10. C H E L S I E

TEN

C H E L S I E

Monday to Friday.

It’s what stands between you and those glorious two days called Saturday and Sunday.

I’d never been one to live for the weekend—but now, it’s what I think motivates me to get up each morning.

My weekdays at the bakery are quite routine, simplistic, and mundane. But frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There's a sense of joy when you master a skill. ‘Master’ being a generous word, given that I’ll never be as talented as Ruby. But nonetheless, at the bakery, I know exactly what I’m doing. Exactly what I’m signing myself up for, and most importantly, I know that nothing out-of-the-ordinary is going to happen… or so I thought.

This week has proved to me that when in Crawley—always expect the unexpected…

“Hey, Chels?” I hear Ruby call out my name as I manage the commercial-grade mixer in the back, fiddling with the controls. “Chelsie? Can you hear me?”

I attempt to wipe the abundance of flour from my hands alongside my apron, yet it’s no use. I’m covered in it. I’ve inhaled more flour today than I have oxygen.

With clean hands, I eventually turn off the mixer, hopeful that blocking out the noise will help to amplify my voice. “Yeah?” I call back. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you uh…” There’s a sense of giddiness in her tone. “Mind coming up front for a minute. Please?”

I process her request. Didn’t she just ask me to get started on a fresh batch of tea biscuits? I shake away the thought, curiosity getting the best of me as I bound my way around the corner and out of the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I walk towards the display counter, only halting in place when I see the last person I expected to see standing just ahead.

Gary.

“There you are.” Ruby follows Gary’s gaze, one that locks into me the second I walk out of the kitchen.

She smiles—or so I assume. I can’t break my eyes away from him, either.

He looks good.

Terribly good.

How does he look so good?

“Someone came by to see you,” she explains. “Isn’t that nice?”

I’m left not unsettled but rather disheveled by her revelation. As I stare into Gary’s devilishly deep gaze, my mind can’t help but electrify with questions—all of which start with the word “Why?”

Why is he here?

Why does he want to see me?

Why… me ? Period.

“Hey, Chelsie.” Gary beats me to a hello—his lips parted ever so slightly as I watch him scan my body up and down. I can’t fault him for the action, I’m doing the exact same thing to him. But hell, my stare hardly has the same effect.

I gulp.

No one should possess the right to make you feel so bothered by just a single glance.

No one.

“She can be a bit shy at times,” Ruby quickly responds on my behalf, prompting some heat to flood my cheeks as I narrow my stare.

“I’m not shy,” I argue, peering back over at Gary. “I’m just…”

Dumbstruck?

Confused?

Intrigued .

“Wondering why you’re here.” I fiddle with my hands, having a difficult time maintaining a consistent level of eye contact with him. “That’s all.”

Ruby jumps back in, flashing me a curious stare. “You know, I was wondering the same thing. I didn’t know you had made a friend, Chelsie.” She folds her arms—impressed. “Especially not with the star of Crawfield.”

Gary smirks, egotistically brushing off the compliment with a wave of his hand.

I’m not so easily convinced.

I can tell that he’s used to this kind of response from people, not just that, but that he enjoys it. I’m confident he likes living in the spotlight, whereas I find my comfort as far away from it as possible.

“You’re too kind, Ruby,” Gary proclaims, his charm dialed up to a nine. “ Really .”

Of course, he’s already on a first-name basis with my sister. Lord knows how long they’ve been out here talking without my knowledge.

“You know, you both should come to a game sometime,” he offers. “I’d love to get you guys tickets. I’ll even make sure you have the best seats in the?—”

“That’s okay,” I cut his overly generous proposition short. “We’re not interested.”

“Chelsie!” Ruby scolds me, whipping her head in my direction. “Speak for yourself.”

“What?” I shrug. “You’re mistaken, Ruby. Gary and I are not friends,” I tell her. “Besides…” I’m back to looking at Gary with my arms crossed. “I have no idea why you’d want to see me again.” I hone in on the shocked look on his face. “Was I not clear the last time we spoke? I’m not interested.”

Told you I’m not shy.

The room goes silent.

It’s so awkward. Thank gosh no one else is inside the bakery right now because if they were, they’d be getting a whole lot more than just a sweet treat from the display.

“You know what?” Ruby is the first one to speak up. “I’m going to finish up those biscuits I asked you to make earlier. Give you two some uh— space .” Ruby flashes me a look that reads be nice as she grazes past my arm and makes a beeline back into the kitchen.

Internally, I roll my eyes, yet despite my previous confidence, I can’t help but feel a tension in my chest as I fight the urge to look back at him.

The task is so hard it’s painful. He makes it impossible to hold out, and after another few seconds, I fall victim to the temptation. Thank God I do because the second I look back up, that's when I see it.

What was once hidden from my view is now held out in front of his chest, with a tender and apologetic smile on his face: Gary Wilkinson with a bouquet of flowers.

It takes me a moment to process the gesture until Gary motions the bouquet in my direction. “I came by to see you because I wanted to give you these,” he reveals, a slight huskiness in his voice, masking this underlying sense of anxiety I can see riding all over his face.

“Seriously?” I narrow in my confused stare—remorse coursing through my body at the thoughtful intention behind his visit. “You got these for me?”

Nervously, he nods, prompting me to accept the flowers from his grasp and tuck them into my embrace.

“Yeah,” he admits, a faint smile finding its way back onto his round lips. “At first, I thought maybe roses would be the way to go, but if there’s anything I’ve come to learn about you, Chelsie Windsor…” He takes a careful step forward. “It’s that my typical way of doing things doesn’t seem to be your cup of tea. So…” He teasingly bites down on his lower lip as he carries on. “I thought daisies would be the way to go. At least, that’s what Green’s Mum told me.”

I purse my lips together to suppress a smile, one he takes no notice of as he continues to ramble.

“Green’s my best mate on Crawfield,” he informs me. “He was one of the guys from the other day. Not the one catcalling, of course…” I can see him starting to get all flustered, his sentences now turning short and choppy. “I wouldn’t have allowed that. But his family owns a floral shop up the road. Maybe you’ve heard of them? Seen them? They’re called?—”

“Do you always ramble like this when you’re nervous, Gary?” I save him from his spiel, peering up from the bouquet after I’ve taken a deep breath of its fragrant scent, appreciative of his flower choice.

I’ve always loved daisies since I first discovered them growing alongside the field of my parents' property. Since then, they’ve somehow found a special place in my heart.

I told Simon that shortly after we started dating, hoping that it would serve as a subtle cue for any future dates or romantic gestures.

But, for nearly three years straight, do you want to know what I got?

Roses.

I once confronted him to say, “Do you remember what I told you my favorite flower was?”

Do you want to know what he said?

“So? Be grateful I got you anything at all.”

I can still remember the red in my cheeks from my frustration with his remark. It’s almost as red as Wilks face, which is flushed with embarrassment.

It feels unusual to see him so nervous—I hadn’t known he possessed such a trait.

“Well, it’s not every day that I go out of my way to apologize for acting like a total fool.” He in-famously places his hands into his pocket. “Is it?”

Thankfully, I’ve got the flowers to hide behind as I mutually turn just as flush. “So, that’s what this is, then?” I question. “An apology?”

My sentence stumps him before he goes to speak. “Yeah, I suppose it is. If you’ll let me, of course.”

I fold my arms across my chest. Although I know I hardly have it in me to intimidate him, somehow, knowing that I have the upper hand comforts me.

He was kind of an arse the other day, but still I have a hard time staying mad at him.

“Alright.” I tilt my chin upwards, tapping my foot slightly, eagerly awaiting what exactly his apology is made of. “Go on.”

His eyes follow my repetitive motion until he starts to rub his hands together. “Well…” He reaches behind his neck, flexing his right bicep as he speaks. “I wanted to try and make up for the other day. I was trying to act big in front of my mates, and I shouldn’t have used you at my expense. For that, I’m sorry.”

I purse my lips in thought.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a man apologize to me before—I don’t think that word even existed in Simon’s vocabulary, and now that I’ve heard it, I’m left in an utter state of cluelessness.

It’s Monday. I last saw Gary on Friday. Has he been thinking about this all weekend?

Thinking about me?

Now, I’m starting to think, but not logically. I’m thinking in circles. What do I say back?

He continues to talk, saving me the trouble of a response.

“I guess what I’m really trying to say is that I was hoping you’d let me make it up to you. You said my charm wasn’t going to work, right? So, this is me trying to win over your approval.”

I chew down on my bottom lip—left daydreaming about the image I’d seen of him last on Instagram.

Shirtless.

Sweaty.

Alluring.

All that doesn’t matter, though, because the look of him standing in front of me is enough to scrap that image from my mind.

That was Wilks.

This is Gary.

He looks like he’s just finished up practice of some sort. His knees are stained a tinge of green from the grass. He’s got a zip-up Crawfield jacket slung over either arm and a duffle bag hanging over his right shoulder with that friendly reminder of his number stitched into the fabric— 13.

I shift my weight beneath my feet, struck by his eagerness to win over my approval. It’s a desire I can hardly rationalize as much as I can’t make sense of.

What does this mean exactly? I’ve never had anyone grovel over me—nor have I had someone hand deliver a bouquet of flowers.

The idea that Gary Wilkinson is trying to pursue something with me scares me beyond belief, and it’s not just his status or claim on the town that’s holding me back. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less about any of that.

It’s the risk.

It’s the fear.

It’s the reality that if things don’t work out between the two of us, Crawley, this bakery, this peace, it all can be gone, and right now, I don’t have it in me to start all over… again.

“I don’t know,” I battle the conflicting part of my brain that tells me that the easy answer is no, yet the right answer is ‘give it a shot’. “Thank you for the flowers and your apology, but?—”

“You’re going to at least give me a chance to show you who I am?” he finishes my sentence.

I shoot him a playful look.

“What?” He shrugs his shoulders. “That was how you were going to finish it, right, Chelsie? You’re going to give me a chance to let me get to know you?”

I rub along my arm, peering down at the daisies once more before I’m locked back into his gaze. He’s captured me—and before I know it, reels me in.

“One week.” He takes a careful step forward yet again. “Christ, how about you give me until Friday, and if you’ve had enough of me by then, poof , I’ll be gone.” He’s theatrical with his hands. “But if I haven’t driven you away by then, then promise me you’ll at least let me take you out? And if not on a date, at least let me give you a tour of Crawley. Your sister says you haven’t been out much…”

I gulp down the lump in my throat as I meet the glimmer in his eyes.

“Please?” he tries.

I nod ever so slightly. “Till Friday.” I agree with his proposal. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Gary Wilkinson.”

For the remainder of the week at precisely 3:30 PM, Gary stops by the bakery with a new trick up his sleeve—also known as “the way to my heart”.

He named his plan that, not me.

Monday was the flowers.

Tuesday, he dropped off a basket with an assortment of novels. Some thrillers, some mysteries, and even a couple of romances. I suppose Ruby had a hand in that one.

Wednesday he came by with a boombox. I know… a boombox . Do they even still make those anymore?

He tried to serenade me with his own unique rendition of Grace Kelly by MIKA. Excellent song choice, terrible choice to sing it himself.

By Thursday, he must’ve caught wind of my coffee order. I supposed I’d left one of my cups lying around, and so he dropped off not only a tall cup with my name on it but an assortment of baked goods with a note that read:

You give people sweet treats all day long. Enjoy one for yourself.

And now, after his week full of romantic and kind gestures, here we are— Friday .

The final day in our “supposed” agreement and the day that I either let Gary down gently, or allow myself to outwardly start falling for him, hard .

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I haven’t decided which of my two options I’m going to go forward with yet. But regardless of what I choose, all I know for certain is that over the course of this past week, Gary has proved to me that he’s nothing if not willing.

Willing to try.

Willing to fail.

And most of all, willing to do whatever it takes to make me smile.

And so, although today might be the moment of truth, the way I can’t stop staring at the clock, counting down for his arrival, tells me one thing… Gary Wilkinson might just get a chance.

As I hear the sound of the front door bells chime—my heart skips a beat.

It’s 3:15 PM.

He’s early.

He’s never early.

Before I can question it, I’m racing out from the back.

“You’re ahead of schedule,” I announce. “I didn’t expect you for at least another fifteen?—”

I stop dead in my tracks as I reach the front counter.

Remember when I said that you should always expect the unexpected in Crawley?

Well, this is exactly what I was talking about.

“ Simon ?”