that not one person has shown up. But, most importantly, I can’t believe Rowan and Dakota aren’t here. Did I hurt them so badly that they won’t be here for me? Are they so angry they refuse to come support me?
Dakota and I have fought before, but never at this level. She knows how hard I’ve been working. She knows how important this is to me. Is she really not going to show up?
Feeling distraught, I sit down in the chair behind the counter and bounce my legs up and down.
Please don’t fail.
Please don’t fail.
I’m not sure what will happen to my self-esteem if this doesn’t work out, if I once again fail to pull it together to make something of myself. To make something of my life.
Time passes.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
An hour.
And no one.
Not one tour bus. Not one customer.
I sink deeper and deeper into my chair, tears streaking down my cheeks, depression starting to sink in.
When the clock hits one in the afternoon, I crumble to the floor and lean against the wall, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
Not a single soul has come to the shop.
No texts.
No phone calls.
I’m not sure what hurts more—that Rowan and Dakota never showed up, or that I’ve failed. I pick at a piece of lint on my leggings as I consider it. There is no doubt in my mind which one hurts more.
Dakota and Rowan.
“Hello?” a voice calls out.