Most people think Bailey’s shy — but I know it’s more than that.
The girl I love is hiding the truth.
And when she goes MIA the night of the dance, I’m scared she might be in serious trouble.
I’m done being cute — I’m ready to fight for my girl.
Even if it means losing everything else.
Truth is, I love Bailey a waffle lot.
Dear Reader,
When you know, you know.
Billy has plans — and he doesn’t care if people think eighteen is too young to make a life-long commitment.
He’s ready to make Bailey his waffley wedded wife.
Grab some whipped cream and maple syrup because things are about to get sticky sweet!
xo, frankie
Chapter One
Billy
She wears low top white Converse, with pink laces, every day. She wears button-up shirts tucked into light washed denim jeans and cardigans, her long brown hair in a high ponytail, a ribbon tied around it. Her face looks freshly washed every time I see her, and her blue eyes are bright.
But I know that appearances are deceiving.
She always looks so polished, so put together, but now it seems she is falling apart.
Here she is, in a puddle of tears, waiting at the city bus stop, reading a schedule.
“Do you need help?” I ask her. We went to middle school together, and I had the biggest crush on her, but then she moved away for five years. Now we’re seniors, and she’s back in town.
I don’t think she remembers me.
But God, I remember her.
I’ve seen her in the hallways for the last month, always with her nose in a book. Hard to reach. Definitely out of my league. But here she is waiting for a bus, upset. This, I can help with.
She looks up at me, and I realize just how beautiful she is. She wipes at her eyes. “Oh, I’m fine, just…” She shakes her head. “A bit… frustrated.” Her words seem to fail her. “Do you ever have those days where it just feels like one thing after the next?”
I nod, wanting so badly to wrap my arms around her and comfort her somehow. “I’m Billy. I go to Taylor too — I’ve seen you there.”
Her eyes lift. “You do?”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah, you probably haven’t seen me because you’ve always got your nose in a book.”
She smiles slightly at that. “Sounds about right.”
“So, what is the problem?” I ask.
She waves the schedule in the air. “The next bus isn’t for an hour. I read it wrong.”
Frowning, I take a look at it. “Where are you traveling to?” I thought most routes ran more regularly.
“Oh, I’m one county over. So, I have to transfer.” She shakes her head. “It’s a whole thing.”
I twist my lips, not wanting to let this conversation end. I see the diner, Hot Spot, ahead and get an idea.
“Want to get something to eat across the street while you wait?”
She bites her bottom lip, considering.
“My treat,” I add. “I was going there anyways.”
“Were you really?”
I chuckle. “Let’s just say I’m suddenly craving something sweet.”
She nods then, tucking the schedule in the pocket of her backpack. “That sounds really nice, Billy. I’m Bailey, by the way.”
“I know.”
She lifts her eyebrows as we go to the crosswalk. “You know my name?”
I give a shrug as we reach the diner. “I’m Billy Barton, and we actually went to Taft Middle School together too, but that was years ago.” I pull open the door for her and she enters.
“Really?” She turns to me and smiles. “You know, I thought you looked familiar but you’re so… so much…” Her cheeks to turn red and she shakes her head.
“So much what?”
She giggles. “Well, a lot bigger. In general.”
I laugh, giving Valerie a wave. She owns this place, and she is a friend of my older sister, Kourtney. “That’s fair. I was what, 80 pounds in seventh grade? Now I’m nearly triple that.”
I am 6’4” and do lots of weight training. “I wrestled all through school and it didn’t mean I was popular, but it did give me a place to focus my anger. It was especially good after my mom passed a few years ago. I was pretty wrecked.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bailey says, taking my hand just as Valerie comes over to greet us with a pair of menus. She looks down at our hands and I see her bite back a smile.
God, small towns, right? I bet my sister will know about this before the hour’s up.