Listen to Your Heart(34)

“Umm . . . maybe that’s why you’re not sleeping,” Lynsey mutters.

“Could be. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Sighing tiredly, I check my emails. As always, I have two new messages from Caleb. He’s emailing me twice a day—once at night and another first thing in the morning. I know I should delete them, but I can’t, because I’m an addict. An email addict who can’t delete unwanted emails. I have to read them first.

“Anything interesting in that inbox?”

“I’m going to kick your ass for giving him my email address.”

“Are you replying?”

“No.”

“But you’re reading them, which means you care.”

“Caring’s not the problem.”

“It’s only a few months, Skye. Can’t you—”

“No, Lynsey. I can’t.”

She smiles sadly before heading to her office. Breathing a sigh of relief, I check my work-related messages, answering the ones I can and ignoring the rest for later. I just don’t have the mental clarity to deal with all of them right now. Maybe later, when the second cup of coffee kicks in.

I skip Caleb’s messages, too. I prefer to read them at home . . . when I’m by myself, surrounded by tons of tissues and a large bottle of wine.

It’s been one week, and I haven’t slept more than three hours a night since Caleb’s confession on the playground. Night after night, I stare at my ceiling and wonder if I did the right thing. Am I being selfish and cold hearted? What would be so terrible about waiting until he was free? In the wee hours of the morning, I consider the possibility that maybe I’m wrong, but then I think about Luisa Martinez, and I remind myself that my happiness shouldn’t rely on that sweet woman taking her dying breath.

I can’t be mad at him. I can’t be mad anyone. There’s no villain in this scenario. I’m just trying to protect myself and my heart.

No matter how much it hurts.



Pierre makes the best wedding cakes in town. He’s also a shameless flirt. This doesn’t usually bother me because he always sends me home with extra samples, but today, my heart’s just not in it. Still, when he meets me at the door and hugs me tight, I try. I really try. But I don’t fool him for a second.

“You look tired, my sweet Skye. And pale.” He takes me by the hand and leads me to one of the tables in the back of the shop. “I know what you need. Come eat. Your groom awaits. And he looks just as miserable as you do.”

As we approach the table, the groom raises his head, and his tired blue eyes light up when they lock with mine.

I know I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time.

Lynsey Evans is dead.

Pierre must sense the tension. Probably because I refuse to sit down. Or formulate sentences.

“He’s your groom, yes?”

“He’s not my . . . I mean, yes. He’s the groom. Not my groom, but . . .” Get it together, Skye. “Yes. Thank you, Pierre. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

He walks back to the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone with the dessert samples. Always the gentleman, Caleb stands as I slowly walk toward the table. His eyes don’t leave mine as I sit down next to him. I reach for one of the forks, and I hear him mutter something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m going to kill Jules,” he says, sighing. “Skye, I had nothing to do with this.”

“Let’s just eat.”

“I didn’t, I swear. Juliana told me to meet Lynsey after school at the fancy bakery on Willow. So, here I am.”

My first instinct is to call him a liar, but then I think about Lynsey’s double-booked afternoon. I don’t believe that now. Not for a second. Without a doubt, my best friend set me up. I don’t know if Caleb’s best friend did the same.

But if she did . . . why?

I place one of the tiny cakes in front of him and offer him a fork.

“Please just eat,” I whisper, sliding a plate between us. Caleb takes the fork and stabs at the first sample, a gorgeous carrot cake with cheesecake filling.

“What are you thinking?” he asks in between bites.

“I’m thinking this needs more frosting.”

“What else are you thinking?”

“Thinking we need new best friends.”

“Yeah. They set us up.”

I nod. Caleb continues taking small bites, but I can’t. It smells great. I just don’t trust myself not to throw up in Pierre’s shop.

“You look so tired, Skye.”

“So do you.”

Suddenly, my stomach growls. It knows I’m depriving it of Pierre’s cakes. Plus, I haven’t eaten much today. A banana for breakfast and a granola bar at lunch.

Caleb chuckles. “Was that you?”

“Yeah.”

I laugh, and then we’re both laughing. It feels good.

He waves his fork over the cakes. “Well, since we’ve been set up . . . and we’re both hungry . . . and Pierre’s gone to all this trouble . . .”

“Yeah. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Pierre.”

“No, we wouldn’t want to do that.”

His blue eyes—a little brighter now—linger on my lips. Shaking my head, I look away, focusing my attention on the red velvet cake.