by A. J. Pine
“Now. Now would be the right time. Or last weekend before the auction. Or before that first time we kissed.” Before I fell in love with you.
She felt so empty. There was nothing inside left for him to hurt.
Big, fat drops began to fall, striking the pavement angrily. They were like her tears, those drops. The tears she didn’t want to fall.
Booker held out a hand. “Come inside. We’ll talk in my office.”
The pace of the drops increased, along with the pounding of her heart.
“You had your chance to talk.” She was being pelted by drops but it was a good thing because tears were rolling down her face nonstop, and she didn’t want Booker to realize she was crying. “You had days of chances to talk.”
Her chest was folding in on itself, brought down by heartache and betrayal. And the rain was dumping on her, harder and faster, the way life was dumping on her. The way life always dumped on hardworking people reaching for the elusive American dream.
“Your lunch business is going to shut down Emory’s lunch counter.” She knew that for certain now. “I’ll be out of a job.”
Just six more weeks.
She didn’t think Emory would keep her on the payroll that long.
“I’ll hire you.” Oh, how he was quick to speak now.
She hated him for that speed. And the hate rose up inside her like too much fiery kimchi. “I’m not going to work for you on the assembly line. Those are my sandwiches. Mine! And you stole them the same way you’ve stolen…” My heart.
Her breath hitched, and she could no longer speak. He’d betrayed her trust. He’d sabotaged her dreams.
She had to go. She had to run.
Into the heart of the storm.
And away from him.
Booker sank into his chair in the office and put his head in his hands.
“Everything okay, honey?” His mother closed the door behind her. “Was it safe for Kimmy to leave in this storm?”
“No, Mom. No.” But he’d been unable to stop her, because every word she’d thrown at him had been true.
“If it wasn’t safe, why did you let her go?” His mother came around behind the desk and put her arm around his shoulders.
“Because I’ve always put you and Dad and Dante first.” Only this time, he’d gone too far. He hadn’t listened to Hay’s warnings, even though he’d known in his heart he should have.
“I love her.” The words sounded raw and lost.
“I know, honey.” His mother rubbed his arm consolingly. “You’ve always loved her. Such a good, sensible choice.”
“Love isn’t sensible.” If it were, he’d have done everything differently. He’d have asked Kimmy’s permission. He wouldn’t have stayed away while building the business, burdened with guilt. He’d have stopped trying to prove to his family that he could solve all their problems and ease all their worries. “Love isn’t sensible,” he said again. “Especially not in this case.”
“You’re selling her sandwiches, honey. Without her permission, I imagine.”
He nodded.
She slapped him upside the head, not hard but with enough verve to get his attention. “What were you thinking?”
“You hit me.” He stared up at his mother in amazement. She wasn’t one to discipline with more than stern words. He’d never even been spanked.
“Well, someone’s got to knock some sense into you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve never given you the credit you deserve for holding this family together. But you can’t just make a mistake this humongous and then wallow in self-pity. You’ve got to own up to those boo-boos and set things to rights.”
Booker rubbed his head. Not because it was sore but because he knew it would annoy his mother. “So my humongous mistake is just a boo-boo, eh?”
“Has Dante’s experience taught you nothing about life being too short?” She began to pace. “I’ve been thinking about life a lot lately. About your father. About you. About Dante.”
“If this is your midlife crisis, all I can do is beg you not to leave Dad.” His old man would never recover.
“If it is my midlife hurrah, then I’ll do as I please.” She tossed up her hands. “And if I needed to divorce your father, I would. But he’s having a little crisis all his own.” Judging by her tone, her patience with his dad was at an end. “Why do you think I come here every day? Your father has been trying to come to terms with this new life stage. It’s…It’s pitiful.” She shook her finger at Booker. “And if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it.”
The fire in her eyes went out, and she dropped into a chair. “We can’t sell Kimmy’s sandwiches.”
“Not without her permission, I know.” He would have talked to her about it if he hadn’t kissed her Monday night. Or Wednesday night. “I was afraid that I’d lose her when she found out.” And now he had.
“You were blinded by the dollar signs, I suppose.” His mother sighed. “Before you were born, your father tried selling pizza. Burgers and pizza. The way he talked about it, you would’ve thought it was the second coming.” She huffed.
“What happened?”
“Our good friend Jerry over at Sunshine Pizza paid him a visit.” His mom wore her I-told-you-so smirk. “He told your father he’d blanket the town with coupons and deals so great that no one would ever order pizza here again, much less burgers. And your father—valuing Jerry’s friendship, of course—returned the pizza oven he’d purchased and stuck to burgers.”
“You’re saying I should honor the original menu of the Burger Shack.” Booker stared at his hands. Burgers wouldn’t finance Dante’s college education.
“I’m saying it’s your business.” His mother stood, back straight, chin high. “Do what you will. But make it right with Kimmy. You love her. And you’d make such beautiful children together.”
Chapter Ten
I hear you need a wedding date.” Clarice stood on Kimmy’s doorstep, leaning on the doorframe and shouting. “May I come in? I brought my hearing aids.” She dug a small container from her raincoat pocket and rattled it gently. “Didn’t want them to get wet.”
If it hadn’t been raining, if Kimmy hadn’t been crying, she’d have politely declined. But it was raining and she had been crying. In a moment of weakness, she opened the door wider.
She ushered Clarice inside, took her coat, and found her a seat that wasn’t covered in cat hair.
Skippy lumbered out, sniffing at her visitor.
“You have a three-legged cat.” Clarice was putting her hearing aids in. Already, her volume was below shouting range.
“I got her from that rescue Eileen Taylor runs.” Kimmy brought Clarice a glass of water and a small bowl of almonds. “I don’t have much else in the house to offer you.” Today was payday, and under normal circumstances, she would have done her grocery shopping after her shift ended but she’d been too drained emotionally to push a cart through the store.
“Now, let’s get down to business.” Clarice fiddled with her ear before patting the couch next to her, waiting for Kimmy to sit before continuing. “I’m breaking the rules here but it had to be done. I wanted you to have the perfect wedding date for Hay’s wedding, someone who’d make it a most glorious evening, one you’d never forget.”
“Never fear. I’m not going to go to the wedding.” Kimmy couldn’t bring herself to attend, not when Booker was the best man.
Skippy wound her way around Clarice’s rain boots.
“That seems rather cowardly.” Clarice bent to pet the cat. “And you don’t strike me as a coward.”
“It’s more complicated than me breaking a date with Booker.” And she’d given him her word, sworn over French fries. But he’d honored nothing, not even their childhood friendship. “He stole from me. And he wasn’t going to tell me.” That much was clear. “I went to see Rupert Harper today. He’s going to represent me in this case.”
According to Rupert, it was going to be drawn out and messy and co
st her a small fortune. There went the money she needed to pay for her transmission.
Damn you, Booker.
“Well”—Clarice slapped her palms on her pink polyester pants—“you’ve picked up the pieces of your life rather quickly. More quickly than Booker, who—from what I hear—hasn’t come out of his office since you stormed away from the Burger Shack.”
“You mean the Burger & Sammie Shack.” Apparently, a broken heart made Kimmy snarky.
“It will always be the Burger Shack to me.” Clarice waved a thin hand. “Just like your memories of Booker will always be tied to your grill.”
Kimmy tried to speak but she didn’t know what to say, so only a strangled noise came out of her mouth.
“Anyway…” Clarice petted the cat in long strokes, head to tail. “I don’t think you should hide from the wedding tomorrow with Spanky.”
“Skippy.”
“That’s why I came here with a solution to your problems.” Clarice drew herself up. “I want you to go to the wedding, and I’d like to be your plus-one.”
Booker was waiting for Dante in the kitchen when he got home on Friday night.
His little brother carried his skateboard and a teenage smirk.
Where Booker took after their father, with his broad face and shoulders, Dante took after their mother, with her lean frame and delicate features. But the family value for hard work…That seemed to have shot past the mark in Dante’s case.
“Come on over here, little brother.” Booker pulled out a chair for him. “I made empanadas at the Shack.”
“Cool. Those are my favorite.” Dante sat down, dumping his stuff on the floor next to him. He grabbed the largest empanada on the plate and took a big bite, wiping at his face with his fingers and then licking his fingers clean.
Booker handed his brother a napkin. “I’ve been thinking about your summer,” he said, being careful to sound upbeat. “I talked to Mom and Dad.”
“Cool.” There was less enthusiasm to Dante’s response this time. He practically inhaled the next empanada.
“I got you an early graduation gift.” Booker gestured toward an electric grill in an unopened box in the corner. An indoor model that was large and smokeless. “It’s the same gift Dad gave me when I graduated high school. Do you remember?”
Dante shook his head, giving the grill a sideways glance. He picked up his third empanada.
“I know I told you I’d pay your college tuition and living expenses, but something’s come up, and I don’t have the cash flow I’d expected to have.”
Kim’s drenched, tear-streaked face came to mind as powerfully as a punch to the gut.
“Wait.” Dante nearly dropped his empanada. “What?”
Booker nodded, continuing to keep his tone light. “I can’t keep my promise to you. You’re going to have to pay part of your way through college.” He gestured toward his graduation gift. “By working.”
“Mom.” Scowling, Dante pushed his chair back. “Mom!”
Booker tsk-tsked. “I wouldn’t wake her. She and I already discussed this. She’s one hundred percent on board, same as Dad.”
“Nuh-uh.” Dante may have been in honors English but he wasn’t showing any of that vocabulary.
“Yuh-huh, little brother.” Booker gestured toward the grill once more. “I suggest you pick up some shifts at the Burger Shack this summer. You’ll need to know how to grill if you want to supplement what I give you.”
“But…but…” Dante swallowed hard and said almost rebelliously, “I have cancer.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve been clear for almost twelve years.” Booker clapped a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Let’s look at the positives. You’re healthy. You’re smart. You’re good at sports. And you’ve got a great scar to impress the girls. That and a good grill will get you far.”
He left Dante sputtering.
Phase one of his plan was complete.
He wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, wondering whether everything would go well with phase two tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
The church was decorated with white ribbons and pink roses.
Organ music, brightly dressed guests, and murmured voices filled the sanctuary proper.
Kimmy sat in the back of the church, surrounded by the board of the Widows Club—Clarice next to her near the aisle, Mims and Bitsy on her other side. She fanned herself with the wedding program.
“It’s lovely,” Clarice said in a loud whisper. She had her hearing aids in but Kimmy suspected she didn’t have an indoor voice in her vocal arsenal. “And look, Mary Margaret is wearing a fascinator.”
The redhead passed by with her fancy hat on.
“I hear the reception has a fairy-garden theme.” Clarice hugged herself.
Kimmy raised her eyebrows and told her date, “I’m beginning to think you offered to be my plus-one because you needed an invitation to Sunshine’s biggest event of the year.”
Clarice’s leathery cheeks turned rosy as Mims and Bitsy laughed.
A tuxedoed man walked behind Kimmy and around her pew and sat down in front of her.
“Hay, what are you doing out here?” Kimmy touched his arm. “Is everything okay?”
“Do you have cold feet?” Clarice asked breathlessly.
Bitsy and Mims shushed her.
“Not even a cold toe.” Hay winked at Clarice. “I’m showing my face and drawing all kinds of attention…” He pointed to the assembled, who were turned to get a good look at him. He waved. “Because I thought it was important to tell you about Booker.”
Kimmy crossed her arms over her chest. “This isn’t middle school. I don’t accept apologies by proxy.”
“Good one.” Clarice elbowed Kimmy.
Hay’s expression sobered. “He’s been in love with you longer than I’ve been in love with Ariana. But you’ve been strong-arming him into the friend zone for decades.”
“True, but that doesn’t excuse what he did.” Kimmy waved Haywood off. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having on your wedding day. This is between Booker and me.”
“You’re right.” Booker came around from behind them and stood at the end of the pew, looking like he should wear a tuxedo every day of the year.
The entire church seemed to have turned and was watching them. No one was talking. Even the organist had stopped playing.
“Which part is she right about?” Clarice demanded.
It was a good thing she asked. Kimmy couldn’t speak. Booker was supposed to be in the bowels of the church, telling Haywood what a great day this was turning out to be.
“Kimberly Anne Easley has been right about everything she’s ever told me.” Booker paused, stared at Clarice, and raised his brows. “Everything.”
“That’s my cue.” Clarice stood and edged toward Booker and the aisle.
Her cue? What did that mean?
“Where are you going?” Kimmy latched on to Clarice’s arm, nearly dragging the old woman into her lap. “You’re my plus-one.”
“I…I…I have to go to the bathroom.” Clarice lifted her chin and extricated herself from Kimmy’s hold, leaving no buffer between Kimmy and Booker.
“Your cue?” Kimmy said, understanding dawning. A quick glance around those sitting close to her confirmed Kimmy’s suspicions.
Mims and Bitsy gave her encouraging smiles. Hay winked at her. Clarice hesitated at her back.
Kimmy glared at Booker. “This was all part of your evil plan.” And he’d recruited Haywood and the Widows Club board.
“Yes,” Booker said unapologetically.
Kimmy’s head hurt, right behind her eyes. And her heart felt as if it were withering in her chest. All the pain, all the sadness, all over her body. But she wasn’t backing down. She wasn’t running away. Not today.
“Hay’s right too.” Booker’s dark gaze captured hers. “I should have told you I liked you when we were thirteen and lab partners. But it didn’t strike me as romantic when you were making moon
eyes at Hay while we dissected our frog.”
“For the record…” Hay turned to his wedding guests. “While this was going on, I was making moon eyes at Ariana.”
Booker ignored Hay and stared at Kimmy. “I should have told you I liked you when we had ice cream during freshman orientation. But you were making moon eyes at Hay.”
“I sense a theme,” Clarice said loudly in Kimmy’s ear.
Kimmy batted at her as if Clarice were a pesky fly.
Booker ignored Clarice. His gaze never left Kimmy’s face. “I should have told you when I picked you up for prom that I loved you.”
The wedding guests were quiet but at that statement, a hush fell over the room as if everyone was holding their breath. He’d gone public and declared he loved her. Kimmy wasn’t holding her breath with the rest of them. She was huffing like Emory during the Thanksgiving shopping rush when they ran out of turkeys.
Booker wasn’t quiet. He wasn’t huffing. Hay’s best man was unflappable. He kept right on talking. “I should have told you the day I drove off to college that I loved you. Or when I was away at college and missing you. I should have told you when I called. I love you, Kimmy Anne Easley.”
“I sense a theme,” Clarice piped up.
“I do too.” Kimmy turned in her seat, facing Booker squarely. “You love me. Great.”
He loves me.
Kimmy wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
“Yes. I love you.” His calm was finally broken. His voice rose. “I love how you check your ego at the door. I love how you help your mom in her job and your dad in his. I love that you’re restoring a food truck so you’ll have a business of your own. I love how you talk. I love how you walk. I love how you dance. It’s unconventional and the sweetest thing ever.”
Kimmy rolled her eyes.
But Booker wasn’t done. He ran a hand through his black hair, upsetting that cowlick. “I love how you don’t take any guff from me. You call me out, even if it means I’ll call you out in return. But mostly, I love how you love me. There were days this week when we knew we were meant for each other. It scares me how much I love you.”