Page 66 of Ardently Yours

There’s still a part of me that always wishes he would say something instead of just brushing her off or ignoring her. He may be used to her by now, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the way she treats me like I’m an issue all the time.

Janet: Praying, but you need to be careful with that guy. My husband says he’s playing you.

Mary: Why don’t you just mind your own business, Janet, and pray for her instead of being so negative all the time?

Mama: Actually, Janet is the only one out of the five of you who’s married, so she knows a little something about relationships and men.

Kitty: Is this really the time to be calling Lizzie out on relationship stuff?

Lydia: Yeah, I feel like this is definitely not the time. Maybe making her feel bad about being single isn’t helpful. Period. And she finally finds a guy and runs off with him, and now you have a problem with that?

Me: First of all, I did not find a guy and run off with him. Second of all, Will and I have been friends for months, and I came with him to help him right now because he’s going through something. So if everybody could just chill and pray like I asked, then maybe we wouldn’t be in the group chat arguing about this. Seriously.

Mama: Maybe if you had just applied to those dating apps like I told you to, then we wouldn’t be in this situation, and you would be home with a man that we actually approve of.

Me: You mean a man like Billie? The guy who literally left me after he said he wanted to marry me? The guy that you invited to dinner without telling me?

Lydia: I think it’s safe to say now that Lizzie won’t be needing any dating apps anymore since she and Will are dating.

Mama: Yes, I know. I suppose I have to be happy about this. But I found out through a text from Lizzie. The senior walking group also have been talking about it. I missed the last walk so I did not get to see Will and Lizzie on their first couple outing.

Kitty: You also missed the big announcement Lizzie yesterday when we were having dinner.

Mama: This is the dinner that I wasn’t invited to? Is that why I wasn’t invited???

Me: I literally can’t deal with this right now. I’ll be back soon. Love you guys so much, but seriously, everybody needs to get it together. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.

I’m more than happy to focus on getting out of bed instead of texting them. Soon enough I’m showered, and dressed in the clothes Georgiana left for me to wear.

She had some new never worn clothes and said I could have them. I’m feeling like a new woman in the softest and most expensive pair of leggings, T-shirt, and undergarments I’ve ever worn.

I leave my hair down after using some spare leave-in conditioner that was left in the guest bathroom. It has my hair smelling like flowers and feeling silky. I walk down the grand staircase like I’m floating.

I pass through the empty living room, the family room with the piano, and head toward the kitchen. Before I turn the corner, I hear chatter and laughter coming from inside. I make my way into the kitchen, and the smell of the food is so strong it hits me the moment I walk in. I swear food has never smelled so good.

“Good morning.” Georgiana gives me a little wave, smiling at me from her place at the kitchen island.

She sips from a glass filled with orange juice and pats the stool next to her for me to come sit down. So I do.

“Well, good morning,” I say, smiling at her before looking over at Will.

He’s fixing a plate, filling it with bacon, eggs, and French toast, and he reaches over to place it in front of me along with a fork.

“Morning,” he says, pouring me a glass of orange juice.

He reaches over to set it beside my plate, and I reach up at the same time to take it from him.

Our fingers brush against each other, and we lock eyes as both of our hands hold onto the glass. I remember staying up late with him, baking in the kitchen, and how natural it felt to be close to him and to pretend that we were a couple for real.

Because I guess we’re not really pretending anymore. Or so we said in the wee hours of the morning.

But now the sun is out, and real life has begun again. I don’t know what something real between us will look like. So I take the glass from him, clearing my throat as my eyes drop down to my plate.

“Everything looks and smells amazing,” I say, digging into my food without hesitation.

The French toast has an extra dash of cinnamon on it, and for some reason I feel like Will knew this would be exactly how I liked it because I love cinnamon in pastries, and I definitely love it in lattes. When I lick my lips in pure bliss, enjoying the cinnamon-y breakfast, I don’t expect him to be looking over at me when I do it.

But there we are, locking eyes in the kitchen again. This time, his sister clears her throat, and we both look over at her.