by T. I. Lowe
After the starter course, Wes began having such a good time cooking with Sophia that he completely tuned out the peanut gallery’s whispered chatter. He watched her sauté the vegetables with precision. “You’re really good at this, Sophia.”
She sprinkled fresh thyme over the sizzling green beans and tomatoes. “My mother was raised in a kitchen and she raised me the same. I have so many great memories with her either elbow-deep in dough or working her vegetable garden. Always side by side.” She glanced up at Wes, a tenderness pulling her lips into a smile.
“Sounds like we had similar childhoods.” Wes reached over her shoulder and plucked a green bean from the pan, taking a bite and then feeding Sophia the other half. “My brother was always my dad’s shadow and I was my mom’s. While they spent most of their time tending to my dad’s family-owned plantation where they host hunts, I helped Momma with her flower garden and cooking.”
“Aww, I love it. A momma’s boy.” She winked while bumping her hip to his.
“Don’t pick on me,” Wes chided with his own wink as he took the tongs and plated the vegetables for her.
She giggled quietly. “No teasing here. I’m doing my best to make Collin a momma’s boy. Although he’s starting to stand me up any chance he gets if you’re anywhere around.” She bumped Wes’s hip again before moving to gather the ingredients for the tartlet.
Wes had become so immersed in his conversation and time with Sophia he’d not even realized Jake was giving the next set of instructions. Refocusing on the chef, he started prepping the duck breast and continued to enjoy the fake date much more than he knew he should.
As the night continued on, Sophia was a good sport and played up teasing him and allowing him to feed her several bites of the dishes. For that Wes was thankful. Hopefully, it would help halt the anorexia rumors. Sophia didn’t know it, but tonight’s date was more for her benefit than his. . . . Well, after the surprise intruder, it was a little for his benefit as well.
As they finished up the main course, Wes noticed the Knitting Club had grown a bit rowdy. Snickering and catcalling at him when he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. Making brash comments and kissy sounds each time he and Sophia got too close.
Dalma even went as far as coming over to their table and swiping one of the mini red wine bottles, claiming they needed extra sauce. “You sure are nice to look at,” she commented while clutching the bottle to her chest and squinting up at him with glassy eyes.
“Uh . . . thank you.”
“Oh no, honey. Thank you.” Dalma wobbled a bit to the side and Wes reached to steady her. After openly staring for a few awkward beats, she finally shuffled back to her table.
By the time dessert was served, the old ladies were completely out of hand.
As Wes wiped a dollop of fresh whipped cream from the corner of Sophia’s mouth, a chorus of whistles and catcalls erupted from the other side of the room.
“You go, girlie!” Bertie shouted, followed by more hoots and hollers.
“I think I have some cream on my lip, too,” crooned the one they called Madge as she puckered her wrinkly lips.
Jake scowled at the group of hens, all rosy-faced and grinning wide, and shook his head. “Ladies, you were supposed to cook with the wine. Not drink it.”
Their googly eyes wandered to one another and some seemed dumbfounded by the revelation. “Oops,” Trudy said, sending the ole gals into a fit of snickers.
Sighing, Wes offered a pleading smile to the other two couples who were innocent bystanders to the night’s shenanigans. “Would you mind helping us get these women home safely? I can fit two or three in my car.”
They divvied up the tipsy women between them and headed out. Wes and Sophia ended up with Dalma, Bertie, and Ethel. Bertie was even chattier than normal and Ethel, surprisingly enough, wouldn’t stop singing. Little Dalma fell asleep, so her only contribution to the chaos on the ride home was a soft snore drowned out by the other two.
“This is one fancy-dancy car, Doctor,” Bertie commented.
“These leather seats are too dang slippery. What’d you do, grease ’em?” Ethel complained on a hum. “Oooh, look at the stars through the sunroof.” She followed that with a bluesy version of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
“Sophia, child, you like to snatch up the rich boys, don’tcha?” Bertie slurred, and when it became clear that Sophia wasn’t going to answer, she continued on rambling. “You have a good time, dear?”
“I did.” Sophia patted her flat belly. “I ate too much, though. Wes is an amazing cook . . .” She giggled. “Heck, the man is simply amazing at everything, though.”
Wes glanced over when Sophia’s hand landed on his where it was resting on the center console. “You sneak some wine, too?” he whispered.
“No, silly.” She winked before turning to look at the wobbling heads he kept seeing in the rearview mirror. “Do you girls know that other women in town are trying to snatch my man?”
Wes knew Sophia was stirring the pot for his benefit, but his gut told him it would be at her expense. He flipped his hand over and squeezed hers gently, but she squeezed it back and continued. “What should I do?”
Ethel began singing a sloppy rendition of Mary Wells’s “My Guy” with Bertie singing backup. As they belted out lines about sticking like glue and no one was going to tear her away from her guy, Wes chanced a glance at Sophia. She was staring out the window with her lips set in a deep frown.
“Hush up, Ethel.” Bertie leaned forward and said, “Sophia Grace, you can’t let any woman that comes sniffing around have your man like last time. It ain’t dignified. And it’s right disgraceful for a Southern lady to carry on like that.”
And there it was, just as Wes had predicted. It was time to shut them down. “Ladies—”
“First off,” Ethel interrupted, “you need to put some meat on your bones. You’re too scrawny to even stand up for yourself. Grow a backbone and let them floozies know Weston is your man!” Ethel was the orneriest woman Wes had ever encountered, but he liked how she put that last part.
“I’ll tell ya what . . . us gals will send out a message to the local girls to back off.” Bertie clucked her tongue and wobbled backward.
Wes let out a noisy breath. “Now the gossip ring sounds more like a front for the mob.” Picturing the gray-haired—plus one orange-headed—mob grannies, he couldn’t contain the snort of laughter.
“What was that, sugar?” Bertie questioned, grunting to right herself in the seat.
“We’ve gotten you home,” Sophia interjected. She squeezed Wes’s hand one last time before releasing it to help wrangle the sisters and Dalma out of the backseat.
The sisters had made mention that they were taking care of Dalma while her roommate was out of town. As Ethel slurred the information, she pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then tried aiming them back to Dalma, but she missed the mark when she stumbled. Wes didn’t have much faith in Dalma being in good hands, but he had a feeling the little old lady did fairly well taking care of her own self. Even though she was less conventional than most. Wes made a mental note to swing by first thing in the morning to check on all three of the silly women.
Once they were back on the road and fairly winded from the effort it took to get the women inside safely, Sophia began chuckling in a hushed snicker until finally cackling out loud. It had been a tiresome night, but Wes would gladly relive it just to have her laughing like that.
“You’re one interesting fellow, I have to hand it to you.” Sophia shook her head.
“Well, I think we make a good team,” Wes commented as he turned onto the beachfront road.
“The cooking part or the wrestling tipsy old ladies part?”
Wes chuckled. “Both and beyond. Even at work, I have to admit you run a tight ship. I like that about you.”
They made it to the beach house within a few more minutes. That was one of the things Wes liked about Sunset Cove. Everything was under a ten-
minute drive or even a walkable distance. He wasn’t quite ready to end the evening, so he shut off the car and leaned back against the headrest. The ocean was just visible past the luminous sand dunes. It still amazed him how the beach glowed at night, even after witnessing it for a couple months now.
“I don’t like how the town talks about you,” Wes admitted on a sigh.
Sophia didn’t answer right away. But when she did, it affected him in such a visceral way that he wanted to shield her and dare the world to mistreat her ever again.
“I’m not the doormat they’ve made me out to be. No one knows how I fought to fix my marriage. A lot went on behind closed doors, and that’s where it’ll remain. I had to learn the hard way that some things just are not fixable.” Sophia sniffed and then whispered, “I feel like a failure who no one respects, nonetheless.”
“You’re not a failure and I respect you.”
Sophia scoffed and reached for the door handle, but he stopped her.
“Your ex and his mistresses and these local women with loose morals are the ones who have failed and aren’t respected. You can’t allow them to steal your confidence in yourself.” He reached over and gently grasped her chin to turn her face toward him. “You do realize it’s their failures and not yours?”
Sophia averted her eyes, but Wes maneuvered himself around to where he could see her face. Those beautiful blue eyes were glassy and held too much sadness. It wasn’t his place to do it, but his bones ached to banish the hurt from her and Collin’s life.
“More important than what anyone else thinks, you have to respect yourself for Collin’s sake.”
Sophia tsked. “There you go again about my poor parenting skills.”
“Are you kidding me, Sophia Grace?” Wes asked tersely. Tamping it down, he continued, “You and I both know you’re an amazing mom. You’ve shown you’re willing to do whatever is needed for the well-being of your son. . . . Shoot, you put your pride to the side and asked me for a job for his betterment.” He took a deep breath and admitted something else. “I’m honored to call you my friend.”
Sophia wiped underneath her eyes and gave him a fleeting glance. “You consider me your friend?”
“Absolutely. And I hope you feel the same about me.”
She nodded. “Surprisingly, you have become a dear friend, Weston Sawyer. I appreciate you listening and how kind you’ve been to Collin.”
“You two are the first new friends I’ve made in quite a long time . . .” Wes traced the stitching along the steering wheel with the tip of his finger, waiting for Sophia to open her door to end the night, but she made no move to do so. She was normally quicker to flee sensitive talks than he, but she seemed to be mulling over something, so he remained quiet and waited.
Sophia angled in her seat to face him but focused on her hands entwined on her lap. “Wes, may I ask you something personal?”
He considered her request, wondering if it was wiser to agree or to make a run for it. She was being brave enough to stay, so he would give it a go as well. His eyes locked on the door handle, but his lips moved to answer, “Yes.”
“How do you cope with losing your wife and child? I’ve barely managed to overcome the demise of my marriage and career, but the tragedy you’ve endured . . . I can’t even imagine.”
The question hurt like a tender bruise taking another blow. He blinked the sting away from his eyes and cleared his throat to give an answer without divulging too many details. “I’ve had no choice, I suppose.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, but the Bible is clear on the fact that life is anything but fair. The story of Job is a good example of that.”
“How can you be so understanding?” Sophia asked just above a whisper, her voice breaking.
“I wasn’t at first . . .” He rolled his neck, one side popping in the process. “Throughout my career in Alabama, I witnessed the cruelest unfairness known to the world. A sick child dying in a parent’s arms. I knew the possibility of unfairness could strike anyone at any time. It has no certain preference in victims, but nothing prepared me for what I faced in the aftermath.” He took a jagged breath, feeling like he was inhaling burning shards of glass.
“I . . .” Sophia halted the words, obviously knowing there were none to soothe away the heartache.
He grasped the door handle, but before he could pull, a set of small yet strong arms wrapped around his neck. An exaggerated stretch of uncertainty passed before Wes gave in and embraced her back. The faint scent of peonies and citrus engulfed him, and before he could stop himself, he’d skimmed his nose along her neck to steal more of the appealing fragrance that had been teasing him from afar since she stormed into his life.
The hug lingered, and Wes was ashamed to admit he didn’t want it to end. The feel of a woman’s comforting embrace had become so foreign, having the sudden gift of it now was almost his undoing.
During his years at Regional, Wes did a fair share of research on the correlation between human touch and healing. The subject was quite debatable in the scientific realm, but his office was assembled of men and women who had a strong faith in God, so they all understood life went well beyond controlled aspects.
Plus, he’d witnessed firsthand what human touch could offer a cancer patient. Those patients who had constant contact with loved ones in forms of hugs, hand-holding, etc. thrived on hope and smiled even on the dark days. In contrast, those patients who were treated as though their cancer was contagious or as if they were too fragile to handle even the tiniest form of touch were often those who barely survived. Smiles and any flicker of happiness didn’t exist.
Wes concluded, after years of observing patient after patient, that isolation could become its own form of cancer. It invaded any healthy cell of hope and killed off any faith that life could get better. In that moment, he realized isolation had not given him any reprieve from losing his family. It only helped the grief and hurt to spread. Before moving to Sunset Cove, he was pretty sure he was in the last stages of it. He wondered if this tiny woman’s touch was going to help put him in remission.
Almost four years had passed since Claire had touched him. It was an intimate act that he’d gotten so comfortable in that it was easy to take for granted. A caress, a lingering hand on his back, a brush of her lips to his cheek, his lips . . .
His body tensed and breathing grew into a labored chore as the sensation of a tremor began building along his shoulders. Sophia must have sensed it, because she jumped back to her side of the car and looked as bewildered as he felt.
Neither could do anything but sit uncomfortably and gape straight ahead until they collected their misplaced composure.
“Wes . . .” She cleared her throat and peered at his house, then back at him. “Do you . . . do you need me to go inside and perform a safety sweep of the house for rabid women?” Her sassy jab dissolved the pressure building in his chest, making breathing and living a little more manageable.
“Would you?” he deadpanned, earning him a toothy grin.
“It’s probably wise. Who knows if some shameless chick managed to scale the side of the house and crawl through your bedroom window while we were gone.” Her eyes grew wide in mock indignation.
They chose to laugh off the uncomfortable tension produced by the hug and Wes’s looming meltdown, and that was fine by him. He was beginning to appreciate laughing as a more suitable alternative to crying.
Wes had spent the better part of the last four years crying through the misery, yet it never cleansed the pain of his loss. The grief wouldn’t let go so easily and clung to his soul like a stubborn stain, refusing to at least fade until it was less noticeable. In all that time, he’d never thought to hope for a path to lead him out of the shadow of tragedy and into the light of living a healthy life.
His brother’s words whispered from his memory. “I hope you give this fresh start a real chance. . . . You know it’s time. You deserve to be happy again.”
; Happiness, in the form of a spunky brunette and silly little boy, had shown up in the recent weeks, tempting him to join in.
If only he could be courageous enough to accept that it was time to move on.
11
Even though it had been a couple weeks since Agnes had graced Carolina Pediatrics with her presence, today had been set aside to give her a proper sendoff. Sophia was quite impressed that Wes had taken it upon himself to plan the entire party, even having it catered. He might not be a man quick to start a conversation, but he was on top of caring for others.
The employee kitchen was filled with the guests and a celebratory vibe, yet Sophia’s phone and thoughts wouldn’t allow her to join in. She continuously hit the Ignore button and would have turned it off altogether had it not been for the need to be available in case her mother called about Collin. No matter how many times she hit Ignore, Ty wouldn’t give up.
Somehow the media had gotten wind of the IRS debacle, and Ty and his manager thought Sophia would happily agree to a few public appearances to help redirect the focus and maybe fuel a rumor of their reconciliation. He’d already called to try talking her into it and she had refused. His response was all sugar and love, but she should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.
After Agnes opened her gifts and said her last goodbyes, Sophia sent the rest of the staff out the door in Agnes’s wake, assuring them she’d handle the cleanup. She dropped her shoes off in her office and was heading back to the kitchen when the phone began buzzing once again in her pocket. Knowing Wes hadn’t left yet, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone in the hallway before answering.
“What do you want, Ty?” Sophia asked, and from there an excess of slurred curse words and vile accusations spilled from Ty’s end of the phone.
“You vowed to be by my side. Good times or bad. I thought you were stronger than this, you little coward!” Ty spat the words out and followed it by calling her a more colorful name. Forget the sugar and love. This time it was all vinegar and hate.