“Well—” Fuck. My brain is 90 percent white noise and 10 percent whatever the trio on the stage is playing at the moment. And that 10 percent finally recognizes the song: it’s an instrumental version of Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe.”

And if that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is. “Yes, actually, that’s right,” I say to Jack. And the entire bakery. “I love you. I’m, like, hopelessly in love with you. And I was supposed to come here tonight and offer you this gift in friendship, but I don’t want to be your friend.”

Jack can’t stop the smile from curling in the corner of her mouth. “You don’t?”

“This was never about friendship.” I don’t want to be Jack’s friend. I have friends. What I want is a witness. I want someone who sees me, someone who experiences every failure alongside me, someone who chooses me. And I want that person to be Jack.

So I’m going to go ahead and embarrass myself in a room filled with fifty strangers. “I fell in love with you after spending one day with you, which is a lot, I know. Definitely not something you’re supposed to admit, because it’s love-bomby and Romeo-ish, but it’s true. I fell in love with you that day, and I was so scared of getting rejected, that I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It meant so much to me.”

Jack bites down on the edge of her smile, and she’s about to reject me. The trio is playing the chorus of “Call Me Maybe,” and Jack is about to tell me it doesn’t mean anything to her anymore. I’m scared, but I’m trying so hard to be honest. So I tell her: “I am feeling very emotionally vulnerable right now, and I’m afraid of taking this risk with you, Jack. But I also know that you’re a risk worth taking, and if there is any part of you that thinks you might be able to forgive me—”

I stop. Around me, the room has gone quiet. The clang of forks and the din of happy conversations has muted. The band has stopped playing Carly. Even the lavender walls are holding their breath as Jack looks at me without an ounce of hope in her eyes. “Ellie,” she says, as quietly as she can, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can take that risk with you again.”

A few people in the room make sounds of sympathy. One person laughs.

“I understand, and I appreciate your consideration,” I say with all the dignity I can muster as I attempt to swallow down the impending tears. “I’m extremely proud of everything you’ve accomplished here, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”