It’s hard to fall asleep after you wake up from a dream as long as mine. I toss and turn in bed, wondering how a night that started with so much promise could turn out like this. I keep thinking about Jake’s confusion as I claimed a headache and he walked me home early. I could tell he wasn’t sure what went wrong. At what point did the night derail so horribly?

In the morning, I wake up bright and early with swollen eyes and a foggy brain—a crying jag hangover. I don’t want to go to church. I want to stay in bed. But if I’m not there, my parents will want to know why. So I take a shower and get dressed and try to cover up the aftereffects of a horrible night’s sleep with makeup, then head to Patty’s as soon as she opens the doors at seven, hoping a giant cup of hot coffee will do the trick. Not only do I have to make it through church at ten, but I also have to meet up with Lily at two o’clock to have our dresses altered.

I step inside Patty’s to the usual early Sunday morning patrons—Randy Crandall, our town selectman, eating a hardy breakfast with his wife; Mick Horowitz, who bears an uncanny resemblance to his schnauzer; and Kathleen Baudin, the town cat lady, who makes a habit of dropping by the clinic to give me pamphlets on the dangers of declawing, as if vet school didn’t educate me properly on the subject. Occasionally, she’ll even sneak one under the windshield wipers of my car.

Patty appears from the kitchen and sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Mick. I join them both at the counter.

“Well, look who it is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Patty says with a playful wink.

“Not feeling the best this morning.” I set my purse on the counter. “Hi, Mick.”

“Morning, Emma.”

“How’s Marty’s leg doing?” Marty is his schnauzer. I often get their names mixed up.

He cuts apart his eggs with his fork, steam and yolk oozing from the wound. “His limp’s mostly gone.”

“That’s good.” I cover a yawn. “Make sure to bring him in if it comes back.”

“Will do.”

I look at Patty through bleary eyes. “I need coffee, stat. In the biggest cup you have.”

“Decaf?”

I give her my best are-you-crazy face. It’s a weird suggestion in the morning. Especially since I never do decaf. Not even when I stop by in the afternoon. “Decaf is not my friend, Patty.”

She sets her pudgy arms on the counter and leans toward me. “Don’t you think you ought to make it your friend?”

All right, now I’m officially confused. I mirror Patty’s posture. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m no doctor, but I always thought caffeine wasn’t good for the baby.”

It takes me a second to fully comprehend what she’s implying. When I do, my eyes go buggy. “The baby?” I glance at Mick, who pretends not to listen, then back at the woman behind the counter. “You think I’m pregnant?”

Patty frowns. “Aren’t you?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Stacy Green told all the gals at bunco on Thursday.” I must look pale, because Patty grabs a nearby coffeepot, sets a tall mug in front of me, and fills it to the rim. “She said it was the reason you were getting married so fast.”

What an assumption to make! “And you believed her?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A baby is wonderful news.”

“Patty, I’m not marrying Jake because I’m pregnant.” Anger coalesces with my shock, waking me up before I have a trace of caffeine in my bloodstream. “I’m marrying Jake because I’m in love with him.”

The instant the words are out, I realize two things. They are true. And I am a fool.

I pound on Lily’s front door, then pace like a caged lion. I feel feral, like I can’t exist in my own skin. My mounting anger—at Stacy Green for the rumor, at Patty for believing it, at myself for the position I’ve put myself in—has me wishing I could crawl out of it. As unfair as it may be, I need a scapegoat. I stop and knock on her door again.

A lock clicks from the other side and the door opens. Lily appears, still in her flannel pajamas. Her brows knit in confusion then worry as she takes in what can no doubt be my frazzled appearance. “Emma? What is wrong with you?”

“What was your deal last night?”

She gives me her deadpan stare, then opens the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

No, I don’t want to come in. I want to rewind to last night, make Lily behave, make my father take back his words, make the rumor go away, and continue on in happy oblivion. “Did you have to make those comments you made? What happened to giving me your support?”

“I’ve supported you for the past month.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been silently judging me.”

“I haven’t been judging you, Emma. I’ve been worried about you.” Lily’s shoulders sag. “At some point, you’re going to have to face the fact that your father is dying, and a fake wedding isn’t going to fix it.”

I can feel myself slowly deflating, right there on Lily’s front porch. Because her words are true. As much as I don’t want them to be, they are. My father has terminal cancer. All the pretending in the world won’t make it go away. And now, to add insult to injury, I have gone and given my heart to a man who never asked for it. “The town thinks I’m pregnant.”

Lily bites her lip. “I may have heard that rumor.”

“When?”

“Last night, before I met up with you and Jake. I heard a couple of the Bunco Babes talking about it.”

I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “Lily, my dad is dying.”

“I know.”

“And I’m in love with Jake.” I shrug helplessly, because what else is there to do?

She pulls me inside and wraps me in a hug. “Would it help if I made cinnamon rolls?”