14
Jake took me to a little hole-in-the-wall place just a few doors down from the Blendz tasting room where we’d mixed our own custom wine. That night felt as though it had taken place a century earlier, in another lifetime, but I realized, as I counted out the days on my fingers, that it had only been two weeks ago. So much had happened, I barely could process all of it, but amongst all the insanity, I knew I was sure of one thing.
I loved Jake Wilcox, and he loved me back. Everything else would get worked out in time.
Or at least, that was what I tried to tell myself as I sat down at the shabby booth with its worn red vinyl seats and cracked Formica tabletop. I wanted to raise an eyebrow at Jake’s choice of our breakfast location, since he had only taken me to nice places so far, and,
