From Scratch by Rachel Goodman Read Free Book Online

doesn’t understand. A moment passes and then his expression hardens into an unreadable mask.
    My heart hammers in my chest and my insides twist like they’re being spun around fork tines. My hand trembles, and the cushion-cut stone dances under the lights, reflecting tiny rainbows onto Nick’s shirt.
    Could I be a bigger idiot? I think as I shove my left hand into my trouser pocket.
    My eyes dart to Sullivan Grace, hoping she hasn’t noticed. Thankfully, she seems oblivious. Now she’s in the middle of telling a story about last year’s Upper Crust baking competition. Something about how an apple turnover beat out French silk pie for best in show.
    I start to interrupt before Nick ruins everything. The last thing I need is Sullivan Grace gossiping to my father before I have the chance to tell him myself.
    But I’m too late. Nick speaks first.
    “Congratulations,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he never got down on one knee in our secret spot at Montgomery Park and asked me to marry him. “I’m happy for you.”
    My gaze meets his, and it’s as if we’re continents apart. I should feel smug, victorious, showing Nick that I’ve moved on, put our past behind me, but instead I’m overcome with sadness. It was supposed to be you. The thought is like a wound that won’t heal.
    “Thank you,” I say. “It . . . happened recently.”
    Sullivan Grace finally realizes there’s another conversation taking place and turns to me and says, “Recently? What happened recently?”
    “Oh, um, my new promotion at work,” I stammer, my eyes pleading with Nick to please, for the love of cherry streusel go along with it. “So you can understand, Ms. Hasell, why I’m not in a position to stay and help with your charity event. You’ll need to find someone else, someone willing .”
    Sullivan Grace’s mouth drops open but quickly snaps shut. In all my years, I’ve never seen her rendered speechless.
    Nick stares at me with the focus of a sniper. When he finally speaks, his tone is so sharp it could slice through dry ice. “It’s probably for the best, anyway,” he says to Sullivan Grace, though I know his words are meant for me. “Lillie’s still got all those loose ends to tie up before she runs back to wherever the hell she’s been. May as well let her get on with it.” Then he gives me a look, as if I’m the bad guy.
    A fire ignites in the pit of my stomach. Flames of anger lick through me and burst from my mouth. “You knew where I was.”
    “Really?” Nick says with a bitter laugh. “How would I know that? You left .”
    I feel a shift inside me, transforming my anger into righteous indignation as I recall all the meals I ate alone. All the times I waited for him to return home after his residency shift ended only to be faced with cold indifference when he finally did pass through the front door. All the conversations I had with myself because I couldn’t bear the silence. All the nights I laid curled up in bed longing for a touch that would never come.
    He left me first, long before I ever took the final step.
    He left me first.
    “Go ahead, Nick. Blame me.” I take a challenging step forward. “You’re right. I did leave, and I don’t regret it,” I say, then say it again, louder, firmer, grounding the electrical current pulsing through me. Reminding me that nothing has changed between us. Nothing.
    Then with long, purposeful strides, I walk away from him and Sullivan Grace, grabbing my things before stepping out into the warm October afternoon.
    And like that day five years ago when I boarded a plane to Chicago, I don’t look back.

FIVE

    THE LAW OFFICES of Stokes and Ingram, LLP are located on the forty-fourth floor of the Trammell Crow Center in the Arts District of downtown Dallas.
    Bursting into the reception area, I see a group of men in suits and ties lounging in leather wing chairs immersed in today’s New York Times . I walk past them but stop when I