The Road to Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  The memory was only edged in pinpricks as he sat at the breakfast bar and smiled. Tonia had been a firecracker when riled, as the hints of red in her dark brown hair had hinted. And nothing set her off more than someone coming after those she loved and considered under her protection. At ten years old, he’d become one of those people to her.

  “I was right about your refrigerator,” Valeria gloated, tossing him an arch glance over her shoulder. “Good thing I brought groceries along with dinner.”

  “Mamá, you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, her generosity never failing to touch him.

  “I know I didn’t.” She returned to the food warming on the stove, and in minutes, slid him a plate piled with his favorites, ropa vieja and arroz con gandulez. He groaned at the delicious aroma wafting from the shredded beef and rice with pigeon peas and dug in. Humming, Valeria patted his free hand. “Slow down, mijo. There’s plenty more.”

  “Thank you for this.” He pointed his fork toward the food. “I wasn’t even aware I was starving until I smelled your cooking.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She perched on a stool across from him, her gentle but perceptive gaze fixed on him. Sometimes, it was difficult looking into the brown eyes that she’d bequeathed to her daughter. “I tried calling you earlier to let you know I was headed over. Now I see why you didn’t answer. Working out again.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. I left my cell inside the house and didn’t hear it ring.”

  “That’s not the problem, Cole.” She tilted her head to the side, studying him. “When I walked into that garage, sweat practically poured off your body and you were shaking. Which means you’d been at it for a while. Something is on your mind. Or something happened. Which is it?”

  He considered lying. And even parted his lips to give the standard “nothing.” But that didn’t emerge.

  Before he could reply, she softly asked, “Is this about Lacy Mitchell? I know she called and left a message for you today. She contacted me when she didn’t hear from you.”

  Cole frowned. “The real estate agent?” He shook his head. “No, but I haven’t checked my messages in the last few hours. What did she want?”

  His mother-in-law didn’t respond, but just stared at him, love and a mild reproach in her gaze. In that instant, the answer plowed into his head, and he flinched. “I hope you told her I’m not interested,” he said.

  “No, Cole. I didn’t tell her that. I said I would talk to you about it.” She tilted her head, a small, melancholy smile curving her mouth. “It’s time. It’s been two years.”

  “No.” He shook his head. Hard. Adamant. “No.”

  “The house is just sitting empty, Cole. You’re not going to live there again. Let someone else bring the love that you and Tonia shared back to it. Let a family—”

  “No,” he interrupted. Then, immediately winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you by cutting you off. I just... I just can’t...” He knew his family believed he should sell the house that stood as a monument to his life before Tonia died in childbirth. The thought of someone else laughing, eating, making love in the home where he was supposed to have lived with his wife and his infant son... Bile raced an acidic path toward his throat. “I’m not ready to let her go.”

  “It,” she murmured. “You mean, it. You’re not ready to let the house go.”

  His slip hit him, but he again shook his head. Slower this time. “Same thing.”

  “Okay, Cole,” she said, that terrible kindness and understanding in her gaze. He glanced away from it. “What were you going to tell me before?”

  Once more, especially after this conversation, he almost blurted out “nothing.” But his tongue didn’t cooperate with his brain. And the truth rebelliously slipped from him.

  “I... I touched a pregnant woman’s stomach today. Felt her baby move.” He didn’t say any more and from the glistening in his mother-in-law’s eyes, he didn’t need to.

  “Oh, mijo,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers, squeezing and holding on. “It gets easier, I promise.”

  “Has it? For you?” he asked.

  She smiled, but sadness stained it and her dark brown gaze. “Some days, yes. And then others?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Others, I’m faithing it until I make it. But I have to remind myself that I had my beautiful Tonia in my life for twenty-nine blessed years. God knows, I would’ve loved more. To me, it isn’t the natural order of life for a child to die before her parents. Still, I’m so thankful for the time I had with her. I try to think on those days, those years, instead of the ones I won’t ever have. And more and more, I’m finding comfort in that. Enough that I’m starting to find joy again, even in the little things.”

  He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Because part of him yearned to be where she was. But the other half of him... He feared moving on. Finding joy without Tonia and the son they should’ve been raising and loving. It felt like a betrayal to forget her and the life they’d planned together. Logically, he understood this didn’t make sense. But his heart? His heart clung feverishly to her memory and terror bit at him like a rabid dog when he couldn’t recall her light, floral scent. Or the Tinkerbell sound of her laughter.

  No, moving on meant losing her all over again. And he couldn’t...he couldn’t face that pain again.

  “Who was the woman?” Valeria asked, jerking him back to his kitchen and the bright curiosity in her eyes. “The pregnant woman whose baby you felt move.”

  “Sydney Collins.”

  “Collins. Collins.” She tapped her bottom lip in thought. “Dr. Collins’s daughter?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “She just returned to town after being gone for almost ten years. Do you remember her?”

  “Vaguely.” She nabbed his plate and crossed the small area to the sink and placed it inside. A chuckle escaped her. “Mostly, I remember how she was accused of hanging tampons on the big red oak outside the high school like Christmas ornaments. I know I was supposed to be scandalized, but Tonia and I had a huge laugh over that. They used to call her rebellious and unruly, but I liked her. She was an individual, had spirit.”

  True, Sydney had been labeled as “the wild one” by most of the town. And the girl had done everything she could to live up to that reputation. From painted-on jeans or denim short-shorts and cropped T-shirts to being escorted home drunk by the police from the lake parties that had been going on since before Cole was a teen, she’d flouted the rules.

  Yet, Cole had looked beyond the revealing clothes, sassy mouth and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude to the vulnerable, hurt girl beneath all the bravado. To most she had been rebellious, but to him, she’d been hungry for attention. Because as good of people as her parents were, Luke and Patricia Collins weren’t the warmest residents of Rose Bend. The town doctor and his wife might be among the most solid and respected, but Cole had never seen them put their arms around their daughter. Never witnessed a loving moment between them. Not even during her sister Carlin’s funeral.

  Though he’d been thirteen, he clearly remembered the sad service. Luke and Patricia had stood together as a unit beside their daughter’s casket as it hovered above that yawning hole in the earth. And off to the side had been Sydney. Alone. No one to comfort her.

  So yes, he understood her mutinous behavior as a teen. He imagined for her, negative attention had been better than no attention.

  And Sydney had demanded attention.

  Leave it to his intuitive mother-in-law to see beyond the antics to the heart of the girl.

  Opening his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer—beer she must’ve stocked because he hadn’t bought any—she crossed the kitchen and set it down in front of him.

  He shook his head, smirking. The woman thought of everything. Valeria propped her crossed arms on the breakfast bar and leaned forward, studying him as he twisted the cap off the bottle and lifted it to hi
s mouth.

  “Are you involved with this woman?” she asked.

  He choked on the gulp he’d just downed. His mother-in-law silently handed him a napkin to wipe his mouth.

  “No,” he objected, vehemently. Maybe too vehemently because Valeria’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead, her mouth quirking as if trying to hold back a smile. “No,” he tried again. “We’re just friends. If that. I was several years ahead of her in school, and she was close with Leo when they were kids.”

  “Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Coltrane Alejandro Dennison, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” He set the bottle down with a hard plunk. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  More seconds of silence spent under that unwavering, piercing stare. “It’s okay to be attracted to another woman, mijo,” she finally murmured. “It isn’t a betrayal to Tonia.”

  “Mamá—”

  “No, you need to hear this whether you want to or not,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but with a thread of steel in it that shouted, I’m the elder, sit your ass down and listen. “There was no woman more loved than my daughter by you. Except me by Ramon,” she added with a smile. “And that is such a comfort to me. She’s gone, but I know with every bit of my heart that she left this world cherished by a wonderful man. But your capacity to care didn’t die with her. You have so much to give, and you deserve that affection in return. Don’t close yourself off from it.”

  “You...” He trailed off, unable to squeeze the words past his suddenly constricted throat. “You wouldn’t...”

  “Dios, Cole, no,” she whispered, stretching her arms across the bar and cupping his face between her small palms. “I would rejoice for you, not be angry with you.”

  He shook his head, her hushed words pounding against his chest like the strikes of an anvil. “Doesn’t matter.” He covered her hands with his, tenderly drawing them down and cradling them. “She’s just a friend. And I’m not ready. No one could ever take her place.”

  She flipped her fingers over, squeezing his. “It’s not a competition, mijo,” she softly assured him.

  Releasing him, she returned to the sink and twisted the faucets, running water in the sink. He lifted the beer bottle to his lips again, drinking the ale down. His mother-in-law was right. It wasn’t a competition.

  Because no one could compare to the woman who had died and taken his heart with her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SYDNEY PAUSED IN front of the shop, staring up at the pink, white and yellow striped awning and the gleaming storefront windows. Many of the shops that had lined Main Street when she’d left town still remained, untouched. But there were new additions, keeping Rose Bend revived and fresh.

  Like this ice cream shop. Six Ways to Sundae.

  Tongue-in-cheek and adorable.

  She smiled just as a familiar and loud voice called out her name. Sydney glanced to the side, her grin widening at the sight of Leo headed toward her in that clipped, no-nonsense stride of hers. Like their time apart had been mere hours instead of years, their friendship had fallen right back into place. When not working, Leo hung out at the cottage, and sometimes, Sydney had gone over to the inn and claimed her old spot in Moe’s kitchen.

  God, she was grateful for Leo. This friendship helped to beat back the doubts over moving back.

  “You made it here before me,” Leo greeted, tugging Sydney into her arms for a quick embrace. Another thing she’d missed about her best friend—the unconscious and unashamed displays of affection. Guess it came from being part of a loving and demonstrative family. It’d always been one of the things she’d enjoyed when going over to the inn. “See? Here is where I’m being an amazing friend and refraining from the cliché comment about pregnant women always eating anything that isn’t nailed down. Aren’t you blessed that I’m so kind and considerate?”

  Sydney snickered. “Yes, kind and considerate were the exact words I was thinking of.”

  Leo laughed and, still cupping Sydney’s upper arms, tilted her head to the side and smiled. “If I haven’t told you lately, I’m really glad you moved back. I’ve missed you, Syd.”

  Sydney blinked. Freaking hormones. Again.

  “Thanks, Leo. I’ve missed you, too. At least I know coming home and having you back in my life is definitely a mark in the pro column for returning here. But I swear...” She laughed, but it possessed too much of an edge to be considered humorous. “One minute I’m certain that I’m doing the right thing. And then the next? The next I’m second-guessing every choice I’ve made for the last six months. Was I wrong to divorce Daniel? Should I have remarried him after I found out I was pregnant? Should I have stayed in Charlotte, the place that’s been a home to me for almost a decade? Am I being impulsive? Am I placing my own needs above the baby’s? Am I being—” she paused, then pushed out the last, damning word “—selfish? God, sorry.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”

  Leo stepped back and jammed her fists on her hips, an eyebrow arched high.

  “I need you to listen to me, okay? Hell no, you are not selfish. And I don’t know your ex, but just from the little you’ve told me about him, I can take an educated guess where that bullshit came from.”

  “Leo.” Sydney shook her head. “Daniel’s not a bad guy. He’s just...set in his ways.”

  “Sydney, you’re my girl, but he sounds like he has a stick lodged so far up his ass, he shits splinters.”

  I will not laugh. I will not laugh.

  “Oh, just go on and laugh. You know you want to.” Leo grinned, but a moment later sobered. “God knows I’m not an expert on men. I’m like the anti-relationship whisperer. But I have learned this. Whenever anyone—a woman, especially—makes a decision that is beneficial to her but inconvenient to another person, she’s selfish.” She snorted. “Living for yourself, making your own decisions—that doesn’t make you selfish, it makes you strong. Bold. Independent. It’s you. And don’t you forget that. Or let anyone try and convince you differently.”

  “That’s just it, Leo,” Sydney protested on a whisper. “I’m not bold or strong. I’m—”

  “Scared shitless,” her friend finished softly. “Yeah, I get it. I do. Returning here after so long must be terrifying. But being afraid doesn’t determine your strength or your courage. Acting in spite of that fear, persevering, pressing forward—that’s courage. It would’ve been easy, comfortable, safe for you to stay in your marriage.”

  Yes, it would’ve been, Sydney silently agreed, staring over Leo’s shoulder at the gleaming storefront windows of Sunnyside Grille. And all the while, she would’ve slowly suffocated, lost her ambition, her voice—lost herself—as the years passed. That had been the wake-up call for her to walk away from her marriage of almost five years.

  And now, she was returning to the place where she’d initially experienced that same sense of drowning. Returning to Rose Bend.

  “It takes balls to start over, Sydney.” Leo grasped Sydney’s hand and squeezed it. “Lady balls. And you, my friend, got a brass set.”

  Sydney’s bark of laughter sounded a bit waterlogged from the damn tears that refused to go away. Good Lord, she had five more months of this emotional upheaval?

  “Thanks... I think.” Clearing her throat, she switched the subject before she started bawling right here on Main Street and really gave people something to gossip about. “Okay, ice cream. I definitely need ice cream now.”

  “Done.” Leo stepped past her and pulled open the entrance door, still holding Sydney’s hand, tugging her inside. As the cool air rushed out to greet her, Sydney didn’t bother to hold back her groan.

  Oh, thank God. Right now, air-conditioning was better than an orgasm.

  “Um, either it’s really hot outside or you haven’t had sex in a while,” an amused, lilting voice observed on the tail end of a snic
ker.

  Crap. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Oh yes, sister.” Leo cackled. “You did indeed say that aloud.”

  “It’s the heat,” Sydney muttered. “It’s attacking my brain cells as well as my sweat glands.”

  “Uh-huh.” Leo jabbed Sydney in the shoulder with a fingertip. “Just so you know, the topic of your apparently questionable sex life is shelved only until I get ice cream in me. In the meantime, meet the owner of this fabulous establishment, Cecille Lapuz. Cecille, Sydney Collins.”

  The lovely, petite woman grinned. With long, gorgeous light brown hair, smooth, toffee-colored skin and beautiful brown eyes that spoke of an Asian heritage, possibly Filipina, she could’ve been anywhere from her midtwenties to her late thirties. An eggshell-blue apron with the shop’s name embroidered on it partially covered the white long-sleeved T-shirt and dark blue skinny jeans that adorned her slim figure.

  If not for that engaging, playful grin and the tray of delicious-looking ice-cream-topped brownie samples she held, Sydney might’ve hated her.

  “Nice to meet you,” Sydney said, plucking up one of the minuscule desserts. She popped the treat in her mouth. Then moaned good and long at the chocolate, pecan and vanilla goodness that melted on her tongue. “I have never met you before in my life, but right now I want to pledge my undying love. And I would offer you my virginity but, hello.” Sydney waved a hand down her baby bump that her lilac sundress didn’t conceal. “That ship has not only sailed but been torpedoed into the deep.”