I’ve just finished frosting the three layers when I look up, surprised to see that it’s beginning to fall dark outside. I’ve been at it all day. In between the crucial stages of Nash and Anna’s cake, I’ve kept myself busy making a whole batch of blue and pink cupcakes for a baby shower. I placed orders for supplies, paid a few bills, served my regular customers—I did just about anything to keep my mind occupied and off two particular men and the fact that I’m about to see both of them at The End Zone.

I’ve been dreading it all day for two reasons. I’m terrified to see Nash after our encounter last night because I know we really need to talk about everything that’s going on between us. But, on the other hand, I rack my brain with what I might possibly say so as not to sound like a complete and utter idiot. I’m almost ninety-nine percent certain he was going to kiss me on the balcony. But, what if by that one percent chance I’m wrong? What if it had all been a figment of my imagination, made up in my slightly intoxicated mind?

I sigh heavily, checking the time on the clock as I remove my apron. I’m late. And, to top it all off, I look like crap and I don’t even have time to go home and change. So, I freshen up as best as I can in the tiny bathroom I share with the Burt’s Butcher next door. After twisting my hair up into a messy knot on top of my head, I wipe my face with a cleansing towelette before adding a sweeping of pink lip gloss and a few strokes of mascara to help brighten up the tired eyes beneath my glasses. Looking down at myself, I cringe. I’m wearing overalls, for God’s sake. I could pass as a damn janitor. Cursing under my breath, I brush at the dusting of flour from down the front before shrugging in resignation. There isn’t much more I can do about my current state and, besides, it’s only The End Zone.

Securing the long strap of my purse over my shoulder, I cross the road and continue up the sidewalk until I come to a stop outside Harley’s bar. For a Wednesday it’s relatively busy. I walk up the few steps and head through the open saloon doors to see most of the tables occupied with all eyes intently glued to the baseball game playing on every one of the television screens. I linger in the entryway scanning the entire space, my eyes zeroing in on a familiar blonde standing by the pool tables toward the back. The same blonde who currently has Nash’s hands all over her while she giggles like an obnoxious schoolgirl. Strangely enough, though, it doesn’t bother me like I expect. It just frustrates me, and I have no idea what that’s about.

“Great,” I hiss under my breath nowhere near as mentally prepared for tonight as I need to be.