by Brooke May
“Hello. Good morning,” I softly say as I hurriedly walk by shopping carts and checkout stations to my café. My patrons are probably champing at the bit to get their daily goodie or caffeine fix. Saturdays are always my busiest days. I never thought I would like spending Saturdays at work, but it beat spending them alone at home while Greg was off doing whatever or whoever. On occasion, I’ll take time off to go fishing or hunting with my dad, but for the most part, my life revolves around the café.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Lush.” Aunt Satin leans onto the counter by my display cabinet, grinning wryly at me. “How are you feelin’?”
Ducking under the counter, I put my purse and coat under the register and grab my apron off its hook.
“Better than I deserve.” That’s a stretch. I feel horrible; no number of Tums or amount of Pepto-Bismol will help. My head feels like it is about ready to explode, and my heart is hurting from the confusion caused by seeing Duke on my front porch.
“Cup of strong black coffee will fix you up.” She pushes a tall paper cup in front of me. “Drink up. You’re in a dead zone right now between customers.”
Accepting the cup gratefully, I inhale the bitter aroma and start to feel mildly better. “Thanks. Has it been busy this morning?”
“It was at opening but has since tapered down. I put whatever you had prepped last night into the ovens and started pulling them out about twenty minutes ago.”
“Only twenty minutes ago?” I shriek, causing the hot coffee to burn all the way down to my stomach.
I’m a destructive mess today.
“It wasn’t until we saw people lining up that we realized you weren’t in yet.”
“The car wasn’t out front,” I grumble and feel the bold glare of my aunt on my back as I check my ovens.
“No, it’s still at the Grizzly.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to her. “I’m sorry. Thank you for stepping in to help this morning.”
“You’re welcome.” She kisses my cheek before wrapping me in one of her warm hugs. “Everyone deserves a day or two to feel like shit after drinking too much.”
My thanks are muffled by her shoulder.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my actual job of numbers. It was fun playing baker like I knew what the hell I was doing, but it’s all yours.” Taking off her apron, she hangs it up and excuses herself back to the office that overlooks the store.
Stretching out my fingers, I run them through my hair and realize I never did anything with it, and I never washed the makeup from last night off.
“Fuck.”
Rushing to the small bathroom behind the counter, I quickly wash my face and try to find a brush to run through my hair. It’s one of the things I’m quickly loving about not having long locks. I don’t need to worry about hair ties anymore.
Once I look somewhat presentable, I head back out to the counter and find a short line starting to form. Putting on my I’m not affected by anything, and everything is just fine and dandy face, I start to get to work.
The rest of my short morning passes quickly with orders, making drinks, visiting with customers, cleaning tables, and running dishes. I start to frost cupcakes and pull lunch bagels from the ovens before my lunch and afternoon crowd start to show up.
My mom came by to check on me before she had to go cover at checkout, and my dad came in too at the end of his break. One would think having their parents around would be suffocating, but I love working with my family.
My parents opened the store when I was younger, and I grew up surrounded by my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I started off sweeping the floors after closing and slowly worked my way up until I left for Alabama. Mom offered me my old job when I came back, but we decided I would open the café instead to bring in more people.
I love that my family is close.
Hauling all the red velvet muffins out of the blast cooler and onto plates, I grab the cream cheese frosting to start decorating each of the mouthwatering treats.
I used to overindulge in all the baked treats my mom, aunts, and grandma would make, but now that I make them, I have enough frosting and dough on my hands that I’m rarely tempted to eat my own treats anymore.
Okay, I’ll eat one every once in a while, but I don’t pig out on them anymore. Not now that Greg is gone and most of my unhappiness left with him. I get enough from absorbing it through my skin that I should be a diabetic by now.
Thank goodness I’m not.
I’m just getting ready to switch to the next plate when a thunderous round of applause and cheers capture the entire store. Lifting my head, I find people rising from the chairs at the little tables I have set up. Their full focus is at the entrance of the store, clapping their hands, whistling, and cheering for whoever it is.
The building is muted, the people, shelves, tables, and everything between him and me are blurred as I look over to see Duke shaking hands with one of my uncles. He is in his deputy uniform. I didn’t get a chance to admire him in it last night because I was far too inebriated for that. But now I’m completely captivated with how well the trousers cling to the muscles in his powerful legs. His issued winter jacket is snug even as he unzips it after he says something to my uncle and starts to walk toward me.
Holy shit.
He looks like the sinful devil in disguise, and it feels like my own personal strip show as he removes the jacket and continues to come right to me. The only thing missing is the fast paced music and the pulsating lights. With the jacket gone, my eyes are assaulted by the masculinity of his upper body.
Oh, my God.
My lips are instantly dry, causing my tongue to dart out and wet them. I need to look away from him, but I can’t pull myself to do that. Duke hasn’t noticed me bent over my worktop staring at him with frosting in my hand.
Thank God for that.
He’s as handsome as ever. A hard edge exists where his boyish looks once were. He is a man who has seen things and lived through them. I know now he isn’t the same Duke Michaels I once knew just as I’m not the same Patience LaClare he did.
People constantly stop his parade over to me, wanting to talk to him or shake his hand, and others wave at him as he gives them an easy smile. How I’ve missed that smile.
Whispers around me bring me back to where I’m at. What am I doing? I’m at work in the middle of the day, trying to get cupcakes together with a café full of people.
“That’s Duke Michaels all grown up.” One of my customers standing next to the table closest to me whispers to the person next to her.
“I heard he got married,” her friend whispers back.
What?
A heavy weight drops onto my heart; my chest feels so restricted that I can’t breathe. Of course, Duke got married. He made a life for himself out of this tiny town. He is an attractive man; what woman wouldn’t want to be with him?
“Oh, really? Then he must be moving them here seeing as he is the new sheriff’s deputy.”
“I wonder what his momma thinks of her daughter-in-law. She’s never said anything to me before when we talked about Duke.”
Trying to keep my tears from falling, I turn around and take my cupcakes with me. But I don’t miss what is said and I’m far more upset than I would like to be or should be.
“She probably doesn’t approve of her. There has only been one girl who Mary Michaels has ever approved of—”
“Good afternoon, snowflake.”
I struggle to breathe and keep the frosting in my hands as they tremble. The heat from his stare seeps through the fabric of his shirt hidden under my apron and warms my back, but it doesn’t stop the chills from crawling up my neck and into my hair.
Wiping my eyes quickly, I turn around to face him. I’m instantly at a loss for words. His smile blows me away far more than any winter wind, and I can’t help but take him all in. The heavy corded muscles of his arms look like they are about to break free from the sleeves of his uniform. The mem
ory of having them wrapped around me last night floods me.
I’m glad my apron is covering my chest because my nipples are hardening. My eyes start up the center of his chest and finally lock with his bright sapphire ones.
I’ve lost the ability to speak.
Chapter Fifteen
Duke
I FEEL LIKE I’M in a glass bubble as I lose myself in her. I feel unable to touch her, to feel her presence before me, to hear her deep inhale and shallow exhale as she stares back at me. She is just beyond my reach, and it guts me to see the single tear run down from the corner of her amber eye, over her round cheek, and captured by her parted lips.
Why is she crying?
My knuckles crack at the force I use to keep them balled at my sides. I can’t even feel the bill of my hat biting into one of my palms. Seeing Patience cry makes me murderous. I have never wanted to see her cry. Patience has always been a strong, independent woman who rarely cried for anyone or anything.
And when it all boils down to it, that’s why I left the way I did.
I get that now.
Like the sun finally breaking the horizon from an eternity of night, I understand why I left her that night. It’s because I knew my leaving would bring her to the point of actual tears.
Angry ones.
Big, fat sad ones.
And then even more angry ones.
I must have known deep inside somewhere that I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing her reduced to that because of my decisions. So standing here now, knowing what I do, it makes it that much shittier.
She continues to stare at me as I do the same to her. The people who are slowly halting their applause and going back to whatever they were doing are just faint background noise. Nothing compares to her, even with the anger boiling under the single tear.
Nothing has, and nothing ever will.
In the desert when I couldn’t sleep, I thought of her beautiful eyes and remembered how they always seemed to look inside me. She always saw right through me.
When I was trying to find a woman to take my mind off all the shit I had swarming me, I thought of how precious, soft, and sweet Patience’s body felt against mine that night.
But when I thought about getting a hold of her or returning to claim her as mine, I remember she then belonged to someone else.
That’s all going to change now.
I’m not in a desert in the middle of a war thinking of her. There is no other woman who will ever amount to her, and I can finally work my way back into her heart.
She is still as beautiful as ever, but she is also so different. After talking with Mom today, I have a far greater understanding of what Patience has gone through in my absence.
I can’t seem to pull myself together to form any words to say to her. I’m well aware of our audience; her family, customers, and people who have known us the majority of our lives all watching us just stare at each other.
It was difficult to leave her house this morning. Hell, it was difficult leaving her the other night when she closed me off with the slam of her door. The only reason leaving was made bearable was her dad showing up and telling me he had it handled.
This morning was just as difficult.
Maybe a little more.
I wanted to check on her so badly, but I resisted my natural desire to make sure she was safe and just went home. If the Patience I know is still in there, I know what happened last night humiliated her. She always woke up feeling embarrassed by all the new stories we could add to her drunken memoir. That included the fights.
Last night won’t be any different, except I don’t plan on bringing it up unless she does.
Looking her over, the way she stands defensively, and then up to her eyes which remain locked on me but are slowly narrowing is all I need to see to know she still has it.
She is still my Patience.
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. As much as I want to keep smiling down at her, my face is starting to ache, and I know it unnerves her when I stare and smile.
Just as I’m about to try to say something, Patience, unlike her name, loses it and finally breaks our silence.
“What do you want, Duke?” My name is a short snivel, one I don’t care to hear.
What does she mean what do I want?
I want her, can’t she see that?
I’ve wanted her since—forever.
My brows crease, my confusion materializing across my face.
“Quit looking stupid,” she snaps. “What would you like to order?” Her hands sweep out to either side of her to the display cases filled with the most delicious and pretty baked treats I’ve ever seen.
I take a moment to look at everything she has made before I put my focus back on her. My face remains neutral, making it difficult for her to read me. And then I let my mouth get away from me before I can think through what I want to say.
“Have dinner with me tonight, please?” My free hand goes up to the back of my head to rub in a nervous gesture.
“W-What?” Her screech nearly makes my ears bleed.
“I would like for us to sit down to a nice meal to catch up. I have to explain things to you, questions to answer, and I want all the same from you.”
“Tonight?” I’m worried about the frosting bag in her left hand. I don’t want her dropping that on the floor and wasting it. Better yet, I’m worried it might get shot in my face.
“Yes, tonight. I think we need to get it over with now so we can move on.”
“I—”
“She would love to.” I didn’t even see her mom walk up next to me. Nearly jumping out of my skin, I reach for my side arm in surprise. My knife, too, but they don’t need to know that.
“Holy shit … Mrs. LaClare, it’s nice to see you again.” I regain my composure, something that has been difficult with all I’ve seen and now with Patience acting like a scared little lamb at random.
“It’s great seeing you home safe, Duke.” She places a warm hand on my shoulder. “Patience would love to go out with you. It would do her some good to have a friend again.”
Ouch.
That nearly stings with how evident she is by placing me in the friend zone.
“I would love to be her friend again.” I nearly choke on the goddamn word.
Patience opens her mouths, but her mom halts her. “She will be ready around six, does that work for you?”
“That will work out perfectly.” My smile returns just as Patience’s reddens with her temper.
Chapter Sixteen
Duke
BACK AND FORTH.
Back and forth.
Back and forth, I pace the length of my small kitchen of the old barn my parents have converted into a living quarters. Strange to think the place I now stride across over and over again was once the tack room. They built a new barn a few years ago but didn’t have the heart to destroy this one.
I’m glad they didn’t.
I’ve gotten used to living with other people, but being able to come back home and live on my own is nice. Plus, since I don’t plan on taking Patience out to eat anywhere, it works that I don’t live with my parents anymore. I can have Patience all to myself. There is zero cell reception out here, so there isn’t a chance of someone calling and pulling her away from me.
At my therapy appointment this morning, I couldn’t keep Patience out of my mind, so we ended up talking about her and the guilt I carry around that it is somehow my fault her life ended up the way it did.
It was suggested that we meet to discuss everything I talked about; it could be in the sanctuary of my therapist’s office or somewhere we could both be comfortable.
Hence the dinner invitation to come to my house. I’m ready to open up and tell her everything.
One-on-one time with Patience will be pure perfection.
A nervous apprehension consumes me, though.
Will she freak out about being here with me?
What if her mom can’t convince her to
come with me?
What if—
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floorboards.”
Stopping in front of the table, I sharply turn to find my mom draining the water from the potatoes.
“I’m nervous.”
“No?” Her wide-eyed stare radiates her sarcasm. “I couldn’t tell.” Chuckling to herself, she goes about getting the potatoes mashed.
“What if she doesn’t want to be here with me?” I pull out a chair, but I don’t sit down. I won’t because then I might not get back up out of it to go pick Patience up.
“She’ll be happy to be here, Duke.” Walking up to me, Mom reaches up and pats my cheek. “Now, I’m going to finish this up and set the table. Go get your girl.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I lift her off her feet to give her a tight hug. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t want you poisoning her before you two can settle your differences and move on together.” She laughs as I placed her back on her feet. “Now go.” Turning me around, she pats me on the butt, and I’m sent on my way.
I’ve never been this nervous before. I have never really done the whole dating scene. I always had girls and later women who were interested in me and hanging on me every chance they got but none of them were Patience. None of them even came close. It has only ever been about sex with them—no commitment or attachment of any kind.
I plan to change that with her. I want a commitment with her, I want to be attached to her, and I definitely want to have sex with her.
I just hope she wants the same with me.
The roads have a thin layer of ice on them as I navigate my way from the dirt road to the highway into town. The end of my truck fishtails onto the road, but I correct it and get on my way back into town.
I’m going to have to change the way I drive here soon. My therapist found a woman who trains service dogs in Forsyth and is willing to see how one will go with me. If it all goes well, I’ll have another dog following me around. But this one won’t be able to scent explosives. It’s something I’ll have to adapt to because the more I have thought about it, the better I like this.