I sit on a stool in the empty classroom, using my LightRoom App to edit the photo of the matcha cookies I just made. I dial up the exposure to make the white plate they're displayed on brighter. Then I adjust the color so it saturates the green of the cookies. Upping the brightness and lowering the clarity gives the picture that light, airy vibe that's so big on Instagram. The cookies in the photograph look even more mouth-watering than in real life. It's too bad no one was interested in coming to learn how to make them.
Everyone seemed so enthusiastic after my last class. I was sure at least a few of them would show up today. But Giselle's face is the only one I've seen all morning. She gave me a pep talk when I almost broke down in tears over the non-existent turnout. She thinks the picture of the green cookies we included on this week's calendar may have scared people away.
"Even Gary would get nervous about eating a green dessert," she said.
My matcha cookies are amazing. They're one of my favorite things I make, but I can see her point. To people unfamiliar with matcha powder, they probably resemble something that came out of the wrong end of the Grinch.
The drone of power tools emanates from behind the drop cloth that divides the classroom from the new addition. Al and his team are hard at work this morning.
I sigh and glance over. I can just make out the shadows moving around behind the tarp. It's impossible to distinguish one silhouette from the next. I'm not sure if Ty's over there this morning, but the possibility he could be so close has my heart spinning like a pinwheel.
I'm dying to talk to him, to find out if he's still as caught up in me as I am in him. There's no denying I want Ty as much as ever, but I can't ignore the resentment simmering under the surface, which the past three years of total silence have only made worse. I'm never sure which emotion will win out when I'm near him. I go from wanting to jump his bones to screaming at him in less time than it takes for a heart to beat. And I can't shake the feeling that I don't even know who Ty is anymore.
Trying to distract myself, I open up Instagram and prep a post for my matcha cookies. I snatch one of them from the plate and copy over the recipe from my Notes App. I add a snazzy caption about how these cookies will make anyone not eating them turn green with envy. Judging by my empty classroom, that may be a bit of an over-exaggeration.
I take a big bite at the same moment the drop cloth pulls backward, and Ty steps into the room. His eyes sweep the deserted cooking stations before settling on mine. My cheeks are already crammed with cookie, but there's still room for them to fill with heat. It's humiliating to have Ty find me here alone, stuffing my face when no one bothered to show up for my class.
"Hi." Ty shoves his hands in the pockets of his sawdust-covered jeans and walks toward me.
I point a finger at my full mouth in explanation for my lack of response. Ty chuckles, nodding as I chew...and chew...and chew. I swear, it's never taken me this long to eat anything in my life. But any moisture in my mouth vanished the second I saw Ty's face.
Grabbing my Stanley cup, I take a glug and finally, wash down the crumbs."Hi." Is all I can think to say. Seriously? Could I be more awkward?
Ty reaches for one of the cookies, taking a bite without the slightest bit of hesitation, which is something I always loved about him. No matter how off-the-wall the recipes I created were, he was always right there with me when it was time to try them.
His eyes light up. "These are good. What are they?"
"Matcha green tea cookies. I'm glad you like them, at least." I glance around the vacant classroom.
Ty follows my gaze. "Did you kick everyone else out too?"
I snort out a laugh. "Just you. No one else makes me quite that mad." I'm not sure if I mean 'mad' in the angry or bananas sense of the word. Either way, it works.
"I'm honored." Ty shakes his head, but a grin curves the corners of his mouth. "It's their loss, anyway. These are great."
"Thanks." Nerves crackle through me, making me feel like a bowl of Rice Krispies.
The sound of Al and his crew talking and laughing drifts through the tarp while the smell of wood shavings fills the air, making me want to sneeze.
Ty clears his throat. "So how, um...how are you?"
"I'm great. Really good." I bob my head a little too enthusiastically.
"You look really good," Ty says, and my gaze snaps to his. His eyes drop, and he gestures at my phone on the counter. "And, uh, your cooking stuff seems to be going well. You're, like, Insta-famous now."
Heat sears up my neck, and I force myself to keep my hands in my lap instead of trying to cover my reddening skin. "You too. Look good, I mean." There's a lump in my throat the size of Paula's festival binder. I try to swallow it down.
"Yeah. I knew what you meant." Ty's eyes keep flicking away from me like he's uncomfortable as I am.
All those scenes in rom-coms where the characters shove everything off the desk and just go to town are starting to make a lot of sense. It would be so much easier to work out all this tension that way rather than attempting to form coherent sentences.
"So, how'd the vote go?" Ty asks.
Someone pounds a hammer on the other side of the wall. "Well," I shout to be heard over the racket, "Betty and Liv managed to get everyone's vote, minus Old Man Jenkins and the Reddys. Apparently, Faris and Amala flat-out refused to participate again."
"Can't say I blame them. So, which movie won?"
"Ever After by a landslide." The hammering cuts off abruptly, making my words resonate through the room. My teeth tug at my lip. I imagined this moment feeling so different than it actually does. I had daydreams about gloating over how much better I know this town than Ty does. But now that I've won and can see the disappointed slump to Ty's shoulders, I just feel bad.
Ty shrugs, smiling in a way that seems forced. "I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, Liv and Betty weren't exactly unbiased arbiters. But I'm not about to call for another re-vote."
"Well, that's a relief. The good people of Rosedale might rise up against us if we put them through that again."
"Right." Ty scuffs his shoe against the floor, and we fall into an uncomfortable silence.
The weight of everything we aren't saying is so heavy it's making it hard to breathe. I can't take another minute of not knowing what's going through his head.
"Ty?" I ask. His eyes lock on mine, causing my pulse to skitter. "Why are you here?"
"I came to see if Giselle needs help getting the brownies and punch over to the barn for the dance tonight." His eyes skate around the room. "But it doesn't look like she's around."
We're having a dance out at the barn on the edge of town later. It's always been my favorite festival tradition, even though it's been years since I've had anyone I actually like to dance with.
I shake my head. "No. I mean, you haven't come home in years. Why now?"
"Oh." Ty shifts from foot to foot, staring at the floor. "I'm here for summer break." His tan face flushes red, and I can tell he's lying. I just can't figure out why.
I'm exhausted from spending years wondering what Ty's thinking and feeling. I've used up too much energy trying to understand why he never came to talk to me after that night, and I have no patience for his evasiveness anymore. Especially since he keeps sending me all those longing glances like he wants to come over here and reenact some of my favorite memories of the two of us together.
I'm about to call him out and demand he be honest when the tarp flips open again, and Giselle strides into the room. The heels of her open-toed booties clack against the hardwood floor.
"Al said you were over here," she says to Ty. "Do you want to help me load the brownies into my car for the dance tonight?"
Ty nods, looking relieved to have a change of subject. "Yeah, I actually just came over to see if you needed a hand."
"Uh-huh." Giselle glances between us, clearly not believing what he's saying any more than I do. But she doesn't comment on it. "The brownies are on the racks in the refrigerators if you want to start loading them."
"Sure. I'll be right there," Ty says as she walks out the door to where her BMW's parked at the curb. She climbs into the front seat and presses a button, lifting the hatch.
Ty turns back to me, raking a hand through his hair. "Look, I know we still need to talk, just...later. When we won't be interrupted?"
I raise my eyebrows. "And you'll tell me everything?"
"I'll tell you as much as I can."
I sigh. The last thing I need is more half-truths from him.
"Please, Quinn." His voice is so earnest it makes me melt like the butter on Betty's popcorn.
"Okay," I say, hoping I don't regret this later.
"Okay." Ty grins. "I'll see you at the barn tonight."
I try to match his enthusiasm, but mostly all I feel is anxiety over our impending conversation. "See you tonight."
Ty walks toward the refrigerators, but he stops. "Oh, and Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Save me a dance?"
My heart trips over itself like I'm a heroine in a Jane Austen novel when having a guy ask you to dance was akin to a marriage proposal. Part of me wants to tell Ty to go jump in the lake, but a much bigger part wants nothing more than to be in his arms again.
Apparently, there aren't any words remaining in my vocabulary after getting locked in another tug-of-war with my own emotions, though. All I can do is nod.
Ty smiles, and his gaze skims over my face, snagging on my mouth. His eyes fill with unmistakable wanting, leaving me breathless. Then he turns and hurries after Giselle.
I sincerely hope she has a defibrillator because, after that look, I am completely and perfectly and incandescently dead.