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“I don't want you to go,” he says, and my heart flutters at the honesty in his tone.
“Me, either.” The last thing I want is to hang up.
Putting my phone on speaker, I click over to my social media, watching as the numbers beside the little red subscriber button steadily increase. My heart skips a beat—three thousand two hundred and seventy-one. The idea that so many people are interested in my baking adventures sends a warm thrill through me.
“Wow,” I whisper to myself, scrolling through comments filled with praise and heart emojis. They love the way I drizzle caramel over baked apple slices, the passion in my voice when I talk about the perfect flaky crust and tips to make them. I never thought my quiet love for baking would draw an audience, but here they are, craving more of my homemade recipes.
“I know, I’m pretty amazing.” Chase sounds amused. His voice breaks the spell, his tone pulling me back from numbers to our call.
“Sorry, I’m just... amazed by all this.” I gesture at my phone screen, even though he can’t see it. “It's growing, Chase. Really growing.”
“That's because you're amazing, like I said.” I can almost hear the smile in his voice. It’s easy to imagine him leaning back in his chair, feet stretched out before him, his arms behind his head, exuding that effortless charm that always draws people in.
“When are you coming home next?” he asks. The question, filled with longing, moves my thoughts to the future—a future I see clearly with him by my side.
“I'm not sure,” I say. “You know how it is with the bar, school, and these videos now.”
I pause, the image of Chase's deep-set eyes and unruly hair filling my mind. “Chase, I—” My voice falters, heavy with emotion. “I love you.”
I mean the words. And someday, when the time is right, I think we'll end up married. Not yet, though, we're still so young.
“I love you, too.” His low, rumbling voice sends shivers down my spine. “Let’s keep building our dreams, side by side.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I say, nibbling on my lip and feeling grateful he understands. I picture what our future might hold—more of my baking social media videos, perhaps a cookbook, and Chase, always Chase, with his unwavering love and devotion. “Just... don't forget me while you're out there conquering the world.”
“I never could,” he says. “You're permanently built into my life, sweetheart. Nothing will change that.”
A surge of heat blossoms in my chest, spreading outwards until I feel flush. Even with all this distance between us, I feel as if he’s right here beside me, wrapping me into a tight hug.
“Okay, goodbye for now,” I say. I can imagine his strong, capable hands pulling me into a hug, closing the gap between us, if only for a night. But he’s never stayed the night with me. I’ve never spent the night with anyone in that sense, actually. I mean, sleepovers, but never with men and never adult-themed.
“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he says, his voice tickling across my skin.
With a promise to call him after my shift, I end the call.
I jump out of bed, my movements brisk as I sift through my wardrobe. While I rush, I try to shift my thinking, getting out of the schoolwork headspace, out of my baking mindset, and into my work brain.
I select an outfit with care, something comfortable yet flattering enough to boost my confidence and carry me through the long work night ahead. But not so flattering that I’ll draw too much unwanted attention. Not that any attention from anyone other than Chase is wanted, just that I’m convinced I could wear a circus tent and someone would likely still hit on me right around last call.
As I dress, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bright with dreams and determination, and a soft blush graces my cheeks. I check the touch of makeup I’d put on to make sure there are no smudges of black circles under my eyes from my mascara, and with that, I breathe a sigh of relief. Another glance at the clock says I have two minutes before I have to leave.
So, before I can forget, I pull out my phone again and open my notes app. With a quick, trembling finger, I begin to write out my thoughts so I don’t lose them.
“Blackberry cheesecake? Or a blackberry compote for a regular cheesecake?” I whisper under my breath, visualizing the bright white pie with vivid purple fruit toppings dripping beautifully down the slice.
“Blackberry wine syrup…” I say, writing the words down as I go, excitement bubbling in my belly. I could pair them with blackberry pancakes. My mouth waters at the thought, and I think about the twists I can make on these classic desserts.
I glance at the clock, the numbers reminding me that I’m running late. “I need to get going,” I say. There is always this push and pull—never enough time to do all the things I want to do in a day between work, school, and my hobby-turned-obsession.
I work at a local bar, a place where the hours run late and customers are demanding. It’s not a glamorous life, but it pays the bills.
“Focus,” I whisper to myself, pulling my hair into a simple, no-nonsense ponytail. The scent of my own perfume, light and fruity, fills my senses as I spritz it onto the front of my neck and chest. With one last glance at my reflection, I grab my keys and phone, heading out the door.
Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it.
Chapter Three
Walker
