“I don’t know how you bake all the time and still look so damn good.”

Megan chuckled. “I only taste a little. And I’m always on the run. It burns a lot of calories.”

“Witch.” Chelsea walked in and headed straight for Megan’s kitchen. She had a small place, but it had a dream kitchen, with a double oven, tons of counter space, and the most gorgeous stove Chelsea had ever seen. It was charming and retro and mint green and Chelsea coveted it in her dreams.

“Would you like a latte or a cappuccino?”

Megan also had an espresso machine. It was a wonder people weren’t lingering outside her door, considering the awesome smells that emanated from her house.

“A latte sounds fantastic.”

Megan fixed drinks while Chelsea made herself at home putting two muffins on the plate.

“None for me. I already tasted.”

“You’re going to sit down and have a muffin and a latte with me. And I’m going to whine.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They sat together at the island. The muffins were cranberry orange, and, of course, delicious.

“These muffins are fantastic, Megan.”

“Thank you. I’m trying out a new recipe.”

Chelsea shook her head. “Is there anything you make that isn’t good?”

Megan laughed. “Plenty. You don’t think I’d let my friends taste my disastrous mistakes, do you?”

“Good point. Then I’m glad to be your friend so all I get to taste are your successes.”

Megan lifted her cup, took a sip, and said, “Amen to that. Now start whining.”

Chelsea took another bite of fabulous muffin and washed it down with the amazing latte. “I’m moping about Bash.”

“I’m sorry. I still can’t believe he hurt you like that. What an ass. I should send him some of my disastrous, lumpy, burned, horrible pound cake where I used too much salt and not enough sugar.”

Chelsea fought back a laugh. To Megan, baked goods gone wrong were the kiss of death. “Yes. That’ll show him.”

Megan nodded. “Indeed it would. Hurting one of my friends like that. It’s unforgivable. So what now?”

“What do you mean, what now? We’re over.”

“Are you sure? You love him, Chelsea. I don’t think those feelings end overnight.”

“It hasn’t been overnight. It’s been a week.”

Megan cocked her head to the side. “A whole week. You’re probably ready to marry someone else by now.”

“Okay, fine. I’m not over him by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m going to get over him. I have to.”

Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it. It was a text message.

From Bash. It was the first time she’d heard from him since that night she slammed his car door and walked away. Since that night he’d crushed her.

I’d really like to see you. I want to talk.

So few words. And yet her heart started to pump faster and her eyes welled with tears.

Damn him.

“It’s from Bash, isn’t it?” Megan asked.

She looked up at Megan and nodded.

“What does it say?”

“That he wants to see me. To talk.”

“Okay. So?”

She shrugged. “So what? He said enough already, didn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s sorry about that night.”

“Tough.”

“Chelsea.”

“I don’t care if he’s sorry, Megan. I told him I loved him and he ripped my heart out. He doesn’t get a second chance.”

She wouldn’t allow him to hurt her again. She couldn’t go through it twice.

She didn’t care what he had to say.

She wasn’t about to listen.

Chapter 37

Bash knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Chelsea wasn’t easy. And he’d made it even harder by slamming the door on their relationship, by throwing her “I love you” back in her face.

He’d texted her multiple times. He’d called her even more. He’d even gone by her apartment, but she hadn’t answered.

The only thing left was to involve her friends, and they’d circled her like protective wagons against him—the bad guy.

But he had no other choice. He needed to give it every effort, and he wasn’t about to give up.

He tried Emma, but she said she was swamped all the time and would talk to him next week—a blow-off if he ever heard one. Jane told him she was busy with the kids. Sam cut off his phone calls, saying she was doing flowers for a wedding so she couldn’t give him the time.

These women were damn experts at being evasive.

He finally cornered Megan one afternoon just as she was putting the Closed sign out on the bakery.

“I’m just closing, Bash. Sorry,” she said, just about to shut the door in his face.

“Five minutes, Megan. Please.”

She hesitated. Chewed on her lower lip and scanned up and down the street as if she were contemplating inviting the devil himself into her shop.

“Five minutes. Hurry up and get inside before someone sees you.”

There was nothing worse than losing a woman, and then losing all her friends, who used to be your friends, too.

This sucked.

She pulled the shades, then stood there in the semidarkness with her arms folded. “Five minutes.”

This felt like a test he took one time at the front of history class. His mind suddenly went blank and he felt sweat start to pool at his back.