Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,74

ever need anything.

All the best,

Jake

The time stamp on the email she forwarded confirms it was sent while we were in Curaçao. He quit his job while on that trip. Before we had sex. Before we became a couple. He was telling the truth the entire time.

And now, I feel like a fool. I should have believed him earlier. I reread his email a dozen times, and I can feel the love in his words. My self-doubt and lack of confidence almost cost me the love of my life. The screen grows blurry, and it’s then I realize that my cheeks are wet with tears.

There’s so much I need to make happen, and I need help.

When Drew opens his door from my frantic pounding, he frowns when he notices I’m crying. “Look, I’m sorry I was a little bitchy with you, but you needed some tough love.”

“It’s not you and your bitchiness. I need your help. Jake went all in for me, and I didn’t recognize or appreciate that, especially after what he went through with his ex-wife. It’s my turn to go all in.”

His lips curve upward, and a knowing smile appears on that handsome face of his. “About fucking time. What do you have in mind?”

32

Jake

The first thing I do when I jump into my truck after checking in at Mama Java’s is call Drew. He’s avoided my texts and calls this morning, and I’m getting a little pissed, if I’m being honest. I was expecting to receive an update on Mission Misha’s Bakery last night, but when I woke up without any notification from Misha or Drew, I was worried. It’s now just after noon, and I want to know what the fuck is going on.

“Hey, Jake,” Drew answers the phone like there isn’t anything going on.

If I wasn’t trying so fucking hard to get Misha back, I’d track him down and beat on his pretty ass.

“What the fuck, Drew? How did last night go? Did she email the realtor?”

There is a long pause of silence on the line, and words aren’t necessary at this point.

When Drew finally does speak, it only solidifies my fear. “She didn’t email the realtor. I’m sorry, man.”

Fuck, I’m disappointed. That space would have been perfect for her; it would have been perfect to have her next to me. Even if she doesn’t want to be with me, I’d have at least been able to make sure she was all right and watch her dream become a reality from afar.

“Thanks for trying.” I’m barely able to vocalize the words without screaming at him over the phone.

If there’s anyone who could have gotten through to Misha, it’s Drew.

Fucking hell, I wish that asshole had tried harder.

That’s the anger speaking, and I know I truly don’t feel that way … but fuck, I’m pissed. At Drew. At Misha. At the world.

I end the call and slam my phone against the dashboard, and then I do it again … and once more.

“Fuck!” I scream into the silence of my truck.

My body slumps over the steering wheel, and I lose it. For the first time since my mother died, I cry. Fucking gut-wrenching sobs.

Gone is the soul mate who made the pain go away.

Useless is the engagement ring in my nightstand that I bought the week after I told her I loved her.

Lost is all the fucking hope that I had for a future with a wife, children, and laughter.

Maybe it’s time to let her go.

With my head going a million and one miles per hour, I don’t recall the drive home, which is a little scary. As much as it hurts like a motherfucker, I’m going to back away from Misha. I tried to convince her to come back to me. I told her things I’d never even spoken out loud before. It’s as if nothing that I do or say is enough. If she wants to come back, she knows where I am, but I’m emotionally exhausted from chasing her.

When I open the front door to the house, I’m greeted with the aroma of something baking and loud music coming from the kitchen.

“Carrisa, I’m home,” I announce, so I don’t scare her.

When she doesn’t answer, I peek my head around the corner, so she knows I’m home, but it’s not my sister baking in the kitchen.

It’s Misha.

The island is full of cookies, cakes, candies … everything sweet the mind can imagine. Misha smiles nervously at what I’m sure is my obviously confused expression.

“Hey … I