But all I could wonder is if that’s the only reason I’d said it. And, most confusing of all, when I did eventually drift off, I’d had a horrible dream. I was at a wedding. Not Nash and Anna’s wedding, but mine and Harley’s. I was dressed in a bright pink wedding dress with poufy sleeves, and just as we were about to kiss as husband and wife, Harley turned to me, pointed a finger at me and called me a whore. The wedding guests chased me out of the church, throwing wedding cake at me as I ran. I woke with a start. My skin was dripping with sweat, I was breathless like I’d just ran a half-marathon, and I was so consumed with confusion and guilt, I couldn’t think straight as I tried so hard to make sense of everything.

Hours later, and it’s still only four in the morning. The sun hasn’t even begun to rise yet. I’ve been staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast from the trees outside my bedroom dance around the room for what feels like forever. But I’ve lain here long enough, allowing myself to get carried away with the confusing and conflicting thoughts consuming my mind while tossing and turning, and it’s driving me crazy. So, I force myself to get up, get showered and dressed, and get to the store super early.

I’m seriously behind with Nash and Anna’s wedding cake, so the extra few hours should help kick my butt into gear. Normally I’m much more prepared, but my head has been all over the place the last few days, and last night spent reminiscing with Nash about the old days, remembering how in love with one another we truly were, and my dream about Harley haven’t helped at all. Maybe a day spent locked in the kitchen is just what I need to help to take my mind off everything, even if I am making a cake for the love of my life’s wedding to someone else.

As I wait for the oven to chime, I allow my mind to wander back to last night, to the moment Nash inched so incredibly close to me there was barely enough room between the two of us to allow for a breath. Would I have kissed him back if he’d tried? I’d like to think I wouldn’t do that … that I have more respect for myself, and for Anna—but, after everything I’ve done this week so far, I’m seriously beginning to doubt my own integrity.

As I stand here watching the timer, deliberating with myself over whether or not I would have kissed a soon-to-be married man, my mind flashes to Harley and what feels like guilt begins to twist low in my belly, and I don’t know why. What is wrong with me? I wanted Nash back. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to be the one he chose, then, when he almost does, I do a complete one-eighty and I don’t even know why. I feel physically sick as the timer on the oven dings, echoing through the kitchen and pulling me from my thoughts. But I force myself to forget about Nash for the time being, and I keep my traitorous mind busy while the cakes cool, whipping up buttercream frosting for the crumb coat, and a dark chocolate ganache for the filling.