He laid out four slices of bread, had just opened the peanut butter when the front door creaked and he heard Lucy talking to somebody. A male voice, not strong like Nate Desantro or Ben Reed’s but kind of nasally. Only one person had that sound: Jeremy Ross Dean. Now that was interesting because Harry told him just yesterday that the boy was ready to give up on Lucy because as the kid put it, There was no hope left, not since the tattooed competition showed up. But that voice in the other room sure sounded like Jeremy. Pop rested his knife on the open peanut butter jar and inched toward the living room. A step closer and he could investigate…
“So, what have you been up to?”
“Just working. Harry has me creating a few more dishes and we had a sample night last week. Pasta primavera was the favorite pick.”
Yup, that was Jeremy Ross Dean, all right. If he didn’t sound like a sad sack, then Pop didn’t know who did.
“That’s good. I like pasta and vegetables.”
“Yup.”
Silence. Too much silence. Pop had half a mind to swat Jeremy on the back of the head and tell him to shape up and stop with the woe-is-me routine because nobody wanted to live around that.
“Jeremy?”
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong? You haven’t called in five days and you haven’t stopped by in six. Teresina misses you.”
The hurt and sadness in Lucy’s voice said Teresina wasn’t the only one who missed him. No siree. Pop had an ear for interpreting the meaning between the words and Lucy’s said, Miss you.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
Was the boy serious? He came across like a cow in labor and now he asked a question like that? Pop really should give him a swat on the back of the head.
“Jeremy. Tell me.” And if that wasn’t persuasive enough, she finished with a “Please?”
The truth or something close to it burst out like a broken water pipe. “Are you with Jax?”
“What?”
“I want to know if you’re with Jax and if you are, why? He might act cool and cover his body with tattoos, but so what? He doesn’t care about you, not the way a man should care about a woman if he wants a real relationship with her…not the way I care about you.”
Well, how about that? The cow in labor had her baby. Pop knew the boy could get the words out; he just didn’t know if it was going to be today or three days from now. He wished Jeremy would hurry up because Pop was hungry.
More silence. Throat clearing. Shuffling feet. Pop snuck a peek around the corner and spotted the two of them—awful close together, Lucy’s head tilted back to look up at the boy who was a good several inches taller. And Jeremy Ross Dean looking at her like she was the princess of his world. That was young love, dipped in syrup and covered with powdered sugar.
“You care about me?”
The boy turned redder than Lucy’s ponytail. “I’ve always cared about you, Lucy.”
“A girl likes to hear it, Jeremy.”
He shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. “That’s what Harry said, but…”
“You asked Mr. Blacksworth for advice?”
Jeremy slid her a look. “I wasn’t going to, but the man just knows stuff like that. He could tell something was bothering me five seconds after he walked in the kitchen, so I told him.” He shook his head and let out a low sigh. “That man knows women. And then, when Jax and I had it out at the restaurant, Harry said it was time to either state my intentions or walk away, because either way, you and I couldn’t go on being just friends.”
“Can I ask why it took another guy coming to town for you to admit your feelings? You could have told me you cared a long time ago.”
“I couldn’t risk you giving me the boot and I figured it was better to be your friend than nothing at all.”
“Oh, Jeremy.” She reached up, touched his cheek.
“So, what’s with you and Jax?”
The boy didn’t crumble like a hunk of bleu cheese when she touched his cheek. Pop gave him credit for standing his ground and getting to the bottom of Lucy’s tie to this Jax character.
“He’s just a guy.” She stumbled over the words, looked away.
That was code for “wants to be more” or “should be less.” Now which one was it?
“Meaning?” Jeremy squared his shoulders, held her gaze.
Score two points for Jeremy Ross Dean. Who would have thought the boy had it in him to fight for what he wanted and not settle for less?
“We hung out together freshman year in college.” She paused, cleared her throat. “But then he dropped out and started touring with his band. I saw him once in a while, but mostly just an occasional text and a picture of wherever he was playing. Colorado, Texas, Missouri, Ohio. When he hit this part of the country, he remembered my grandparents lived here and he got in touch.”
“So, he just popped in?”
“Kind of. He said he was playing along the East Coast until fall and maybe I could travel with him sometime.”
“Huh? You mean he wanted you and Teresina to pack up and go on the road with him like nomads? What kind of life is that for a child?” He blew out a sigh. “What kind of life is that for you?”
“I know.” She looked away, said in a voice so soft Pop almost couldn’t hear. “He didn’t invite Teresina.”
That pulled a scowl from the boy’s face. “What kind of guy does that? What’s he think Teresina is, a doll baby?” The scowl deepened and his voice grew louder. “He wasn’t interested in long-term, Lucy. No way. That guy was short-term parking all the way.”
She nodded. “I found that out.” Lucy leaned on tiptoe and kissed him square on the mouth. Just a quick peck, but you’d have thought it was a marathon smooch from the dazed look on the boy’s face.
Way to go, Jeremy! Pop swiped at his eyes, blinked. Dang wrong time to shed a tear when he had a show to watch involving his granddaughter and her new boyfriend. He blinked again, fixed his gaze on the young couple. Jeremy Ross Dean got his vote. The boy had a level head on his shoulders and he loved Teresina. Pop inched away and headed back to the jars of peanut butter and jelly. He picked up his knife, slathered a slice of bread with peanut butter. Lucy might not have figured it out yet, but Jeremy loved her, too.
* * *
When Tess opened the door, Bree burst into tears and almost crumpled right in front of her. “I know you must all hate me, but I need to talk and I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Bree! Come inside. What’s wrong?”
Bree swiped at her tears and made her way into Tess and Cash’s house and straight into the lioness den where Gina and Christine sat. Gracious, this was probably the worst idea she’d had since high school when she’d given herself a perm. But she didn’t know what else to do and these women knew her, had stood beside her when she lost her baby, and again when she buried her cheating husband. And she’d pushed them away because she didn’t want to see their happiness. What a selfish person she was: selfish, cruel, and inconsiderate. “I am so sorry I turned you all away. You’ve only ever shown me kindness, but I haven’t done the same. Not at all. I sank in self-pity and pushed you away because I didn’t want to witness your happily-ever-afters.” The tears poured out, faster and harder than a summer storm. “I am so, so sorry.” She moved toward Gina, rested a hand on her friend’s protruding belly. “Forgive me, Gina, for not having the goodness in me to congratulate you on baby number two.”
Bree did not expect Gina to open her arms and hug her, and she certainly didn’t expect her less than touchy-feely friend to offer forgiveness. She did both. “It’s okay, Bree. We’re here for you.” Gina patted her back, said in a voice filled with conviction, “We’ll always be here for each other, no matter what detours we take.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ve missed you.” Christine laid a hand on Bree’s arm. “It’s good to have you back.”
Bree lifted her head from Gina’s
shoulder, eased her grip on her friend. “I promise that from here on, when I’m in the dumps, I’ll come to you. I won’t try to deal with my problems myself because obviously, I’m horrible at it.” She sniffed, swiped a hand across her cheeks. “I truly am sorry for my behavior. There really is no excuse.” Her gaze swept over her friends, landed on Tess. “You could have turned us all away so you wouldn’t have to look at our swollen bellies or the babies that came later. But you didn’t. You’re so strong, and I can learn from that.” She smiled at Tess, shifted her gaze to Christine and Gina. “I can learn from all of you about dealing with sadness and a life that doesn’t turn out the way we think it should. When I married Brody, I was still a child, but I thought my whole life was mapped out, starting with a wedding ring and a pregnancy. I never thought about what would happen if my prince turned out to be a dunce and how I’d cope if I were alone. That’s why I shut down.” She paused and thought of the reason she was standing here right now. “And then I met someone really special, and I totally screwed everything up, just like I always do.”
The look Gina gave her was more pre-Ben and the words were definitely pre-children. “Bree, you are not going to turn this into a dramafest. We don’t have the time for it. We know you’re talking about that guy your father hired from Chicago, so spill.”
“Yes,” Tess said, her voice soft and caring. “Do spill on Mr. Looks and Manners because you cannot let him go.”
Bree shook her head, bit her lip. “He’s already gone.”
Two hour later, Bree left Tess Casherdon’s with hope in her heart. Tess and Christine thought she should call Adam and apologize, but Gina was the one who said this apology needed to happen in person—at the same restaurant where Bree first met Adam. Who would have thought Gina was such a romantic? Still, it didn’t matter because Bree was too chicken to have a face-to-face with the man right now. Scaredy-cat, that’s what she was. Her friends told her that one way or the other, it was up to Bree to make the first move and she shouldn’t wait too long to figure that out. They said Adam Brandon had tried to do the right thing by her and while he might not have been one hundred percent honest about his reason for being in Magdalena, it wasn’t all his fault. Her father was the real culprit, though Bree hadn’t seen it that way until it was too late.
But, the real problem was with Bree. She’d pushed the man away, told herself she only wanted him for the physical aspects of the relationship, and for the longest time, actually refused to acknowledge they had a relationship. What a bunch of baloney. She’d been gaga over him since the first time he kissed her, so who was she kidding? And once he’d touched her and taken her to bed, it was game over. Of course, she’d tried to deny it because she was so dang scared to trust a man again, really trust as in “all-in,” especially one with looks and charm like Adam Brandon. Why do that? So he could trample her heart like that cheater dead husband had done? Definitely not, no way. But all the denying and protecting hadn’t done any good because the man had stolen her heart and then he’d trampled it when he left. But that was on her, a regret she would carry forever.
They say misery loves to share itself, and when Natalie Servetti showed up at Bree’s door later that night after the girls were asleep, she looked pitiful. Bloodshot eyes, smeared mascara, red nose, and goodness, the most awful T-shirt and sweatpants ever. “Natalie, what on earth is wrong?”
“May I come in?”
The woman looked like Bree felt, and that meant a man was behind it. “Of course.” Natalie stepped inside and Bree led her to the living room. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A glass of water, please.”
“Sure. Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”
Bree had doubted Robert’s intentions toward Natalie and hoped she was wrong, but her gut told her she wasn’t. She poured two glasses of water, headed to the living room, and handed one to Natalie. “Now tell me what’s wrong.” The story poured out like Niagara Falls, hard, fast, all-consuming. When Natalie got to the part about how she’d spied on Robert and spotted a woman kissing him, Bree’s heart ached for her. Damn men! But when Natalie spilled the rest of the story, including his mother’s part in it and his hesitation to confront her, that’s when Bree knew real sympathy. Natalie had hurt a lot of people, but she wasn’t that same person anymore. She deserved a second chance with a decent guy, not some jerk who couldn’t stand up to his mother.
“You’re better than this.” Bree squeezed her hand. “Do you hear me? No man should be allowed to make you feel like crap.”
Natalie nodded. “He says he loves me.”
Damn men! “If he loves you, then let him show you.”
16
Two days later, Natalie was folding towels in the back room of the salon when Marissa burst in, face flushed, eyes bright. “There’s a man to see you.” She fanned herself, whispered, “I think it’s your Robert.”
Robert? No, it couldn’t possibly be, though she’d dreamed of the man enough these past nights to almost imagine him standing here. No doubt, it would be some bad reminder from a past she wanted to forget, not a hope from the future that was not going to happen. Natalie folded the towel and placed it in the basket, smoothed her shirt, and made her way to the front of the salon.
“Nat?” Robert Trimble jumped up from the nubby tan chair in the waiting room, his expression serious, lips unsmiling. He thrust a gigantic bouquet of red roses tied with a white satin ribbon at her, tried for a smile that flopped. “For you.”
She ignored the roses because while they were beautiful, gifts without action meant nothing, not anymore. “Why are you here?”
He licked his lips, took a step toward her, lowered his voice as though to keep the conversation private. Good luck with that. The women in the salon pretended they were busy with their tasks, two cutting hair, another sweeping the floor, still another thumbing through the appointment book, but they all had antennae up and homed in on the mysterious Robert, a man whose very existence they’d wondered about.
“I miss you, Nat. I had to see you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, planted her feet to fight his sweet-talk. What good did lapping up the sweet-talk do other than to make her believe in fairy tales that didn’t exist? Not this time. “Why are you really here, Robert? Did Jeanine turn you down?”
“No! Please, Nat. Come back to me.” He placed the flowers on the chair next to him, stuffed a hand in his right pocket, and pulled out a blue velvet box.
The gasps swirling around her said everyone in the salon was listening and watching and probably thought they knew exactly what was in the box. Everyone except Natalie. Oh, he’d make it look like the kind of box that would hold an engagement ring and just when she believed that’s what it was, he’d pop it open and there’d be earrings or a pin. Beautiful and expensive, but not an engagement ring.
“Open it.” When she continued to stare at the velvet box, he added, “Please.”
She shook her head, fought the tears that insisted on finding a way down her cheeks. He’d promised her too many times that they would be together. “I’m sorry, Robert.” Natalie backed away before she fell apart. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“I love you, Natalie.” He dropped to his knee, flipped open the box, and said, “Marry me. Please. I know I don’t deserve you, but if you give me one last chance, I promise I will spend my life making you the happiest woman on earth.”
She stared at the ring. An engagement ring and a marriage proposal. She wanted to believe him, but could she? Her gaze skittered to his. “What’s the catch? A ten-year engagement?” Any second he would lure her back in with words and promises, ones she’d heard too many times before. This time she was smarter. This time she would demand the truth.
He clutched her hand, his eyes rimmed with tears. “I want to get married as soon as possible. I told my mother if I were lucky enough to convince you to marry me, then you and I would make our own decisions, including how we lived our lives and if she co
uldn’t accept that, then maybe she wouldn’t get to know her grandchildren.” His thin lips pulled into a smile, wobbled. “That settled her down fast.”
“Grandchildren?”
His face turned as red as her favorite “perfectly red” nail polish. “You said you wanted children.”
Could he really be serious? Natalie swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “I can’t take another empty promise, Robert. I would rather you leave now and I never see you again than believe another lie.”
“I promise on my love for you. No more procrastinating. No more worrying about what anybody says or thinks but you.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it. “It took almost losing you to realize how wrong I’ve been.”
“You really want to marry me?”
“More than anything.”
“I’m not perfect.”
He smiled. “Thank God.”
Robert Trimble wanted to marry her, imperfect Natalie Servetti. She leaned forward, kissed him. “How about you stand up and get this ring on my finger?”
A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 Page 20