Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
My eyes dropped back down to the package. There was a little quiver in my chest, and a grin spread across my face that I couldn’t seem to help. Setting the box down, I glanced back up at her. “Oh, well, thank you,” I told her.
She nodded, then turned and left.
Ace came over to put his face up on the edge of the table to check out the box too.
I moved the box back enough so that there was no danger of him reaching whatever was inside before I opened it up and looked down at the contents. Although I’d never tried one, I knew they were called whoopie pies. A coffee shop Isaac had gone to daily had them on display. Except these weren’t chocolate or red velvet. They were a light violet in color and had pretty pastel sugar crystals on the center of each top. Isaac had said I hated whoopie pies when I tried to order one once. So, I never tried them.
The sweet vanilla-bean smell made my mouth water. Ace whined beside me. I glanced down at him, then back at the box. I knew who had sent them. For a moment, I’d thought perhaps Wilder had sent me something. Until she had said the man who had ordered them said they were my favorite. Wilder wouldn’t know something like that.
“What smells so good?” Uncle Neil asked, walking out of his office and standing on the other side of the desk. He leaned over to look down at the gift in front of me. “Lavender whoopie pies from Huckleberry. I’d forgotten about those. Haven’t seen them in years.” He looked up at me. “Who sent them? A patient?”
I shrugged. “The person who delivered them didn’t say.”
He frowned, then headed toward exam room one. “You take them. I can’t eat sweets at this age.”
“Okay, thanks,” I replied, then closed the box and put it in a safe place.
Finishing my workday was difficult. I glanced at my phone a hundred times, wondering if I should text Gage. Maybe call him when I got home. In the end, I did neither.
I placed a lavender whoopie pie on the coffee table in front of me and sat down on the sofa with the television remote in my hand. Wilder hadn’t stuck his head out when I got home, and I hadn’t knocked on his door. I was curious about the lavender treats and wanted to try one. Having Wilder asking questions about them would ruin the moment. I hated I felt that way. I’d never drawn a line in our friendship before. We had always talked about everything. Gage was the first thing I didn’t want to share with him.
My phone dinged beside me, and the tiny spark of joy I felt made me pause for a moment. This was not how I should react to this man. I wasn’t even sure it was Gage. I picked up my phone, and his name lit up the screen. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me smile.
So, how are they?
He’d sent them. I had known it was him, but having him confirm it was better.
Be more specific.
I pressed my lips together as I hit Send.
Almost immediately, he began typing.
You know what the fuck I’m talking about.
I giggled, then winced at the sound of it. I was acting like a girl with a crush.
If you mean the lovely lavender whoopie pies, I am about to try one now.
You got them hours ago.
I was working.
There was a pause.
I’m waiting, Shiloh. Try it.
I reached for the plate and picked up what was basically two fat, soft cookies with cream in the middle. Opening my mouth, I took a bite. It was the most unique flavor I’d ever tasted. It was almost as if I could taste the lavender, but I wouldn’t have expected it to be this delicious. I’d expected it to taste like the vanilla-bean smell, but it was the cream that was vanilla.
I picked my phone up.
This is incredible.
The dots that he started typing popped up, then just as quickly went away. I took another bite as I waited. This time, I let out a little groan. I couldn’t think of one thing I’d ever tasted that compared to this.
Good.
That was all he had sent. Nothing more. Disappointed, I thought about not responding, but felt like he at least deserved a thank-you.
Thank you.
A moment later:
You’re welcome.
Then, nothing.
Eighteen
Shiloh
This was the second night I’d given Wilder an excuse for not going to get dinner with him. Part of me felt guilty. Wilder was my friend, and ignoring him because Gage might or might not text me tonight was crappy of me.
However, the night after the lavender whoopie pies, he’d texted me, asking about my day. Then he had watched the episode of Gilmore Girls I was watching while making fun of what was happening. The only time he’d gone quiet was during the sex scene.