Page 56 of The Score We Never Settled

“Wish I could say the same,” I deadpan, immediately receiving her attention from my simple clapback, but I don’t allow her a narrative because I add in, “Make sure you buy the toasted coconut for your dad. My uncle will be here shortly and will probably clean it out.”

Adeline holds my stare with an equal amount of nonchalance. It’s not lost on her that I’m not her biggest fan. She’s not an idiot.

“Good idea.” She motions to the dessert table like I’m going to grab it for her when she rocks me to my core with, “Briggs, will you grab a piece and take it to the car?”

My feet absent-mindedly move back andawayfrom her words—hisname—when my butt hits a hard barricade, and I already know who I have just bumped into.

Fingers gently grasp my hips, keeping me steady but also pulling me closer to his frame.

Briggs will always find a way to touch me. Even if I give him the perfect opportunity, he will not pass it up.

Even in front of Agnes.

“Well,” she muses on cue, and I have zero doubt she has seeneverythingthat has happened in the last twenty seconds. “If it isn’t the boy who couldn’t decide if he loved the town or wanted to burn it to the ground.”

Briggs doesn’t laugh or come up with something charming to say.

He also doesn’t take his damn hands off me either.

“It definitely has its perks and downfalls,” he replies easily. “How are you, Miss Campbell?”

She smiles at him, like really smiles, and I think Agnes has always liked Briggs.

Actually, I know she does because I can’t remember a time she has ever been this nice to Cruz.

In fact, I believe she was always trying to rid him from her view and personal space.

“Good,” Agnes replies evenly. “Just tryin’ to raise money for a new roof for the church.”

“How holy of you.”

Agnes laughs, and I take that moment to readjust my position and step out of Briggs’s subtle hold.

“Looks like I’m all set here,” I announce to the group, grabbing the handle of my wagon like it’s going to roll me out of here to safety. “Good luck, Agnes.”

“Layla!” Arms wrap around my middle and squeeze me, knocking some of the needed oxygen from my lungs as I’m beingheld hostage again. “I passed the artisan bread-baking class you sent me.”

Everly.

I turn on my heels to face her, beaming with pride that there is someone else in this town who understands the importance of good bread, when I hear Agnes chime in with her two cents.

“Oh, for the love of God,” she complains. “Can’t we appreciate the wholesomeness of white and wheat?”

“No,” Everly and I reply at the same time as I smile down at her for her accomplishment. “That’s wonderful, Ev. What was your favorite?”

“Definitely the sourdough and ciabatta, but honestly, the pane toscano started growin’ on me.”

“That’s how I felt with focaccia. I remember arguin’ with a ciabatta at four in the morning to hold its shape.”

“Ugh,” Everly grumbles out. “Iknow. But so good.”

“Definitely.”

We both notice the silence surrounding us immediately because Everly and I both glance over to find Agnes and Adeline staring at us like we’re both from another planet.

Not all of us pick the alleged first dress out of our closet.

We like bread.