Page 32 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Her fingers freeze on the cash register screen. “We don’t have that last item on our menu.”

“Funny.” I point to her looping writing on the chalkboard above, gesturing to the tagline under today’s specials. “I thought your motto is ‘If you can imagine it, we can make it happen.’”

“That applies to pastries, E.” She composes herself, pastes on a smile. “Anything else I can get you?”

I glance behind me. We have our usual audience—Delilah’s acting troupe, including narc Sandra—watching me, but there’s no one in line. I lean my hips into the counter and lower my voice. “I have to do something tough tomorrow afternoon and didn’t want to do it alone. Figured since we’re friends now, I’d check if you could come.”

She fiddles with the ring on her finger, looping it in a circle. “Fine. Meet me here tomorrow.”

“Delilah.” The pierced baker is back, looking none too pleased. “The dishwasher’s not working again, and Leon can’t get here until Tuesday.”

Delilah groans. “Why does equipment always break on weekends?”

Because Life has a twisted sense of humor, but Delilah’s dilemma surprisingly works to my advantage. “I can fix it.”

She whirls on me. “No, you can’t.”

“Actually, I can. I worked in a restaurant for a bit washing dishes.” More like four years. Easy mindless work before my publishing contract, when I couldn’t handle school or anything requiring focus. “The machine I used was old and broke constantly. I eventually learned how to fix it. Depending on what’s wrong, I might be able to get yours working.”

Delilah nibbles her lip.

The pierced baker scrutinizes me, like I somehow sabotaged their dishwasher, then she sighs. “On top of the regular work, we have to bake those sample cakes for the Rothman wedding. Without a working dishwasher, we’ll be here all night.”

The only Rothmans I remember lived near the old quarry and used to chase Avett and me away when we’d blast music from my iPod. “Who’s getting married? Aaron or Kim?”

Delilah’s eyes go soft. “Aaron, next month. He’s having a short engagement and an intimate wedding at that fancy resort at Sheldrake Falls.”

I don’t remember Aaron well. He was quiet and kept to himself, but I like talking about real weddings. Real commitments instead of reprising our Masterpiece Theatre roles. Delilah needs reminding that some people find true love. “Who’s his lucky bride?”

She grins so wide I find myself grinning too. “Ricky Sellers.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Ricky Sellers of the Tweeds Ricky Sellers?” Our high school’s famed garage band, the crew who gave me my first toke and let me hang around like the lanky outlier I was.

“The one and only.”

Forget grinning. I’m a prize-winning jack-o’-lantern. Ricky dated girls during high school. No one for long, and he didn’t wax poetic about female celebrity crushes while we lounged in his basement, but I wouldn’t have guessed he was gay or bi. Granted, I had a limited view of sexuality when I was younger, but I’m genuinely surprised and happy for him.

Unfortunately, the happier I feel, the more my jack-o’-lantern dims. This news is another example of how much I’ve missed. I wasn’t here to support Ricky when he came out. I wasn’t here to congratulate him on his engagement or help plan him a wickedly embarrassing bachelor party. All my old friends have grown up, dealt with their own challenges, moved on with their lives, and I missed every second of it.

“I’ll have to reach out to him,” I say. Hope he doesn’t riddle me with hate bullets like Avett and half of the town. “And my offer still stands. If I fix your dishwasher, you won’t have to work all night and be too tired for our appointment tomorrow.”

I’ll also be able to cross number twenty off my list: find ways to help Delilah in her everyday life. This is a big list item. One I’m happy to cross off again and again. I want to make Delilah’s life easier. Happier. Lighten her burdens any way I can.

She moves the pens on the counter to the right, then realigns them to the left, then returns them to the right. “Fine. I also have my own wedding stuff to do, so this will be a big help. No charge on your order today. I’ll also pay you. Just track your hours.”

“The free coffee and muffin are enough.” I walk around the counter, toss a suck-on-this smirk to that narc Sandra, who’s no doubt trying to mastermind ways to bring me down.

I follow Delilah into her shop’s kitchen. She takes one look at the batter a young guy is mixing and winces. “Leif, did you use salt instead of sugar in the brownie batter?”

He frowns at the mixer, then his eyes slide to the salt container beside it. “Oh, shit. How the hell did I do that?”

“Kitchen rule. Always double-check your ingredients. No exceptions. Dump the batch and start over. Also . . .” Her tone softens. “Great job on the scones this morning.”

He nods, relaxing as he dumps the messed-up batter. I blink at Delilah’s profile, impressed at how well she handled that screwup. She was stern but kind, keeping her employee in positive spirits.