I turn to leave before Ari and Dylan and all the Kim-Prescotts and a roomful of strangers see me cry, but then I remember the gift still tucked under my arm. I turn back. “Sorry, this is for you. It’s a… a friendship gift. You don’t have to take it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Jack takes the gift from my hands without looking at me, and I turn back toward the door.

Except, shit—for some reason I’m turning around again. “I know you’re afraid of letting other people see you and help you—that you’re afraid you’ll disappoint people if you let them in. But you never once disappointed me, Jack.”

I clear my throat, and damn—my voice is cracking. Because I am crying quite hard. I steel myself. “I love that you’re restless and unsatisfied, that you’re both allergic to boredom and somehow crave a boring life in the suburbs, and I think other people will love that about you, too. If you let them see it. You have so much love to give, and I know you want your witness.”

Jack frowns, and I cut in with—“And that’s not me! I’m not your person, and that’s fine!” This snot situation is getting a little out of control at the moment. I’m about two seconds from needing to wipe my nose on my sleeve, so I better end this thing. “But I hope someday you’ll drop your shiny shield so someone can see the messy, honest you.”

And before the snot becomes visible on my face, I turn away one last time and flee the Butch Oven.

Chapter Thirty-Two

There is almost an inch of snow on the ground when I trip out of the bakery.

Even though I’m crying and snotting, I also have to laugh at the fine layer of fresh snow on the sidewalk. I’ve overcome so much—grown and changed so much—yet here I am, heartbroken in the snow over Jack Kim-Prescott yet again. I’m alone now, so I might as well rub all my snot all over my sleeve.

I failed. In a passionate, public display of love, I failed in epic fashion. I grand-gestured the woman I love in full view of all her family and friends, and I crashed and burned. And—

I take a deep breath. And it’s okay.

It’s not okay right now, obviously. Right now, I need to take off my pants and crawl into my bed. I need to eat all the things and draw through this pain. I need my heating pad and my weighted blanket and a very long cry.

But I think it will be okay, someday. Probably.

Hopefully.