Maybe it was the holiday music playing in the hallways. Maybe it was more visitors than usual. Maybe it was just good karma, but the first six hours went faster than she had any reason to expect. At her 2:00 a.m. break, she ran down and back up the stairs twice before heading for the cafeteria.
One guy was sitting alone at a table with his back to the door when she walked in. At least there wasn’t a line for food.
“Hi. What kind of sandwiches do you have tonight?” she asked the sleepy-looking man behind the counter. Even the instrumental Christmas music playing through the cafeteria speakers seemed tired.
Saying nothing, he pointed to a computer print-out with nearly every option crossed out.
Better and better. “So, I could have tuna or pastrami?”
He pulled the printed menu over the counter and crossed out pastrami.
“Tuna or tuna.”
A voice over her shoulder said, “I’d recommend the tuna.”
She spun around at the sound of his voice. “Deacon,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He gave her a grin that looked too awake for two in the morning. He was wearing a plaid flannel over an untucked T-shirt, which was opposite his working day-wear, but typical for his time off lately. She thought that lawyerly Deacon had a sharp and fancy attractiveness, and previously-casual Deacon, in his ironed button-ups and khakis, looked the part of Charleston Man-about-town, but recent casual Deacon, Deacon after Dahlia, looked more like himself. “Watching you order a tuna sandwich, I think. Or, if you’re not in the mood, maybe a plate of fried chicken from Uncle Jimmy’s gas station on Fifth and Main.”
Gasping, she looked at his hands, which were holding two paper bags spotted with grease.
“You didn’t.”
He shrugged and held the bags up higher. “I think I did.”
She almost didn’t dare ask it. “Are there fries in there?”
“Both traditional and sweet potato. With a cup of gravy for the lady.”
She grabbed his arm and led him to a table. “If I start crying, you’ll know it’s from basic gratitude and serious sleep deprivation, right?”
He pulled out her chair and then sat in the seat beside her. “I’d still much prefer it if you didn’t.”
They unpacked the cheap, greasy, wonderful fried chicken from the bags and placed it on Uncle Jimmy’s branded foil pie tins.
“Corn muffins? Seriously? What is this, Christmas?”
He smiled and unfolded a tiny, papery, brown Uncle Jimmy’s napkin which they both knew was woefully inadequate for the task at hand.
The first bite made Lily moan with delight. “It’s so hot. It’s so delicious. How did you do this?”
Deacon gave a little modest shrug. “I know a guy.”
“Is his name by any chance Uncle Jimmy?” she said through a mouthful of chicken.
“Excellent guess.”
“But really. You are here. With the world’s most perfect two-in-the-morning food.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, which she was pretty sure was as ineffective as she feared it to be.
He didn’t deny it. “And you are here. Saving lives and comforting the weary. We’re both pretty spectacular.”
She couldn’t deny it, mostly because her mouth was full. When she’d shoveled in as much as she could handle, she checked the time. “Why do the minutes pass so quickly when I’m eating chicken and gravy fries?”
“The most commonly asked question in the universe. Sadly, also an unanswerable one.” He handed her a couple more nearly useless napkins. “Here. You’ve got a little gravy . . .” he gestured toward her mouth and she mopped herself up.
As she picked up the garbage she’d managed to create, she said, “You are welcome to stay here sitting on this plastic chair for as long as you’d like, but I have pressing social obligations to attend to, so I’ve got to run.”
Folding her foil plate over on itself, she snatched one more fry off his plate before tossing her garbage into the trash. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder as she started to jog out of the cafeteria.
But that didn’t seem like nearly enough.
She walked back to the little round table.
Kneeling next to his chair, she waited until he swallowed his bite so she knew she had his full attention. “Deacon Calhoun, you are a stand-up guy. Thank you for dinner. Thank you for excellent company. Thank you for being my friend.” Why did she feel like she was going to cry?
Oh, right. Sleep deprivation.
“Really. Thanks again for this few minutes of pure happiness tonight.” She squeezed his wrist, hoping to avoid getting her hands even messier. “You did good.”
The look on his face showed her that coming back for a real thank you was the right thing to do.
He asked, “Will I see you tomorrow? Can we reschedule Jason Bourne?”
“Sure you don’t need a day off from me?” She smiled, hoping he’d understand that she wasn’t suggesting she wanted to have a break from him.
“I’m doing better. Having some time alone is good. A little. But we shouldn’t make Jason Bourne wait.” Was he leaning toward her?
“I don’t think he’ll mind waiting twenty-four hours, but I have to eat Christmas Eve dinner with my parents. So yes to the movie, but I won’t need food.”
“Sounds good. I’ll bring a bucket of ice cream and one of those bins of popcorn the firm’s been getting all month.”
She loved that he understood that hungry wasn’t a prerequisite for movie snacks. “Perfect.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said. “Do good in there.”
“Drive safely,” she said back.
Why was it taking her so long to leave? She had to get back onto her hall.
Well, she said to herself, he’s not keeping me.
But she didn’t want to go. Not that she didn’t want to get back to work. She didn’t want to leave his side.
Nothing strange about that, she told herself.
Right?
Chapter Eight
As Deacon pulled up to the Carolina Ice Palace, he felt a sensation he hadn’t noticed in many months: anticipation.
“It appears,” he said to Lily as he unbuckled his seat belt, “that I am excited.”
Lily looked carsick. “Coincidentally, it appears,” she said, “that I am terrified.”
Deacon turned to her. “If you want, we can cancel.”
Please, he thought, don’t say you want to cancel.
“No way,” she said. “This is a big day. We have to make it perfect.” Her smile was shaky, but her little dimple showed through. He was finding more and more reasons to make that dimple appear.
He gave her a grateful smile and jumped out of the car. He had to force himself not to run up the front walkway.
“The last time I had my birthday party here, I was eleven,” Deacon said.
“I’ve booked you a clown who does balloon animals.”
He was pretty sure she was kidding, since the only people invited to this birthday party were Deacon and Lily. Add to that the fact that she was terrified of clowns, and he thought probably not.
Walking in the door together they must have looked like complete opposites. He was eager and rushing to the counter. She tried to hold the door for everyone going both in and out, but there weren’t very many people exiting at the moment.
“Two adult packages with skates, please,” he said, trying to keep the adult in his voice.
Lily came up behind him and leaned over his shoulder. “It’s his birthday,” she told the teenage boy with the scrawny chin beard. He nodded at Deacon, who assumed this was a standard Ice Palace birthday greeting.
He could see her warming up to this embarrassing little game of hers. “In fact,” Lily went on, “he’s been celebrating his birthday here for decades.”
This was technically true—he had, in fact, had parties here in two different decades. And if it helped her with her ice-skating jitters, well, he didn’t mind being the pun
ch line.
“Not only that,” she continued, “but he happens to represent the legal team that underwrites all the liability waivers that you make people sign.”
This was not technically true, but Deacon didn’t stop her.
“Which means,” she said, “that Mr. Calhoun here is your lawyer.”
Chin Beard failed to look impressed. Lily was unfazed. “And do you know the policy for entertaining your lawyer on his birthday at the Ice Palace?”
The poor kid. He looked at her for the first time as though maybe he was supposed to be paying attention to her. “Uh, no?” His response seemed like an invitation and she jumped on it.
“Well, aside from the obvious,” she started counting on her fingers, “choosing the playlist, getting a photo with the staff, and a round of “Happy Birthday” from everyone in the rink, he also gets to ride the Zamboni when it’s time to clean the ice.”
She put her hands on the counter and tapped her fingernails against the glass, waiting for a confirmation of her demands. Deacon kept a straight face but couldn’t pretend he wasn’t amused. He watched her stare down the kid, who had no idea how to deal with a woman like Lily. Oh, who was Deacon kidding? There was no other woman like Lily in all of Charleston. Or anywhere else.
“Uh, well, the Zamboni guy doesn’t come until after we close,” the kid said. “But we can do the other things, no problem.”
Lily’s sigh was an almost perfect imitation of Dahlia’s exasperated noise. Deacon had to turn away so he didn’t laugh out loud. “Fine, we’ll take the playlist, photo, and birthday-song options today, and a reservation for the Zamboni ride will appear on your next legal retainer statement.”
“That’ll be seventeen fifty,” the kid said, clearly hoping Lily would stop talking to him.
Deacon pulled out his wallet, but Lily pushed his arm away. “No way, man. My treat.”
As they were lacing up their skates, Deacon said, “So, are you aware that you perjured yourself to a minor about legal representation of a public entertainment facility?”
She opened her eyes wide to look more innocent. “Oh, did I?” Then she winked at him. “I think it’s going to get you a couple of laps on the Zamboni, though. So, worth it.” She held up her hand for a high five, and he found it a little bit of a struggle to breathe evenly. Maybe it was her playfulness. Maybe it was how willing she was to come do something she was totally not into because he wanted to. Maybe it was the way her loose braid hung over her shoulder or how her beanie slipped just above the curve of her eyebrow.
Or he was excited to be skating again. Probably it was simple as that.
“I think I need a different size,” she said. “Go take a few warm-up laps so you’ll be ready to keep up with me when I get out there.”
As Deacon slid onto the ice, a knot loosened. This kind of freedom, reminiscent of restraint-free childhood and happy days, gave him a release he hadn’t known he needed. Added to that was the ease with which he and Lily could hang out and be together. He realized how incredible it felt to not second-guess what Lily said. If Dahlia had told him to go ahead, he would have to wonder what that meant, what she was really thinking, what she intended to punish him for, or at least hold against him later.
When Lily said she’d be there in a minute, she meant that she’d be there in a minute.
It had been a few minutes, though, and she wasn’t on the ice yet. He skated to a stop at the place he’d entered the rink and leaned over the partition. “Hey, Lil.”
“I’m not afraid to skate; what are you talking about?” she said.
“Want to get up out of fetal position and give it a try?” He held out his hand.
She pulled herself off the floor and took his hand, squeezing his fingers. Her smile, though shaky, seemed sincere. “I would like to remind you of several things I am good at before you watch me lose all my credibility and all my coolness.” She cleared her throat and counted on her fingers. “I can backflip. I am an excellent speller. I have great taste in music. I make a fantastic grilled cheese sandwich.”
“I’ll keep all of that in mind,” he said, not letting go of her hand. He was pleased that her grip on his fingers only got tighter.
“So what’s the secret?” she asked. “How do people propel themselves with grace on a friction-free surface?”
He shrugged. “You just do it,” he said.
“Wow. You should have been a hockey coach.” She took an audible breath and put one foot on the ice.
“You’ve got this. Propulsion and balance. That’s all there is to it.”
Turning around, he took her other hand and started skating backward, pulling her slowly onto the sheet of ice. “Don’t worry, just keep your eyes on me.”
Holding her hands and her eyes, Deacon felt his stress and anxiety slip down a few more notches. “You’re doing great,” he told her.
“You realize I’m doing literally nothing? You’re pulling me and holding me up. I’m neither propelling nor balancing.”
“If I let go, you’ll be doing both. Ready?”
She let out a laugh that sounded terrified. “No. Not remotely.” Gripping his hands tighter, she kept her eyes on his face.
“As long as you need,” he said. Rounding the corner, he glanced over his shoulder to assure himself the path was clear. He loved how she depended on him. It was a new sensation, to have a woman physically leaning on him and emotionally counting on him. Dahlia had been the alpha personality in every way, and categorically refused to do anything at which she didn’t already excel. In all instances, she was proving that she didn’t need him. Lily, he thought, is a brilliant and capable woman, but she’s letting me support her and hold her up. He was surprised how much that pleased him, filled him.
“Is that a smile?” he asked her.
“If I grind my back teeth together really hard, it sometimes resembles a smile,” she said. “Easy mistake.”
“Can you maybe relax your shoulders a little?” he asked, jiggling her arms to help loosen her up. “Just bring them down from around your ears.”
He watched her inch her way toward comfortable posture. She eventually took a big enough breath to invite a real smile onto her face.
“There, that’s better. Isn’t this—?” He didn’t finish asking, because before he knew what was happening, he had fallen over something and pulled her onto the ice with him. Ouch. It took only a few seconds to realize that falling on the ice as a little kid was a much different concern than doing the same at twenty-seven. He still had one of Lily’s hands in his. She wasn’t laughing, exactly, but she definitely wasn’t screaming, swearing, or even complaining. Wiggling limbs and a high-pitched shout suggested that the thing he’d fallen over was a kid. He rolled himself away from the wreckage and pulled the kid out. He looked about nine years old, and he was laughing. What a relief.
“Sorry, man,” the kid said. He pointed to a group of laughing kids. “We were seeing how close we could skate to you before you noticed.”
People skated around the pile of them like they were a stone in a stream.
“Did you win?” Lily asked the kid, rubbing her knee.
“Well, you noticed me,” the kid said, pulling himself onto his feet. “So probably not. But I did get closer than any of them,” he said, indicating his buddies.
Deacon still hadn’t said anything. What was he supposed to say? He felt foolish and worried that, despite her unruffled appearance, Lily might be hurt. He pulled himself up onto his feet and leaned down to help her stand.
“Deacon,” she said, checking her limbs, “I am required to thank you for your help, but I could have done that myself.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s really hard to get up when you’re in skates.”
“Not the getting up. The falling down. I have falling handled.”
He pulled her into a hug and was pleased to feel her arms tighten around him. “Sorry about that,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “I’d promise
it won’t happen again, but I guess I can’t control that kind of thing.” He stood and breathed in the air around her, the feeling of closeness, and the happiness he felt being with Lily.
As his words replayed in his head, he thought of other things he wasn’t controlling all that well. Like his heart rate. Or his desire to tilt her head up so he could kiss her.
Not that this was the first time he’d had that feeling. This wasn’t even the first time this week that he’d thought about it, but something was always in the way. Every word, every conversation, every activity held the specter of Dahlia, and Deacon couldn’t be sure how to navigate this kind of territory with Lily.
Could he just push thoughts of Dahlia out of his mind? Could he ignore the years of memories that intruded with every conversation? With every event?
Lily looked into his face, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth.
He was beginning to love that smile.
And he wanted to see it more and more often.
But at the same time, he was finding himself comfortable and confident when he was on his own. He was putting himself together.
He let her go and took her hand again. “Ready to take another lap?” he asked.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” she answered, and he couldn’t be certain if she was talking about skating or something else.
But he hoped.
Chapter Nine
When Lily’s hair was pinned up to perfection, she angled herself so she could see the back. It looked great.
It had been so long since she’d had an excuse to get really dressed up, she could hardly remember what came next.
Her last day of spending this much time on her appearance was the wedding last fall. Now, nearly six months later, she realized that she could think about it without feeling sweaty or anxious. Her part in Dahlia’s runaway scheme felt like a fading nightmare—she knew she’d actually been the one to tell Deacon what was happening, but she no longer carried the shame and horror of breaking his heart on Dahlia’s behalf.
Good thing, too, or this evening would be very awkward.
Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 18