“In ten years, I’ll be celebrating my fortieth birthday. And honestly, all I want is to look around at my life and be grateful for everything I have. Which is, I hope, a comfortable home, a happy family, good friends, a successful business, and some wisdom to pass on to my kids along with my recipes.”

“Sounds good,” I said, wishing I knew who this handsome prince was she planned to marry so I could find him and kick his ass.

“What about you?” she asked, shifting to face me on the passenger seat. “Where do you see yourself in a year?”

I shrugged. “At the garage, listening to McIntyre complain about his wife and busting Handme’s ass to stack the tires.”

She laughed. “How about in five years?”

“Let’s see. In five years, I’ll be thirty-seven. I hope I still have six-pack abs and a good throwing arm.”

“And in ten?”

Ten years. Fuck, I’d be forty-two.

Would I still live in my apartment? Would Moretti be married with nine kids? Would Mariah be out of high school? Would Beckett still be able to hit home runs over the left field fence?

What about my mother? Would she still be around? Would Cheyenne finally get married and give her some grandchildren? Would we all get together for Sunday dinners and talk about Dad and the old days and how much trouble I used to be?

I could picture everyone at the table—my mom, Cheyenne and whatever clown agreed to marry her, a bunch of their rug rats in high chairs or booster seats, or chasing each other around the table like she and I used to do while my mother yelled at us to stop acting like monkeys and sit down like civilized humans. The memory nearly put a smile on my face.

But the thought of the future did not.

Because when I looked at the chair next to mine, it was empty. I was alone.

I frowned. But that was how I wanted it, right? That was how I’d decided it had to be.

Alone was easy. Alone was uncomplicated. Alone was safe.

It didn’t have to mean celibate, although the thought of being with someone other than Blair actually repulsed me.

“Griff?” Blair leaned over and poked my leg. “Where’d you go?”

“Ten years into the future.”

“And? What did it look like?”

Lonely as fuck, I thought.

“Fine,” I said, changing lanes on the highway. “It looked fine.”

A few minutes before four, Blair and I arrived at a place called Coffee Darling. The sign on the door said closed, but when we pulled the handle, we discovered it was unlocked.

Inside the shop, I could immediately tell Blair would fit right in. It was bright and modern and girly, with black and white photos on the walls, a long white marble countertop, and glass cases full of colorful cookies that made her gasp.

“Macarons!” she whispered in awe. “Look how beautiful they are.”

A woman wearing an apron over her clothes appeared behind the counter with a big smile on her face. “Hi there. I’m Frannie. Are you Blair?”

Blair nodded and held out her hand over the counter. “Yes. So nice to meet you. And this is my friend Griffin Dempsey.”

Frannie nodded. “Cheyenne’s brother, right? Nice to meet you.”

I held out my hand as well. “You too.”

“Well, let me show you around and then we can talk. How does that sound?” Frannie asked brightly.

“Perfect,” said Blair.

Frannie turned to me. “We’re closed for the day, so I don’t have a server here, but you’re free to have a seat and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Or you can join us for the tour.”

“I think I’ll just take a walk around town and meet you back here.” I looked at Blair. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course.” She was nervous beneath the smile, but I was positive Frannie wouldn’t notice. Grace under pressure was her thing, after all. She’d ace this interview, and the job would be hers.

She’d move up here, accomplish all her goals, and in ten years, she’d have everything she wanted.

I’d be a memory.

Irrationally angry about it, I stomped up and down the streets of downtown Traverse City glaring at happy people, wearing a scowl on my face, confused about what or who I was mad at, and coming to the conclusion that it didn’t matter and I needed to just get the fuck over it.

Maybe I would only be a memory to her. But I’d be a good memory. The best-sex-she-ever-had memory.

I’d make damn sure of that.

She got the job—of course she did.

“It’s just so perfect,” she chirped on the ride home. “I’ll be the full-time manager and baker for as long as she needs, and when she’s ready to come back after the twins are old enough, I can decide then if I want to stay on or look for a shop of my own.”

“Sounds great.”

“And,” she went on, clapping her hands, “she said she spoke to her parents about renting out her old apartment, which is above the garage at Cloverleigh. Sort of like a carriage house.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. It’s small, but I don’t really need a lot of space, and the rent would only be three-fifty a month. With what she’s going to pay me, I can totally afford that, plus I’ll be able to pay off all my credit card debt within two years.”

“That’s amazing.” I forced myself to ask the next question. “When will you move in?”

“I told her I can’t move until after Labor Day weekend, and she was fine with that.”

“If you have to move sooner, it’s okay,” I said, almost wishing she would. No sense prolonging this. “Don’t feel like you have to stay in Bellamy Creek for me. For my shop, I mean.”

She reached over and rubbed my shoulder. “Hey. I want to stay. After Labor Day is soon enough. I just need my car back by then.”

“You’ll have it.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll, uh, put another call into my supplier. Make sure he has the right address.”

“I just can’t believe it,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Everything is coming together.”

“Good.”

But I felt like everything was falling apart.

Seventeen

Griffin

“What’s this?” I asked as Blair set a small frosted cake in front of me. It was late Tuesday night, after nine o’clock, but I’d had practice tonight. Afterward, I’d skipped the usual hangout at the pub to come home, clean up, and eat a late supper with her.

“It’s a cake.” She lit the single candle standing in the white frosting.

“I can see that, but what’s it for?” I looked up at her. “It’s not my birthday. Is it yours?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Nope. My birthday is in June. It’s for our anniversary!”

“Our what?”

“Our anniversary. It’s been exactly two weeks since we got married.” She fluttered her lashes and put both hands over her heart. “The happiest two weeks of my life.”

Laughing, I pulled her onto my lap. She was wearing one of my favorite outfits—the blue dress with the little bow in the front, and somehow she looked even more beautiful than usual in it. “You’re crazy.”