by Chelle Bliss
I twist his shirt between my fingers, using the cloth as a tissue for my tears. “I’m trying.”
Roger grumbles, hating when I ruin his clothes with my snot, but he doesn’t chastise me. “You see your pain in Angelo, don’t you?”
“I see a different kind of pain, Roger. One that may be more profound. Scars that run deep.”
“What do you mean?”
I keep my face planted in his chest, finding it easier to talk when I don’t have to look at him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I try explaining what’s going on in my head. “His wife died of cancer.”
“Okay.”
“When Mitchell died, it was a shock. Everything changed in a single second, you know?”
“I do.” He blows out a breath, probably remembering when the Navy showed up at my front door.
I was the one who had to tell Roger about his brother. I was notified first since I was his wife and legally his next of kin. Showing up at Roger’s door, having to tell him his only brother was gone was more than my heart could bear. Saying the words made it real, and I wasn’t ready for what would follow.
“Angelo lived in hell for months before she died, Roger. You know how cancer works. Treatments, doctors, chemo, and everything that goes along with trying to survive.”
“I know all too well.”
Roger’s best friend died of cancer two years ago, and the toll on him was immense. I remember watching him struggle to hold it together, going through the grief that still hadn’t healed from Mitchell.
“I wish I could’ve said goodbye to Mitchell. I wish I could’ve had time with him to say everything that needed to be said. Angelo had that. But he had to endure the months of watching his wife die slowly before his eyes.”
“Oh, Tilly,” Roger whispers against the top of my hair as he holds me tighter. “You can’t compare grief and loss.”
He’s right. Grief is grief. There’s no easy way to do it. There’s no one way better than another. But there’re things I wished I’d said to my husband that I’ll never be able to say.
Roger’s hands cup my face, forcing me to look at him. “The one thing I know is my brother loved you. There wasn’t anything you could’ve said to him that he didn’t already know.”
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make it easier.”
Roger brushes my damp hair away from my face. “I went through the slow process of dying with Chet, baby. I don’t know if I could’ve done that with Mitchell. I couldn’t have sat there, day after day, seeing him dying and knowing there was nothing I could do.” Roger closes his eyes, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. “Mitchell left us doing what he loved. He was born to be a military man. He was a fighter and one of the damn best there was too. He’d want us to celebrate his life, and he for damn sure wouldn’t want you alone forever.”
“I don’t know if I could leave this world and tell him to move on without me. I’m not that nice of a person, Roger. I’d be haunting his ass from the great beyond if he ever laid his hands on another woman.”
Roger laughs and shakes his head. “I have no doubt you’d be relentless.”
“I like Angelo,” I whisper like I’m confessing a sin. “I feel guilty saying those words too.”
“You two are tied in grief. You’ve experienced something very few people have at your age. It’s only natural you’re going to be drawn to him.”
“But I’m not just drawn to him because of the pain.” I hate saying those words out loud. I feel guilty wanting another person or feeling the almost forgotten flicker of lust.
“He’s hot if you like that look.” Roger makes a face.
“You mean hot? He’s such a hardship on the eyes.”
“He’s a little rough around the edges for me.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing he doesn’t like dick.” I laugh, feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders after having this talk with Roger.
“He’d totally be a top if he did, and that would be a problem.”
“I’ll never understand gay men.”
“I’ll never understand women, so we’re even.” He laughs. “Now what is all this mess?” He waves his hand around the kitchen, which doesn’t look all that much cleaner since I had the flour bomb.
“I’m making a special cupcake for Tate.”
“You’re a goner, kid,” he says, and I totally agree.
6
Angelo
“Why are the kids off school today?” Pop asks as he walks into the bar around noon.
“It’s spring break, Pop.”
“For fuck’s sake. How long do these kids need?” He runs his hand down the side of his head, smoothing his salt-and-pepper hair. “When I was a kid…”
“Did they have school that long ago?” I get in a jab whenever possible because he’s earned as much.
“I’m pretty sure they used stone tablets back then,” Lucio chimes in, yanking my father’s chain.
“You two can fuck right off.”
“What are Tate and Brax doing?” I ask, not hearing a peep from upstairs.
Usually, when they’re quiet, it means they’re sleeping or getting into trouble. The older they get, the more damage they create.
“Brax is playing dinosaurs in the kitchen, and Tate is showing your mother how to use her iPad.”
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Lucio mutters. “It’s been years, and she still has no freaking clue how to use that damn thing.”
“Ma still listens to music on vinyl.”
Lucio and I laugh.
Pop gives us the side-eye. “Music sounds better on a record,” he says, coming to her defense.
“For sure.” Lucio elbows me. “I hate that we stopped using the 8-tracks. That was where it was at.”
“So, what’s up with the chick next door?” Pop ticks his head toward the adjoining wall. “Your mother had a lot to say about her last night, but then again, she has a lot to say about everyone.”
“There’s nothing up with the chick next door.”
My tone’s a little defensive. I can hear it in my voice. I’m not fooling anyone either.
Lucio levels me with his gaze. “Don’t be an asshole, and stop lying to us and yourself.”
“I’ve met the woman twice. That does not constitute anything going on.”
Lucio crosses his arms. “Do you like her?”
I shrug as I busy myself cleaning the bar top before we officially open the doors for business. “I don’t know.”
Do I like her?
Lucio slides his hands under his shirt and lifts his fingers, replicating a heartbeat. “Does she make your heart do this funny thing in your chest?”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“Does she make your junk feel alive again?” he continues, but I’m not playing along.
Pop comes to sit on a barstool near where I’m cleaning. I can feel the weight of his stare without looking up. “I know I’m not the best person to talk to about this shit, but the one thing I know a lot about is wasted time. There’s nothing worse than looking back and realizing everything you missed.”
“Spoken like a man with regret,” Lucio mutters under his breath.
“I have many regrets,” Pop tells him, hearing his words clear as a bell. “I regret all the years I missed with you kids. I regret the holidays and evenings I missed with your mother in my arms. I missed out on way too much. More than a person should miss in a lifetime. But I made my bed.”
“I have too many regrets, too.”
Mine all are about Marissa. The countless hours I spent at the bar when I should’ve been home with her. Precious seconds I wasted, thinking there would always be more, when that wasn’t the case.
“The only thing you can do is move forward and try not to repeat the mistakes of the past.”
Who is this man? Where did my father go? He’s never been one to dole out words of wisdom, and even when he did, they were never any good.
“Fo
r once, I can finally agree with Pop on something,” Lucio says, shocking both of us.
“Helloooo,” a woman says from the doorway. “Are you open?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. Tilly’s twang is like music to my ears after listening to them prattle on about what I should do with my life.
“Well, come on in, doll. It’s cold outside.” Pop motions to her as he glances in our direction.
“I just wanted to drop these off for Tate.” Tilly’s bathed in sunlight, looking like an angel and holding a pink box in one hand.
Lucio leans over. “Dude, she’s gorgeous.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but he’s absolutely right. The woman is off the charts beautiful.
“And she bakes. Don’t be a dumb fuck,” he tells me as Tilly heads toward us.
My father’s on his feet quickly and cuts her off before she can make it to the bar. “I’m Santino, their father.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Santino. I’m Tilly Carter, owner of the cupcake shop next door.”
My father grabs her free hand and brings it to his lips. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet such a fine woman.”
Tilly blushes and lets out a small laugh. “You’re a handsome devil, aren’t you? I see where your boys get their good looks.”
Pop is eating up the compliments. He stands a little straighter, probably as sucked in by her beauty as I am. I can’t let him linger, and I head their way, cutting him off before he has a chance to sweet-talk her a little more.
“Go get her,” Lucio says quietly, just as annoying as my sister and mother.
The silly thing Lucio did with his hands under his shirt earlier rang true. My heart speeds up, beating a little harder and stronger than it was moments before she walked through the door.
Everything about Tilly Carter is sheer and utter perfection—from her pert little nose, light freckles dotting her round, high cheeks, and wavy auburn hair that changes color like the weather.
“Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing.” Pop holds his hand out, forcing Tilly backward a little so he can get another look.
I know he’s soaking her in, and it’s easy to do with the outfit she has on underneath that knee-length coat. The woman probably doesn’t own a pair of jeans or sweat pants. I’ve only seen her in pencil skirts and blouses, looking like she’s about to go out to dinner at a fancy restaurant instead of whipping up a new batch of desserts.
“Easy now.” I place my hand on my father’s shoulder because he’s overreaching.
Maybe that was a part of his plan. We’re a lot like him. We don’t share, especially when it comes to women. We stake our claim, stand our ground, and defend what we feel is ours, even from family.
Tilly pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down with her teeth. Fuck. Her eyes sparkle as they travel up my body, looking hungry. “Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey, yourself.” Butterflies the likes of which I haven’t felt in years fill my insides.
“Lame,” Lucio whispers from across the bar, and I flip him off behind my back so only he can see.
But he’s right. I am lame. I’m like an awkward teenager, suddenly unsure and timid.
Tilly thrusts the open pink box in my direction. “I made these for Tate.”
I glance down at the dozen or so perfect little pink-frosted cupcakes covered in multicolored glitter.
“They’re my mermaid special. I created them just for her.”
I’m a little speechless at the thoughtfulness and time she took in creating what I’m sure is no doubt the most delicious thing I’ll ever eat. “You shouldn’t have.” I peer up, meeting her gaze.
“It was no trouble. I just whipped up a little something.”
I like that she understates everything.
“Want me to get Tate?” Pop asks.
“Sure,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the woman standing in front of me.
I barely notice him walk away or the sound of his footsteps on the stairs leading up to their place. I’m too transfixed by Tilly. We’re staring at each other, not saying a word, but there’s nothing awkward about the lack of talking.
I want to touch her, but I don’t. I already know she could very well be dangerous to my heart, and I haven’t even laid a hand on her. I’m pretty sure one touch or taste would be all I’d need to be a goner forever.
“Tilly,” Tate screeches as she runs down the stairs and straight toward Tilly and the box of cupcakes.
“Hey, princess.” Tilly crouches down to Tate’s level.
Tate’s eyes widen. “They’re so pretty.”
“I made them just for you.” Tilly lifts the box closer to Tate’s face. “They’re my Tate’s Mermaid Special.”
Tate’s mouth drops open. “They’re all mine?”
“You have to share with your brother,” I tell her because she’d lord those over Brax’s head until the little guy cried. The last thing I want is a sugar-high daughter and a whiny little boy all evening.
She lifts her finger high in the air, not bothering to look at me because she’s too taken with all the goodness in front of her. “He can have one. Only one,” she tells me.
I glance upward, not sure if I should laugh or dread the bossy little thing she’s become. “You can’t eat them all.”
“They’re mine. Tilly said so.” Tate scrunches up her face.
This girl is seriously going to be the death of me. I already know, as she gets older, her attitude’s only going to get worse. Everyone keeps telling me to enjoy her now because all hell’s going to break loose as soon as she hits puberty. I’m dreading those years.
Tilly peers up at me and mouths, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I tell her and crouch down with them.
“I thought she deserved a treat after she was so kind to me yesterday.”
“Tilly,” my mother says, coming down the stairs with Brax at her side. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, my dear.”
“Hi, Betty,” Tilly replies.
Somehow, a regular shift at the bar has turned into a family affair. I’ll never hear the end of this either. I know everyone is going to be on my back until I act. I gave Lucio enough shit about Delilah when he wasn’t sure what to do, and my brother’s all about payback.
“Cupcakes!” Brax yells and runs toward Tilly.
Tate snatches the box from her hands and turns away from him. “They’re mine, Brax.”
“Tate,” I warn, but what the hell am I going to do? These are the times when I wish Marissa were around because the two of them together can be more than a handful.
“Now, Tate. Share with your brother. What fun is a treat if you can’t share it with someone special?” Tilly touches Tate’s pudgy cheek. “I’ll make you more.”
“Do I have to?” Tate’s shoulders slump forward.
“How about this…” Tilly looks up at me, but I’m letting her roll wherever she’s going. “If you share with your brother, you can come to the shop whenever you want and pick out a cupcake.”
“Every day?” Tate asks because the kid is a bottomless pit when it comes to anything sweet. She’s smart too. She’s hedging her bets and making sure there’s a payoff for her somewhere.
Tilly laughs, looking up at me. “As often as your daddy allows.”
“Any cupcake?”
“Any cupcake you want,” Tilly tells her.
I can see the war going on in Tate’s head. She doesn’t want to share, but the prospect of unlimited future cupcakes is tempting to any child.
“Fine,” she whispers and turns her body so Brax can reach a cupcake. “I’ll share.”
“You can each have one,” I tell them, knowing the quiet that my mother was enjoying is about to come to an end because the sugar high is going to be extreme.
“Would you like to come up for a coffee?” Ma comes to stand next to us. “I’m watching the kids while the boys get the bar ready for service.”
Tilly looks at me. Why? I don’t know.
It’s not my place to tell her what to do or where she can go. Even if she were mine, I wouldn’t dare stop her from doing something she wanted.
I know my mother is going to pry, feeling Tilly out and seeing if there’s any hope for us. That’s what she does. One thing about Betty Gallo is she is the master of manipulation with a dash of interrogation.
“I’d love that, Betty.”
Poor Tilly. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into, but she’s about to find out. I just pray my mother doesn’t come on too strong or declare my intentions when I’m not so sure what they even are at this point.
“Yay!” Tate jumps straight up, almost knocking every cupcake out of the box. “Tilly’s coming over.”
“Twilly!” Brax joins in on the excitement.
“Daddy.” Tate bumps me with her behind. “You want a cupcake?” She hoists the box above her head, offering me one.
“I’m good, baby. You go upstairs with Grandma and Tilly and enjoy one cupcake.”
“Two,” she argues and bats her eyelashes.
“Tate.” I know it’s a losing battle. My mother is going to give the kids whatever she wants, no matter what I say. She always does.
“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about your daddy.” Ma ushers Tate toward the stairwell with a devilish grin. “Let’s us girls, and Brax too, have some cupcakes and milk. We have much to discuss.”
Tilly peers over her shoulder at me as she follows my mother to the stairs, and she looks a little like a deer in headlights. I can’t stop myself from smiling, trying to make her feel better about the interrogation I have no doubt is about to happen.
7
Tilly
“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?” I glare. “You’re going to stop being such a pain in my ass and do as you’re told.”
“Dear?”
I freeze, staring at the fancy cappuccino machine I just gave a good talking-to. I’m sure I look like a lunatic. I’m talking to an inanimate object, giving it the business like it’s actually going to listen.
I turn and plaster a smile on my face, hoping Betty didn’t actually hear my crazy conversation. “Hey, Betty.”