Page 54 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

Headlights appear on the narrow road behind me. Ava parks beside my truck and steps out wearing jeans, boots, and the cream sweater she wore the first time we came here. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders.

“You’re early,” she says.

“You knew I would be.”

“I did.”

She walks toward the railing and looks over the valley. I join her, leaving enough space between us that she does not feel crowded. For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

“I owe you an apology,” I finally say.

Ava turns toward me. “You already apologized.”

“I canceled an appointment and sent an email. That isn’t the same thing.”

Ava looks down as the evening wind lifts a strand of her hair across her cheek.

“I scheduled the inspection because I saw a problem and convinced myself that taking care of it mattered more than your answer,” I continue. “I told myself it was about safety, but part of it was that I don’t handle waiting very well when something feels unresolved.”

“You like fixing things.”

“I need to fix things.”

The admission is not comfortable. Ava waits for me to keep going.

“A few years ago, I was in a serious relationship,” I say. “Whenever she had a problem, I gave her a solution. If she complained about work, I told her what to say to her boss. If something bothered her at home, I repaired it. I thought I was showing her how much I cared.”

“What did she think?”

“That I treated every conversation like a punch list.”

Ava’s mouth softens, but she does not smile.

“She said I never listened long enough to understand what she needed. I decided we were wrong for each other and moved on. It was easier than admitting she might have been right.”

“That must have hurt.”

“It did. But instead of learning anything, I became more useful to everyone else. Employees, customers, half the town. If someone needs me, I know where I stand.”

The truth becomes clearer as I speak it.

“I suppose I’ve always believed that being indispensable gives people a reason to keep me around.”

Ava moves closer to the railing. Her shoulder nearly touches mine.

“I don’t want you around because you can repair a pipe.”

“That’s disappointing. I did excellent work.”

She looks at me. I let the humor fall away.

“I know.”

“I don’t want you because you built the display, either. Although I really love that display.”

“I noticed.”

“I want you around because you make me laugh. Because you listen, even when it nearly causes you physical pain. Because you saw what Sweet Treats could become before most of the town knew it existed.”