by Olivia Miles
“Ladies first,” he said tightly.
Geez, would it kill the man to smile? Mary felt her own grin leave her face. He really was nothing short of unfriendly. Really, would it hurt him to have a little chitchat? It didn’t have to mean anything. She was his neighbor, for God’s sake. Was it too much to expect a simple wave and a smile every now and again, or maybe even someone willing to sign for the occasional package or water a plant?
From the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes, she decided that yes, this was too much. Pity.
Mary skipped down the stairs, her hand light on the banister, aware of his heavy tread behind her as she wound her way down to the first floor and into the small vestibule where the mailboxes lined the wall. Ben brushed by her, as if she was a stranger in the building, not his next-door neighbor, not someone she’d done a recent favor for, and opened the front door.
Mary watched the exchange with the delivery man through the corner of her eye as she removed her recycling program sign from the glass door to the stairwell. Pizza. No surprise there. She’d smelled the pepperoni and cheese wafting through the hall night after night since moving in. Each time her stomach rumbled, sometimes tempting her to order one of her own. But then she would remember how slow business was these days, and how even little indulgences were an extravagance at the moment, and then she’d go pour a bowl of cereal or something equally depressing.
Mary shivered as a cold blast of air cut through the small lobby area, slicing through her angora sweater. She hurried to cut the tape, eager to get on her way before Ben had something snide to say about her “little initiative.” If he bothered to say anything to her at all.
The front door closed, and all at once the room became warmer. Mary felt her skin heat, and her neck and cheeks flush as she sensed Ben standing behind her, and she knew it had nothing to do with the steam crackling from the ancient radiator in the corner.
“Almost finished,” she said, not turning around. She smacked the last piece of tape against the bottom corner of the paper, annoyed to see that it bent slightly in her rush, and said briskly over her shoulder, “There. All done.”
Ben glanced at her and then, without a word, leaned over her shoulder to inspect her handiwork. Mary felt her breath catch at his proximity, at the strange intimacy of the moment. She suddenly felt conspicuous and all too aware that they were alone in this small, cramped room, that her cheeks were warm and her heart was beating a little faster than usual, and that there was a telltale glint in Ben’s eyes.
She should have added that footnote, excluding him from participation.
“A yard sale.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, pulling back. “You do know it’s March, don’t you?”
“The start of spring,” she said brightly, even though his pessimistic reminder had made her heart sink a little. “Most people do spring cleaning around this time of year. It seems like the perfect opportunity to host a building yard sale.”
His gaze was unwavering. Mary shifted on her feet. He was making her nervous. She suddenly wished he would go back to not talking to her at all. It was far easier than being forced to look up at those unreadable eyes, that nut brown hair that tousled this way and that, and those smooth, pink lips that were curved . . . into a bit of a smirk, she realized.
She rolled her shoulders. Well. Time to come to her senses.
“Have you been outside lately?” he asked in a pleasant enough tone.
“Yes, I have obviously been outside,” she said hastily. She reached for the door handle and tugged it a few times, until she remembered that it swung open, instead. Her cheeks were on fire as she briefly met Ben’s questioning gaze from the corner of her eye, his smirk now a wicked grin.
“I think you have to push it.” Ben’s voice was low and deep in her ear, with a hint of amusement.
Mary huffed, feeling her face grow hot. “I know that.” She pushed it open and began walking up the stairs, trying her best not to think about the fact that Ben had a perfect view of her butt for the entire walk back to the third floor.
She fought the urge to stop walking, to say she’d forgotten something downstairs, needed to check her mail, something, anything, that would get him away from her, and from the close proximity of her backside. At the next landing, she slanted him a glance, but his eyes were focused on the pizza box, and the little frown was back, pulling at his features.
Mary frowned with him, suddenly a little insulted to realize he hadn’t taken the opportunity to check her out. He was a man after all, and even if there was someone named Violet in his life, most hot-blooded males of a certain age would still take a moment to sneak a peek.
He was clearly very loyal to this Violet woman. Mary couldn’t help the stab of jealousy that panged. It would be nice to find a man like that, wouldn’t it?
Except that she wasn’t looking for a man. Not now. Not with everything else going on. Not after the last guy had so neatly stomped on her heart.
Finally, they were at their landing. Mary had left her door unlocked, and she was now grateful for it. She could slip inside, close the door, beat him at his own game. Except that wasn’t like her, was it?
“Well, good night.” She smiled as she wrapped her hand around the brass doorknob and paused.
Ben skirted her a glance as he balanced the pizza box in one hand and reached into his pocket to fetch his key with his other. “Mmm,” he simply muttered, and turned his back to stick the key into its slot.
Mary stared at his back. His strong, broad, perfectly attractive back, if there were even such a thing, which she now knew with certainty there was, and scowled. Enough was enough. She’d gone out of her way, shown a little bit of kindness, and time after time the man was hell-bent on giving her the cold shoulder.
She pushed open the door of her apartment and closed it without another word. But she couldn’t resist one more glance through the peephole. After all, the man might be a jerk, but there was certainly no harm in looking.
Chapter Four
Any hopes Ben had of a peaceful weekend family breakfast were already shattered, and it wasn’t even half past seven.
“They’re supposed to be yellow on the inside,” Violet insisted, “not all mashed up. I don’t like them like this!”
Ben plucked two pieces of rye bread from the toaster and stood at the counter, trying to keep the impatience from creeping into his voice. In the few short days since Dana had left town and Violet had moved in, he’d sensed a shift in his daughter. She used to look forward to her visits with him, even if he’d hated that word—visits—as if he were a distant relative or something. “They’re eggs, Violet, how bad could they be?”
“They’re not sunny eggs! I like sunny eggs.”
“They’re scrambled, not sunny side-up,” he muttered under his breath and grabbed the coffee pot, sloshing the contents as he refilled his mug. Cursing, he mopped the mess with a rag, and turned to Violet in exasperation. “This is all you’re getting until lunch, so please just eat it.”
“Mommy makes me sunny eggs.”
She had to keep hitting that nerve. “Well,” he replied as he set his plate on the table with a clatter, “your mother isn’t here, I am.”
Instantly, tears welled in Violet’s eyes and Ben brought his hand to his forehead. “Oh God. Violet, honey, I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m trying, Violet. I just . . . What about the toast?”
Violet pushed her plate away and Ben dragged out a sigh. It was going to be another one of those days, and this time there wasn’t an office to run to, or the hope that a few hours at school, in her usual daily routine, with her friends, would shake Violet out of her funk. The kid missed her mom, and despite his feelings for Dana at this point, he couldn’t blame her.
Leaning against the counter, Ben picked up his fork, his appetite now gone, and cut into his eggs. One bite confirmed Violet’s accusations. Cold. Rubbery. Overcooked. Dana’s eggs were always timed to perfection. Who could blame the kid for not eating?
&n
bsp; He should have stuck with the frozen waffles. The kind she ate every other time she spent the night here. Instead he’d tried to do something special. He set his plate in the sink, reaching instead for his mug of coffee. He eyed Violet over the rim, his chest tightening at the sight.
Her cheek was cupped in her hand, her eyes downcast, her lower lip jutting slightly. Ben closed his eyes, swallowing hard, and took another sip of the coffee, the one thing he knew how to make properly—if making coffee even classified as cooking. He had a feeling Violet would tell him it didn’t. He leaned back against the counter, letting his gaze fall over the adjacent living room. He’d lived here for two years and there still weren’t any pictures on the walls. It would have made it feel too permanent, but now he realized his error. If Violet was going to be staying with him going forward, he’d need a new place. And until then, he needed to spruce this one up.
“How about we go shopping today? I could use your help decorating your room a bit more.”
Violet eyed him uncertainly. “I have a room. At my house.”
Ben gripped the mug tighter. The house no longer belonged to him, and he wasn’t involved in the selling process, but he knew Chicago real estate, and he knew the quality of the house’s construction. He wouldn’t be surprised if it already had an offer.
He grimaced, trying not to think of all the hope and possibility that house had once held. That it would now belong to another family. That he’d failed somehow. And that his daughter was paying the price.
***
Mary scraped the last of the batter into the waffle cone press and sighed. She’d been hoping the snow would let up by now, but it was colder this morning than it had been in days, and the snow that had fallen earlier in the week still stubbornly stuck to the bushes and hugged the curbs in high piles.
She glanced out the window forlornly, only looking up when she’d realized she’d burned the last of the waffle cones by taking her eye off it too long. No bother, she thought, tossing it in the trash. It wasn’t as if she were likely to sell out today. Not with the wind howling that way . . .
She pressed a fist against her apron and turned back to the counter. Normally she would be preparing a fresh flavor of the day, or dreaming up new ones for tomorrow, but she was tired, and her heart was heavy, and—oh, crap—her sister was at the door.
Scrambling to adjust her expression into something more cheerful, she hurried to the door and turned the locks. Lila shivered as she stepped inside the shop and rubbed her mitten-covered hands together. “It’s freezing out there!”
Mary felt her lips thin. So she’d noticed on her walk into work this morning. It had taken everything in her not to turn around, go back to bed, and stay there until spring.
“To what do I owe the honor?” she asked. Her voice felt tight and her pulse was speeding up. Had Lila noticed the lack of traffic? Was she concerned? It wasn’t often that she swung by unannounced like this.
“Oh, Sam went to the gym and I’m on my way to a stationary shop down the street. I thought I’d stop by and get your thoughts on the wedding invitations. Unless this is a bad time?” Her large grey eyes swept the empty room.
“Not a bad time at all,” Mary insisted. “I don’t open for another hour, so you beat the rush.” The rush! She all but snorted, but managed to stop herself just in time.
Lila didn’t seem to notice as she sat down on a counter stool and unraveled her scarf. “Got any coffee hiding back there?” she asked, lifting her chin to the back room where she knew Mary kept a percolator. “Actually, I can see you’re busy, so I’ll go make us some.”
She started to get off the stool, but Mary sprung forward, stopping her. “No. No, you sit,” she said shakily, ignoring Lila’s quizzical expression. “I have some already made. I’ll . . . be right back.”
She hurried to the back of the shop and let herself into the room. Most of the evidence from the broken pipe had been cleaned up by now, with the exception of the glaring hole in the ceiling where the drywall had been ripped out. She eyed the piles of receipts and bills that littered the small desk in the corner, and then closed her eyes for a beat. She took three deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The pipes weren’t going to burst again—at least she hoped they weren’t—but something did need to be done. And it probably didn’t just stop with the plumbing.
All she needed now was a surprise inspection. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of her sundae?
This shop had been in her grandparents’ possession for as long as she’d known them. Longer than she’d been alive. Sunshine Creamery was a neighborhood institution, a throwback to the sweeter days, and, she was starting to realize, a money pit.
“Need help back there?” Lila called from the storefront.
Stiffening, Mary grabbed two mugs and sloshed some coffee into them. “Nope, all set!”
She managed to smile serenely as she carried the coffees back to her sister. “I couldn’t find the sugar,” she explained.
Lila narrowed her gaze. “This is an ice cream parlor. Don’t you have pounds of sugar?”
Mary felt her cheeks flush as she took the stool next to her sister. She wasn’t thinking clearly, and her behavior was starting to reflect it. “Oh. I didn’t feel like opening a new bag. Anyway . . . How’s Sam?”
As suspected, Lila was immediately distracted. They chatted about her upcoming wedding plans, her thoughts on the dress, and the flowers, the invitations of course, and then, as they always did, they talked about Gramps.
“I know it might have been unrealistic, but I always thought he’d be here to walk us down the aisle,” Lila said wistfully.
Mary swallowed the knot in her throat. “I know. I always thought so, too.” She stared at the framed photo she’d hung on the wall of the man who had raised them, standing behind this very counter, grinning ear to ear. He’d kept this place running for how many years, and she was in risk of losing it in a matter of months. How was that even possible?
She looked away. She loved having this photo here, with her all day, but sometimes . . . well, sometimes it just plain hurt. She remembered when she was little, and she and Lila had just moved in with their grandparents, how much it hurt to see the pictures of her parents, to know that they were gone and never coming back. In time that pain had faded. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about the pain fading again.
Every time she pushed through the door of Sunshine Creamery, it was as if Gramps was here with her. As if she still had a home base, a piece of her past, of her childhood.
She glanced at her sister. She had Lila. At least she had her.
“Although,” Mary said, taking a sip of her coffee and bringing herself back to the conversation. “I guess it was never in the cards for Gramps to walk me down an aisle. I doubt I’ll ever get married.”
“What?” Lila laughed. “Please. You’re just in a rut. You’ll find someone.”
“I’m not so sure,” Mary admitted truthfully. She hardly got out much, and it wasn’t like the man she was going to marry was just going to come along and knock on her door.
She frowned, thinking of Ben across the hall, and set down her mug with a thud.
“It’s not like you to sound so defeated,” Lila remarked. She studied Mary’s face with concern. “Is everything okay?”
Mary shifted uneasily on her seat. She used to tell her sister everything. Even though she was only a couple years older, Lila had always been more levelheaded and mature, forced to grow up a little sooner when their parents had died. She’d always been protective of Mary, always there to offer her support. Lila would give Mary the shirt off her back, and she almost had, considering the money she’d given to revive Sunshine Creamery, all because Mary couldn’t bring herself to let it go.
She knew that if she told Lila about the plumbing problems, and possibly some electrical wiring issues too, not to mention that gaping hole in the ceiling, that her sister would heave a sigh and do what she could. But Mary wasn’t ten years old anymore.
And her sister had done enough. She was planning a wedding. Starting a new advertising agency. Mary wasn’t that selfish.
No, this was her problem to solve. And she would solve it. Somehow.
***
Ben looked down at Violet’s small hand in his and squeezed it a little tighter. Determined to keep his tone light, he said, “Are you hungry?”
She hadn’t eaten the eggs he’d made, and by now several hours had passed. He looked around at his options, eyeing a bagel shop just ahead. “How about a bagel?”
But even though they were her favorite, Violet just shook her head. “When’s Mommy coming back?” she asked again.
Ben pulled in a breath and put one foot in front of the other. He’d answered this question over and over, but it didn’t seem any of his responses were good enough. And there was a possibility they never would be.
Dana had always traveled for her job—it was a sticking point earlier in their marriage, when Violet was first born, and it had stayed that way right up until the bitter end. And beyond, he thought. Usually Violet was oblivious to her absence, knowing she would be back on a set day, usually full of souvenirs. That had been a sticking point, too.
But things were different now, and Violet was old enough to sense it. This wasn’t just a night or two with Daddy; this was new territory. He could only hope they fell into a new routine soon. And that Dana didn’t come along and shake it up all over again.
“What about a burger?” he said, pointing to a restaurant. “I’ll let you have some fries.”
But Violet shook her head again. Exasperated, Ben stopped walking and crouched down until he was eye to eye with his daughter. The little pout of her mouth tore at his heart.
“Listen, Violet, I know you’re confused, and I know you miss your mother, but I’m trying, honey. I’m trying to do something nice for you. So if you won’t eat what I’m offering, then is there anything else you might want?”