Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(93)

“I already did,” Rake said, pointing toward the door.

Indira’s eyes shot wide.

“In different terms, obviously,” Rake clarified, shaking his head. “I quit.”

Indira’s jaw fell to the floor. “You quit your job? Are you stupid?”

“I’ll get another one,” Rake said, dragging his hands down his face.

“Right, because the economy is so stellar.”

“Indira, I get it. But I’ll figure it out. I have savings. I have connections. I’ve already been doing freelance work on the side, and I’ll take every job that comes my way to keep Lizzie and the baby comfortable and afloat, but I couldn’t keep working there.”

Indira looked at him closely, studying him like he was a specimen under a microscope.

“Lizzie is special,” she said at last, the words filled with love.

“Believe me, I know,” Rake said, his voice cracking. “She’s the best person I know. I love her so much, sometimes it feels like my heart might crack with it. And I need to tell her that. And if she wants nothing to do with me after, fine. I get it. But I can’t live with myself if she’s out there thinking she isn’t the most important thing in the world to me. So please, don’t take her stuff, not yet. Let me try.”

Indira continued to study him, her full lips set in a stern line, her copper eyes seeming to bore into Rake’s skull. And then, she smiled.

“All right,” she said. “Tell me the plan.”





Chapter 46




LIZZIE headed into work later than usual. Bernadette had called, saying some random stuff about energy alignments and morning meditations she needed to do in the shop before anyone could come in. The gist Lizzie took from it was that she could get a few extra hours of sleep.

Indira had been too busy at work the day before to get Lizzie’s things from Rake’s apartment, and Lizzie had spent longer than she’d planned searching for a dress that fit over her bump in the hodgepodge of crap she’d thrown together.

Objectively, things could be worse for Lizzie. She had a place to live, a job that was morphing into the most exciting career opportunity she could ever hope for, and friends that were coddling her to the highest degree, but a sadness still penetrated deep into her bones.

She felt hollow. Fragile. Like if someone were to touch her, she would crack into a spiderweb of broken glass before shattering to the floor.

She missed Rake with an intensity that scared her. That made her feel like she would never be able to let him go. It had taken all her strength not to answer his calls or texts over the past few days, but when he hadn’t reached out last night, his silence had wounded her in a fresh way.

If she were being honest with herself, she’d admit that she maybe, sorta, kinda loved him in the most devastating way humanly possible and wanted him back.

But she wasn’t being honest with herself.

And she also wasn’t going to submit to being someone’s shameful secret. She had too much to offer the world than to be hidden away in some apartment, not deemed suitable for public spaces.

When Lizzie got to Bernadette’s, the blinds were closed and the door locked. Lizzie rattled around her giant purse until she found her key and let herself in, trying to focus on work and not Rake.

When she stepped into the dark space, it took her a moment to process what she was seeing. She blinked, turning in a full circle, her jaw dragging on the floor.

Hundreds of candles lit up the space like a galaxy created just for her. Bunches of flowers sat on all the tables, filling the room with their sweet fragrance.

And in front of the counter stood Rake. His tall, broad form was covered in a ruffly yellow apron, splatters and stains decorating the front. His face was serious, eyes watchful, following Lizzie’s movements like she was a skittish animal about to bolt. His usually neat and tidy hair was a mess, and flour was smeared on his cheeks and neck. Lizzie was unable to do anything but gape.

“Hi,” he said at last.

“Hi,” Lizzie managed to choke out, staring at him in wide-eyed shock.

“Can we talk?” he asked, wringing his hands together in an awkward little knot in front of him.

Lizzie tamped down the impulse to throw herself into his arms. Searching for composure, she gave a haughty sniff. “Not sure why I would subject myself to that. It’s a well-known fact that the Australian accent is the vilest sound to penetrate the ear,” Lizzie lied. She was obsessed with his accent.

Rake’s serious expression slowly morphed into a smile. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said, letting out a small laugh. “I made this for you,” he added, turning to grab something on the counter behind him.

When he faced her, he was holding a large, wonky-looking cake.

“It’s supposed to be a heart,” he said, staring down at the lumpy mess. “I asked Bernadette and Indira for help, but they both told me if I wasn’t prepared to take on this labor of love solo, I didn’t deserve you.”

Lizzie glanced over Rake’s shoulder and saw the telltale curls of both Bernadette and Indira duck below the kitchen window.

Lizzie stepped closer, looking at the splotchy pink icing, trying to make out the words written in terrible cursive on the top.

She realized it said Rake ?s Lizzie, and she sucked in a breath.