Sweethearts Old

by Rachel A Andersen

  “YOU’RE AWFULLY SMILEY tonight.”

  Declan looked up at his mother-in-law. “I am?”

  She nodded. “Have a good day at the office?”

  He thought back to his day at work. A couple of meetings with clients who were interested in building homes, a staff meeting, working out the measurements for the design the in-house architect had sent his direction. “Eh, same as always. I guess I’m just in a good mood.”

  Helen put the strap of her purse over one shoulder. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that smile on your face. It suits you.”

  Guilt pricked his conscience. He may have told Marissa that he’d been a hermit long enough for even Helen to think it was time for him to get a life, but that didn’t mean he really believed it. One day, he’d bring a woman into his home to be his next wife and stepmother to his kids, and he wasn’t sure Helen would be nearly this excited about it when he did.

  Not that he would blame her.

  “Hey, Dad.” Luke zoomed between Declan and Helen, and Declan’s mind went unexpectedly to Aiden, the other young speedster he’d encountered that day. How had Declan never noticed that slight reddish tint to Luke’s hair before? Would Aiden and Luke be mistaken for brothers if they crossed paths in the supermarket?

  He shook the thoughts from his mind and turned to his son. “Hey, kiddo. Running in the house?”

  Luke grinned sheepishly. “I got excited.”

  Declan tousled the boy’s hair with affection. “I get it. Maybe slow down a little for the rest of us non-speedsters?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Not ten seconds after the reminder, Luke raced into the kitchen and earned a squeal and lecture from his older sister.

  Helen laughed as she walked out the front door. “Good luck.”

  Declan couldn’t help but chuckle himself. “Thanks.”

  “HEY, PIERCE, WE’RE getting barbecue from that food truck down the street. You want anything?”

  Declan grabbed the blazer from the back of the chair in his office, encased in glass with metal fixtures. “Actually, I’m going out for lunch.”

  Yvette, the forty-something-year-old office manager, blinked at him. “You?”

  A smile played on his lips. “Yes, me. What’s wrong with that?”

  She shook her head as if she’d committed some faux pas she didn’t want to cop to. “Nothing. I’m just surprised. You haven’t left the office for almost a year except to go home.”

  He put the blazer on, checking that the collar of his rust-colored button-up shirt was properly aligned with his tailored plaid sport coat. “That’s not true. I went out on a couple of jobs.”

  The blond rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes. You went out to one of those fixer-upper jobs once or twice, just to tell the contractor that he was dealing with a load-bearing wall.”

  “See? That’s twice I left the office to go somewhere other than home.”

  Yvette threw him a dirty look. “All I’m saying is that I think it’s nice you’re getting a life. Any chance you’re meeting a woman for this lunch?”

  Declan didn’t dignify her question with a response.

  Yvette grinned. “Thought so. You looked a little too spiffy for the likes of us.”

  Declan locked the computer on his desk and grabbed his keys. “Are you finished?”

  Yvette crossed her arms and leaned her slender frame against the wall as he walked past her. “So, you are meeting someone. Don’t want to be late, huh? Sounds serious.”

  Declan rolled his eyes as he waved over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  MARISSA WAITED ON THE bench outside the restaurant as he parked the car. As she stood to meet him, he had to admit that she looked even better today than she had the night of the reunion, dressed in brown slacks, a cream sweater, and a rust-colored scarf.

  The only difference was that she wasn’t smiling.

  “Something wrong?”

  She waved behind her. “See for yourself.”

  His heart sank as he caught sight of the tacky yellow sign of an underwater vehicle while an outdoor speaker piped Beatles’ music for everyone to hear. “The Yellow Sub? Where’s Nico’s?”

  Marissa pulled the strap of her tan purse over her shoulder, leaving her thumb underneath to keep it anchored. “I asked inside, but no one seemed to even know this had been Nico’s before this.”

  Something was off about her, something was wrong, and he could feel it. “Marissa, it’s just a restaurant. We could probably find another place we’d like in ten minutes or less.”

  She brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, and he was surprised to see the tears gleaming in her eyes. “It’s silly to get all worked up over the restaurant, I know.”

  He caught her hand and guided her back to the bench he’d found her at just moments earlier. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, dipping her gaze to her lap and wiping at her cheeks as if to hide the evidence of her tears. “It’s stupid. It’s nothing.”

  “Now, I know that’s not true. The Marissa I know doesn’t cry about nothing.”

  He wasn’t sure what he expected, a laugh, a smile, something. Instead, she looked up at him with vulnerability he’d never seen in her before, not even when they were kids and she’d claimed to trust him implicitly. “And who is the Marissa you know, Declan? The girl who played the violin and wanted to travel around the world? She died a long time ago. Buried under decades of grief and holding it all together.”

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and he wished that he was one of those gentlemen from movies who always carried a handkerchief or a packet of tissues with him.

  “I know it’s not fair to complain about this to you of all people. You were the one who tried to keep her alive, tried to protect her from how everything was changing.”

  She buried her face in her hands, and he pulled her to him in a strong embrace. “Is that what this is about? Because I don’t have any hard feelings.”

  She cried in his arms a few moments longer before she tugged away. “I sold my parents’ house this summer, and I thought I was okay with it. I needed to move out and be my own person.”

  He nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “I know, and I don’t regret it, but I drove past it on the way here, and—and it was like losing them all over again.”

  He squeezed her elbow, that memory of yelling at Helen over where the plates belonged in his kitchen replaying in his mind. “I know the feeling.”

  “Yeah, I know you do. So, when I came here, and Nico’s was gone, and they were playing this song, I just—” She released a tiny, nervous chuckle. “I guess I kind of lost it. I’m sorry.”

  A flash of a memory sparked, Jeff Lambert singing off-key to “Eleanor Rigby” as they traveled to some family outing at a museum or something downtown. “That’s right. Your dad liked the Beatles.”

  She looked up as if to the speakers. “This song in particular.”

  He put an arm around her and pulled her so that her cheek rested against his chest. “I’m sorry, Riss. You must miss them terribly.”

  She fell quiet, the Beatles' songs playing against the sounds of cars driving along the street. “Most days, it’s okay, but then there are moments that hit you like a brick wall.”

  He looked over at her, squelching the powerful urge to kiss her temple. The last time they’d been alone, he’d given into such an urge, and it hadn’t gone well. Besides, they were just friends, right? “I know it’s been a lot of years since we dated, but I hope you’ll still think of me as a safe place. I just want the best for you.”

  She didn’t look at him, just curled in his embrace as if the last twenty years hadn’t happened. “I wish the same for you.”

  A breeze rustled through the trees, shaking the leaves as they sat together. For the first time in weeks, his thoughts went still, allowing the coolness of the wind to caress his face and the warmth of the embrace to soothe his
troubled heart.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I hurt you all those years ago.”

  He looked down at Marissa, a gentle smile on his lips. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t hurt, but you don’t have to apologize. Even knowing what I know now, I don’t regret the last twenty years. What about you?”

  Her chest rose with a deep inhale. “If the last twenty years hadn’t gone the way they did, I wouldn’t have Aiden. That would be a shame.”

  “That’s a start.” He stood and tugged at her hand as the breeze brought with it a host of appetizing spices and smells. “Come on. Let’s grab something to eat.”

  Though he suspected they could use the chuckles that came from the little sub shop, he could tell from Marissa’s face that now wasn’t the moment. Instead, he tugged her hand and walked her the length of the strip mall before they came to a small hibachi grill and walked inside. They took their seats and took a quiet moment to look through the lunch menu. “You should have heard the grief I got from my colleagues when I said I was going out for lunch today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently, I never leave the office or my house these days.”

  She chuckled. “And they called you out on it?”

  He decided to order spring rolls to share before he turned back to the entrées. “I was a little nervous that Yvette would make me bring you back to the office for proof. She said I looked spiffy.”

  Marissa didn’t look up from her menu. “You do look spiffy.”

  “No better than you.”

  She blushed as she set the menu aside, apparently having selected her meal. “I’ll assume that’s a compliment.”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, it didn’t really come out that way, did it?”

  She waved at him, as if to tell him not to worry about it. “I’m a big girl, Dec. We don’t have to make it a whole thing.”

  Their waiter appeared and dropped off two cups of water. They ordered their steak and shrimp hibachi meals and the order of spring rolls to share.

  “So, you moved out of your parents’ house, huh?”

  Marissa nodded. “It was time. You can only update a space so often before you have to admit that it’s just not your style.”

  “That’s fair. If it wasn’t such a hassle, I’d be tempted to move myself.”

  “Because of your wife?”

  He took a sip of water. “Partly. I mean, she had hospice care at the house for the last couple of weeks before she died. I’m glad we did it for her since she hated being in the hospital, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to get back to normal life after that.”

  Marissa settled into the booth a little more, her arms crossing before they fell into her lap. “Maybe you should sell. Maybe that will help with the moving on.”

  He leaned across the table, his arms crossed as he looked her in the eye. “Do you have a secret deal with a realtor I don’t know about? Are you going to get a kickback if I sell my house?”

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Funny.”

  He relaxed back into his seat with a smile on his lips. “Clearly.”

  “I know I just had a little meltdown back there, but it’s been good for me. Good for Aiden. In the old house, I was his foster mom. In the new one, I’m his adoptive mom. For me, going through the boxes and choosing what to keep and what to give away empowered me to do the same thing in my emotions.”

  “And what have you done differently?”

  She bit her lip. “I picked up my violin again.”

  The answer surprised him even at the same time he felt the inevitability of it. “Good for you.”

  She ran her fingers, the nails of which were tastefully painted in the same rust color as her scarf, over the painted wood grain of the table. “I’m a little rusty, but it still felt like a part of myself was coming home.”

  “Is that what all the Marissa you used to know stuff was about?”

  She offered him a grim smile. “Like I said, silly, right?”

  He shook his head. “Not silly. I realized yesterday at the grocery store that I used to try things as a kid, no matter how dangerous they seemed. In fact, the more dangerous, the more exciting they felt. Now, I’m an adult, and I can’t remember the last time I took a risk.”

  “You went to the reunion, didn’t you? Wasn’t that a risk?”

  His mind wandered back to that kiss he’d surprised her with after they’d left the reunion, and from the way Marissa studied the ends of her dark hair to avoid looking at him, he guessed she was thinking about it, too.

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure I’ve felt as alive in the last year as I have in just the last couple of weeks.”

  Marissa’s eyes brightened, and from the way his heart leaped, he wondered if he felt alive because of how he was taking his life back or if it was because of the woman sitting across from him. Maybe it was both.

  The waiter brought their spring rolls, and Marissa raised one of them as if she was going to use it in a toast. “To finding our way back to joy after loss.”

  Though it felt ridiculous, he tapped his spring roll against Marissa’s. “Hear, hear.”

  Chapter Seven

  Marissa

  Marissa boxed up the rest of her lunch, catching Declan’s grimace as he looked at his watch. “Let me guess, you’re going to be late to work?”

  He sighed and nodded. “It’s not the end of the world. My next appointment isn’t until two, but this will feed those rumors I was on a date.”

  Marissa chuckled, grateful for how the tension between them had dissolved when they’d agreed to have this lunch as friends instead of as exes. “Blame it on me. Tell them I work from home and lost track of the time.”

  “Won’t be necessary. I’ve handled worse teasing than they’re going to throw at me. If anyone will be happy that I’m getting a life, it’ll be these guys.”

  She eyed him as she closed the lid to her box. “Good friends, these guys?”

  He reached for his wallet. “More or less. They picked up the slack for me a lot when Angie was sick and even after she died. I think they’re hoping that me getting a life means their lives will start getting back to normal.”

  She grabbed her purse and her leftovers as they walked up to the front counter. “That’s kind of how it was with my dad’s accounting firm. Everyone was pretty accommodating while I transitioned from college student to full-time receptionist. In fact, when I graduated with my business admin degree, the staff sprung for a cake, and my dad’s business partner handed me a check that reimbursed me for my tuition. That was the first year after Mom and Dad died that we could go on vacation. We just rented a little condo in Vail one weekend in June, but it felt a little like we were getting on our feet.”

  That had been before everything started going wrong with Garrett and Steven, the summer before Steven went off to college, in fact.

  “I still can’t get over how young you were when that happened. I mean, I know I was there, but looking back on it—I can’t imagine how you managed. It’s bad enough trying to keep everything afloat when you’re an adult, but you weren’t much more than a kid yourself back then.”

  She managed a thin smile as they reached the desk and handed the cashier a bill to cover her portion of the check as Declan did the same. “Oh, don’t worry. I made a lot of mistakes. Some I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to take back.”

  She could feel Declan’s eyes on her. “Mistakes?”

  Her shoulders tightened as she stuck the change from her bill into the tip jar. “I was nineteen years old and raising my three younger siblings. I made mistakes.”

  “You were young.”

  She managed a thin smile. “Doesn’t seem to matter to Garrett and Steven.”

  Declan didn’t push her as they walked out the door, choosing instead to be silent as he caught her hand. She glanced down at how their hands fit snugly, like they’d always belonged that way. Like they used to fit together. “They were also young.”

  Maybe he
hoped she’d let the rest of the story slip if he waited long enough to speak. If that was his strategy, he would be disappointed.

  They walked back toward where their cars were parked, and Declan cleared his throat. “About that lunch, let me check my schedule, and I’ll get back to you. Next time, I’ll make sure the restaurant we want to go to is actually there, deal?”

  “Deal.” She leaned in for a hug, and she held the hug a little longer than normal as she enjoyed the comfort of his embrace and the fresh mountain breeze scent of his cologne. She wasn’t sure what had shifted between them, but she didn’t want this moment to end. “Drive safe.”

  His smile was gentle, his fingers lingering on her wrist. “You, too, Riss.”

  SEPTEMBER BLED INTO October with all the work of unpacking and settling into the new house. Marissa stared at the calendar in front of her, tapping a capped red pen against her chin. Football games. School activities. The search for a violin teacher. Was she a mother or a personal assistant?

  The front door banged open, and Marissa looked up from her small home office. “Aiden?”

  The boy didn’t respond, just unloaded whatever he had in his hands by the front door with a loud thump and walked toward the stairs.

  Marissa stood in the doorway to her office and put a fist on her hip. “Aiden Lambert, you get down here and pick up your things.”

  The boy turned a sour expression to her. “Why?”

  She raised an eyebrow as she pointed to the heap of jacket and backpack on the floor. “Is this where these belong?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She closed her eyes and took a breath like they’d taught her in those foster parenting classes years ago. Then she tried again. “Aiden.”

  He had started up the stairs again, whirling around and clapping his hands to his thighs at the apparent injustice it was that she was calling him out. “What? It’s not hurting anything.”

  Marissa walked over to the stairs and put a hand on the railing. “Aiden, we have a rule. When you come home, you put things where they belong. Please take your backpack and jacket up and put them on the hooks in your bedroom.”