by Kilby Blades
There was no elegant way to say it—no way to sugarcoat what it was. Shea answered simply. “Kept.”
She waited for him to say something—watched for his face to change, or for a hint of judgment to creep in. Was there anything more to explain? Did she need to justify to him decisions she'd only recently come to terms with herself?
"It's not what I went there for. I had the same stupid dreams every other small-town girl does when she moves to New York at eighteen. And just like every other small-town girl, I got chewed up and spit out. When I left home, I’d built it up in my mind as my Casablanca—this place I was dying to escape. Every time I saw plane, I wanted to be on it.
“It only took a few months in New York for me to realize how badly I’d underestimated the toughness of the city and overestimated my own grit. The job I went there for—a PA job on a film set—fell through. I thought that since I grew up working for my dad, and working hard, and running parts of his business, it would be easy for me to find a restaurant manager position and work my way through school.
“But I couldn’t even find a job as a hostess, let alone as a waitress or a manager. It was all about your look and I didn’t fit the standard of beauty. I ran out of money; my only stroke of luck was meeting a few friends early on who didn’t let me starve. It was the first time in my whole life I had to worry about money. And struggling like that…it changed me. That was where he came in.”
"Let me guess…” Dev picked up when she got quiet. “The second you met a guy who wanted to take care of you, you forgot all that freedom and independence you wanted. ‘Cause being on your own was just too hard.”
Shea nodded in not-quite-embarrassment, because it had been a mistake but she’d been young. "Don't get me wrong. We really did have chemistry. But some of it was that cliché.”
Dev didn’t say anything for a while, just sat absorbing it all. She wondered whether he would ask any more questions. All this time, she’d resisted discussing anything real. Something to talking about it now was almost nice.
"What did you love about the guy?"
Shea hadn't expected that.
"Honestly? The attention. He doted on me in a way no one else ever had. Up until then, I’d been this…grunt who spent all my time working. Then I meet a guy who wants to take me to the Hamptons and buy me jewelry and treat me like a princess.”
The rhythm of the oars as he rowed them was soothing, as were the faint sounds of the movement of the water. The late summer season meant the sky hadn’t gone completely dark.
“I take it he’s still in New York?”
She nodded. “And I want it to stay that way.”
“City not big enough for the both of you?”
His tone held no humor. If he wouldn’t make light of it, neither would she.
“He’s had trouble accepting my decision...” she began haltingly, “…for us to be apart. The only way for him to really get it was for me to leave.”
She watched Dev’s face as his understanding dawned.
“Keenan—” She realized that was the first time she’d said his name out loud to anyone in Sapling. “—he’s still in love with me. But whatever we used to have together—from my end—it’s gone.’
“Is this guy dangerous?” Dev’s voice was low when he asked it. It sent a shiver up Shea’s spine. Something told her it was more than his civic duty as a deputy that drew out his protective instincts. Her own instincts screamed that he was individually and specifically protective of her.
“Not exactly,” she replied before she could think any better of drawing him deeper. “He’s never laid a hand on me if that’s what you want to know. But he doesn’t know where I am. And he’s been trying to find me.”
“And if he does?” Dev’s grave tone was the same.
“Think Buffalo Bill, but a multi-millionaire, with more hubris, wounded pride and a hell of a lot more skin in the game.”
Dev quieted his voice at the same time that his breathing heavied. Even in the darkening twilight, she perceived the clench of his jaw. It took a long minute for him to calm just a little.
“That’s why you always pay with cash,” he concluded finally. “And why you ask me to special order things you could get yourself on Amazon.”
“C’mon…” She shifted her gaze to the water and blushed a little as she spoke. “You know that’s not the only reason why I come to The Freshery.”
When she finally gathered the courage to throw him a shy smile, he wasn’t quite smiling back but he no longer looked ready to murder somebody. Something in his eyes sparkled just a bit. It was embarrassing, how badly she wanted him to flirt back right then, but he didn’t take the bait. It was probably just as well.
“My mom left a guy who wasn’t good for her.”
Dev put it out there a long minute later, breaking a meditative silence that felt sublime in its utter peace. The calm, low rumble of his changed voice soothed her, too.
“Didn’t like to talk about him much,” he continued. “So as not to disrespect Eric, she always said.”
“Eric?” Night falling around her was so quiet, she felt every gentle lap of water against the sides.
“My dad—the one who raised me when I was little. This used to be his boat.”
Dev did something with the oars then—stopped paddling and rested them somehow—as if they had finally reached their destination. Only, their destination seemed to be the middle of the lake.
“He always claimed me as his son, but everyone in town knew.”
Shea crossed her arms against the evening breeze, then leaned forward a little, as if doing so would let her listen even better.
“And anyone who didn’t, figured it out the second they got an eyeful of Delilah.”
Shea winced. “Ouch.”
“Folks were always nice about it…said Delilah took after Eric and I took after my mom, neither of which is true. They did it to spare our feelings, I guess. It worked, too…until I was old enough to catch on.”
“What’d your mom tell you? About your biological dad?”
Dev shook his head and seemed far away as he looked at some point off in the distance.
“Only that she fell in love with him when she was young and that she would’ve given anything for him to have been the man she thought him to be. That he was long gone and it was best for everyone that he was.”
“Was it?” Shea asked. “Best for everyone I mean?”
“I understood why she thought it was. Eric was the best thing a single mother who didn’t want to be single could wish for: a good man who loved her, and who she loved, who would show up to be a great father to all of her kids…”
“But?”
“But she never told me who my real father was. It took me a long time to forgive her for taking it to her grave.”
“What changed your mind?”
The notion of parental forgiveness had infiltrated Shea’s thoughts for days, since she’d gotten to talking more about her dad and the restaurant with Delilah in the kitchen, and especially since she’d been avoiding Tasha’s instructions to get her father onboard.
“Something Pete tried to tell me when I was young, but I didn’t understand ’til I was grown. Sometimes a woman has her reasons.”
23
The Warning
Dev
“Your coffee is on the counter.”
Delilah jutted her chin toward the surface where a to-go cup sat next to the register. She sat on a stool, reading a magazine and looking bored. It was unusual for her—no tidying or displaying or final bustle of getting the bakery ready to open. A lack of music created a soundlessness void that had made Dev’s footsteps echo as he approached the counter. The morning was still dark and Delilah’s voice had been clipped but calm.
Only twice had Delilah pre-made his coffee. Both times she’d been slammed in the kitchen. In her infinite organization, she’d remembered Dev in the stolen minutes between oven runs. Baking was a complex dance of discipline, p
reparation and timed precision. Even on those two mornings when she’d been too busy to stop for pleasantries, Dev’s awaiting coffee had been hot.
But today, she wasn’t running to keep up with the English muffins. Today, she had plenty of time to make his coffee fresh and put it in his mug. Today, she was brooding, poring over a magazine she pretended to read instead of jumping into their routine. When he cuffed his hand around a disposable paper cup, its temperature was ice cold.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, lifting the cup before taking a slow stride toward where she sat at the counter. Approaching a brooding Delilah gently was something he’d known how to do since he was a kid. You had to be careful—quiet and disarming and without even a whiff of attack. That only ever led to a fiercer fight.
“You look like Mom, sitting there like that.”
Once Dev got to where Delilah was sitting, he reached forward and pulled out the stool right next to hers. Its metal legs made a horrible sound on the concrete floor. Her eyes widened for a second—gaze still trained on the magazine—and her face took on a light flush.
“Which part? The rainbow dye job or the tattoo?”
Dev set both of his cups down before he sat. “Biting the inside of your lip when something’s eating at you. The way you get quiet when you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” she came back quickly, flipping her flint-gray eyes up to look at him for the first time.
“You’re not happy, either,” he pointed out.
“No…just disappointed.”
He smiled wanly, a bit of sadness and a bit of humor coloring his tone. “Uh-oh…now you really sound like mom.”
Delilah sighed, punctuating her gesture with the closing of her magazine. It was one of the cooking titles she always liked to read. This issue had a white cover with a red question mark fashioned out of a mosaic of different foods. It was the same one he’d seen on Shea’s kitchen counter the week before.
“Someone’s gonna get hurt,” Delilah declared.
“That someone will probably be me. We both know she’s not sticking around.”
“I’m not so sure…” Delilah sounded unsure now, less like she was protecting the sisterhood and more like she had some sort of hunch.
“Not so sure it’s me who’ll get hurt or not so sure she’s leaving?” Dev didn’t know whether he’d followed right.
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know, just…something’s wrong.”
Dev’s shaking head and frown were a question.
“And don’t even give me that look,” Delilah warned. “You know how much I like her.”
“Then what the hell is it?” Dev shot back.
“Whatever it is, I’m not sure either one of us is meant to know.”
“She’ll tell us whatever she decides to, in her own time,” Dev replied. “Considering the things she and I got to talking about last night, I’d say she’s pretty open.”
“All I’m saying is, be careful with her…” Delilah countered with more insistence. “She obviously came here to figure her own stuff out and you get, like, so intense when you set your sights on a woman. She’s not a project and she doesn’t need fixing. She just needs her own space and time. Why can’t you just—"
But Dev cut her right off.
“I like her.”
He said it simply and definitively and he hadn’t meant to interrupt. For all of Delilah’s good logic, his one good counterargument came down to that. And he had thought it through—especially all the parts that made he and Shea together seem like a good idea. She was intriguingly unusual and a total original. They’d had some funny attraction since day one. And the other part—the final part—the part where his body told him what to do even if his mind was crazy: he and Shea were stupid attracted to one another.
No matter how he sliced it in his mind, none of the bad outweighed the good. So Shea had secrets—every woman did. Best as he could tell from the night before, her mild evasiveness was backed up by good reason. And she hadn’t needed to tell him any of it—she’d done so voluntarily which was pretty strong evidence that she was doing her part to build trust. Hell, Dev had plenty of his own things he preferred to keep to himself.
“I’ve thought this through…” His eyes pleaded with Delilah to understand. Her mouth stayed shut. For all he knew, the secrets she’d found out through the sisterhood were the same ones he’d found out the night before. And he knew Delilah. If pursuing Shea put him in any real danger, blood would prevail and Delilah would break confidence to tell him.
But that hadn’t happened. Delilah didn’t push. Delilah didn’t have information. Delilah had a hunch. And, twice now, she’d said her piece.
“I’m getting to where I’m going to do something about it,” Dev proclaimed with conviction. Because it was time for him to say his. “Some trains run too fast for you to get them to stop.”
“Just be careful with her,” Delilah said once again, and in a way so strange, he didn’t know whether Delilah meant that Dev should be careful not to hurt Shea or the other way around.
“Didn’t think you were coming…” Dev only half-tried to rein in the smile that broke free the second he saw her walk down the aisle. “Thought maybe I had you out too late.”
He’d killed hopeful time near the front of the store that morning, waiting as long as he could. When noon had come and gone without her morning visit, he’d mentally written off the day as a strikeout. No peace between he and Delilah. No breaks in the case. No responses from Don Jr. about his meeting requests. No sign of Shea.
“You know I’m not right ’til I have my green juice,” Shea quipped.
He’d offered to make her a tall cup of his favorite elixir, many times by then. Each time, she’d sworn it off.
“So today’s gonna be the day?” He raised his eyebrows with interest.
“Sometimes, you just gotta jump in.”
But something about it was vulnerable. Sassy on the surface with a hint of something shy, something that devoted him to her at the same time as it made him bold.
“Come with me.”
He motioned to her to follow him to an area set up past the produce off to the right. Dev had gone all out with his pressed juice bar. He had a few loyal customers who came in for their juice every day. He always kept plenty of fresh, organic vegetables cut and washed.
“Motor Oil?” It was the name he had started calling his green juice. “Keeps everything running…” he baited.
He pointed to the menu above him, which showed the name of each juice he made and what was contained inside. His favorite concoction combined kale, parsley, beets, spinach, carrots and a touch of apple. Shea did not seem enticed.
“Uh, no thanks.” He could tell she was trying not to cringe. “How about Summer Golden Milk?”
He liked that she hadn’t chosen one of the overly fruity recipes—what he called in his mind the “cocktail juices.” Turmeric mixed with milk and spices wasn’t for the faint of heart. It also wasn’t the selection of an amateur and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was sexy when a woman knew her antioxidants. He tried to sound impressed without seeming overtly surprised.
“Solid choice.”
The “summer” in his golden milk meant that he didn’t serve it warm—at least, not at this time of year. Dev cold-pressed the turmeric root, then added it to a shaker full of ice and almond and coconut milks. She looked on as he shaved in some cinnamon bark and fresh nutmeg before giving it all a good shake.
“You know…” he said as he poured it into a tall, clear, compostable cup that looked like plastic but was made of corn. “Juice isn’t the only thing I do well…you ought to let me cook you dinner on Thursday. Maybe you’ll finally tell me about your script.”
Never before had Dev been so thankful for all the business deals he’d negotiated. Exuding grace under pressure was a valuable skill. No one would know it to look at him, but Dev hadn’t been this nervous to ask a woman out since he was thirteen.
/> “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”
He chuckled and put the lid on her drink, tearing off the bottom part of the paper and putting in a straw before handing her the cup.
“Can’t and don’t are two different things.”
She took the proffered cup, narrowing her eyes and gratifying him with that tickled expression he loved—the one he’d only ever seen her use with him.
“You been holdin’ out on me, Kingston?” She scrutinized him for a long minute, her nose dipped and her gaze watching him from above the top rim of her glasses. It made him want to skip dinner and wine and respectable, get-to-know-you conversation and get straight to the part where they got to kiss. It took all that was in him not to kiss her when he leaned closer to issue his answer, a low rumble close to her ear: “You have no idea.”
24
The Date
Shea
“Wow, this place is...”
Shea couldn’t take her eyes off of the house that stood before her as she stepped out of the car—another tucked-away place Dev had insisted would be equally as difficult to find as Evie’s. This one wasn’t on the lake, but near the base of Caribou Hill, nestled among a complex system of creeks that fed into Grand Lake.
“I mean…when you told me you lived in a cabin, I was thinking Paul Bunyan. Not a mansion in the middle of the woods.”
Not just any mansion—one with strategically-placed spotlights on the ground to flatter the lines of its architecture. It was all stone pillars and sloped rooves and massive custom windows built in a complex chalet style. It was more than generic admiration of a well-designed exterior that prompted Shea’s reaction. She found some unexplained affinity to the extraordinary beauty of this place.
“Pete left it to me,” Dev explained. He bent his elbow and bringing his restless hand to smooth the hair on the back of his head. “He inherited it from his folks. Lived here when he was a kid but didn’t set foot back in it ’til after they died.”