I’d been in such a funk that I was starting to get on my own nerves, and as I walked through my classroom, making sure my students were focused on their own quizzes and not peeking at anyone else’s, I vowed to sort my shit out that evening.
Maybe I’ll ask the guys to go out for a drink.
As if I’d conjured him, I saw Ty’s face pop up in the window to my door. I held up a finger to indicate I couldn’t talk now, but would get back to him later. Rather than nod in response as usual, he got this big goofy grin, gave me two thumbs up, and pushed my door open.
What the . . . ?
I stopped in the middle of my room when Millie stepped through the door he’d just opened, a piece of loose-leaf paper clutched in her hands.
I drank in the site of her like a man drowning. The soft billowy curls of her chestnut hair, the way the pretty floral dress accented her delicate curves and flowed down to her sandaled feet. She looked gorgeous, but the way I’d been missing her, she could have walked in wearing a burlap sack and she would have been the best thing I’d ever seen in my life.
Even as my heart roared back to life, I stopped myself from rushing forward and taking her in my arms.
I need to be smart, and guard myself. After all, I couldn’t be certain of why she was here.
“Millie, uh, hi, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to come off as unconcerned, but ruining it when my voice cracked.
“I needed to see you,” she began softly.
“I’m in the middle of class, maybe we can get together after school,” I suggested, even though the last thing I wanted was for her to leave. Still, I couldn’t come off as totally eager. I didn’t want her to think I’d been pining like some lovesick teen, even though that was an accurate description.
I need to be a man.
“I’ll only take a moment,” Millie argued, her tone wavering.
I watched her take a deep breath and noticed the paper shaking slightly in her grasp, and was about to say fuck manhood and go to her when she stopped me in my tracks.
“What greater punishment is there in life when you’ve lost everything that made it worth living?”
Her voice was strong as she read off the page, and I heard my class begin to murmur.
“Shakespeare,” one of my kids whispered to the class, and I was proud that they remembered.
“I’m so sorry,” Millie was saying, her eyes back on me. “I was scared. Terrified actually. And losing Kayla that way, seeing how she was dealing with everything that’s going on in her life right now, brought back all of these feelings that I hadn’t had in years, and I freaked out.”
I waited, needing to hear more.
She looked back down.
“It is better to lose your pride to the one you love, than to lose the one you love, for your pride.”
At the word love, my world stopped and through the buzzing in my ears, I heard another student say, a little louder this time, “Pride and Prejudice.”
I looked around the room and saw we had my students’ undivided attention. There were smiles and faces resting on palms, one kid was even taking notes. If someone pulled out a bowl of popcorn, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I was afraid, a total chicken, and I know that’s not what you or Kayla need in your lives, but I promise it won’t happen again. I realize that I can help Kayla get through this, not only because I’ve been through it, but because I care about her. About her happiness. And, when she and your mom came to see me, I knew that we’d be able to get through this time together.”
“My mom and Kayla came to see you?” I asked, remembering Kayla’s insistence on going to my parents.
Sneaky girl.
Millie cleared her throat nervously, bringing my attention back to her.
“When I look into your eyes I don’t see just you. I see my today, my tomorrow and my future. For the rest of my life.”
“I don’t think I know that one,” one of the guys said.
After a few seconds, someone, I think Jeannie said, “Oh, oh, I think it’s Outlander.”
I saw Millie smile a little and decided that Jeannie deserved an A for reading more than the required reading for class.
“I’ve never felt the things I feel for you, for anyone else, and I never will. I know I got scared and messed up, and I’m sorry for the pain I put you through, but I hope you can forgive me. Give me another chance.”
I didn’t move, not to nod or give her any sort of affirmation. It wasn’t just that I was stunned, although I was, and it wasn’t that I was wary, although I was that, too. It was that I was positively swooning.
Swept off my feet.
Knocked to my knees by this woman who was turning my life into one of the very books she was quoting, the books that were my passion, my work . . .
“My heart is, and always will be, yours.”
Her hands dropped to her sides, the paper hanging from her fingers. The paper that I would take from her and frame, to show all of our children, grandchildren, and their children after.
“Sense and Sensibility!” Jonathon shouted out, obviously pleased to have figured one out first.
I tuned him out and finally crossed to her.
Millie’s head tilted back as she looked at me with hopeful eyes. “I’m gonna need that paper,” I said, before sealing our fate with a kiss.
I tried to ignore the cheering and catcalls of my students, but when I broke the kiss and pulled back, we were both grinning.
“Okay, okay,” I said, trying to calm them down, then thought, fuck it, and said, “You’re all getting A’s.”
Millie was laughing when the class erupted once more.
Millie
IT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL thing I’d ever seen.
Stone with dark shutters, white pillars, bright-green trees, and lush, red bushes. Graceland Mansion was everything I’d imaged, and more. And that was just the outside.
It had taken us longer to get here than we’d initially thought. Trying to plan around Jackson’s school schedule, and dealing with the rapid growth of Three Sisters Catering when we added elegant children’s parties and landed one of our biggest clients to date, had made it difficult.
But now, six months later, we were finally in Memphis, and I was currently trying to teach Kayla about the wonder that is Elvis.
“He’s the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll for a reason,” I was explaining as we walked to the Meditation Garden. “He still holds the record for the most Top 40 hits, he was in thirty-one movies, made over one-hundred and fifty albums and singles, and has been inducted into five halls of fame.”
“You should totally work here,” Kayla said in between licks of her hand-dipped ice cream cone from Minnie Mae’s Sweets at Elvis Presley’s Memphis.
Jackson started laughing, and while normally I would have shot him a death glare, I was too happy to even conjure one up.
Jackson had totally outdone himself with this trip. When we’d decided to bring Kayla, he’d booked us a room at The Guest House at Graceland, where we were enjoying a weekend of total submersion into all things Elvis.
It was the best weekend of my life, and although I knew Kayla would rather be at Disneyland, and Jackson would probably be just about anywhere else, they were both enjoying watching me live out one of my childhood dreams.
Seriously, there was so much amazingness in this place, I could barely stand it.
It’s not just a mansion . . . There’s the Presley Motors Automobile Museum, Elvis: The Entertainer Career Museum, Discovery Exhibits, Elvis Presley’s Memphis, The Meditation Garden, plus the tours of Graceland. It was so much more than I’d ever imagined.
After we were done perusing The Meditation Garden, we walked the grounds, nodding at other Elvis enthusiasts as we enjoyed the perfect weather. Kayla was between us, holding each of our hands as we swung her out. Her legs were a little too long, but she didn’t care, she just held them up, laughed happily, and said, “Again,” over and over.
Since she was nine and probably at least fifty pounds, my arm was starting to get tired, when I saw a sign for The Chapel in the Woods.
“Oh, can we go there?” I asked gleefully. We’d seen almost everything there was to see on the grounds, but we hadn’t been to the chapel yet.
We started in that direction, and when we happened upon the darling little chapel nestled in, I rushed toward in oohing and aahing. I had one hand on the railing, and was turning to say how beautiful the setting was, when I saw that both Jackson and Kayla were down on one knee, watching me expectantly.
I turned slowly, one hand on my stomach, the other at my throat, and moved until I was standing before them. My breath caught when I looked down and saw Jackson holding a gorgeous, three-stone rose-gold engagement ring in his hands.
The hand at my neck came up to cover my mouth.
“Millie.” I was surprised when the first words came from Kayla, but I shifted to give her my undivided attention. She looked up at her dad, who nodded his encouragement, then back at me. “I know I was a brat at first, and I did what I could to push you away, but that’s only because I was afraid to like you, then have you leave. And, even though you freak out over Elvis, and spend way too much time kissing my dad, you’re pretty cool. You make all that good food, and bake me cookies when I want, and I like helping you in the kitchen. Plus, you have pretty cool sisters, and I’ve never had aunts. So, my dad and I would love it if you’d join our family, and let us join yours.”
My eyes had filled with tears that were threatening to spill over, but before I could get down on the ground and pull Kayla in my arms, Jackson started to speak.
“To keep in our tradition of stealing from the greats, I want to start by paraphrasing Bronte . . . Whatever our souls are made of, ours are the same . . . Millie, Camilla, when I first met you, I was drawn in by your sweetness, your kind eyes, and yes, your beauty, and the more I got to know you, I realized that those weren’t just attributes that you showed customers, or strange men begging you to host a tea party for them, but that they’re innate. That’s who you are, and so much more. I’ve never met anyone so attune to the needs of others, so willing and able to put other’s before themselves. You’re generous, loyal, and so perfect for me it’s scary. I never imagined my first, first kiss in fifteen years would lead me here, but I’m so glad I waited. You’re the pinch of salt we needed to spice up our lives, and I’m grateful that someone as amazing as you would fall for a romantic literature nerd like me. I’m hoping that sometime in the near future, we can come back here to this chapel, or meet at any chapel in the world, and you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“And, becoming my mom,” Kayla added.
So, I stood there, near to bursting with happiness in the most magical place on earth, and cried, “Yes, I’d love to be your wife, and it would make me happier than anything, to be your mom.”
Then, finally, I dropped to my knees and kissed Jackson with all the love I felt for him, as Kayla hugged us both tightly, and we agreed to become the family that we all needed.
The End.
Stay tuned for Tasha and Jericho’s story, A Touch of Cinnamon, coming in early 2018!
Turn the page for an excerpt of Bethany Lopez’s, Always Room for Cupcakes
Always Room for Cupcakes
ONE DAY YOU’RE BE-BOPPING ALONG, jamming to the music in your head while wondering if your thighs can handle grabbing a cupcake on the way home. The next thing you know your entire world crashes and burns.
I used to wake up at night in a sweat, crying because I’d dreamt that my husband was cheating on me, or that he hated me and resented my kids. He’d always hold me close and tell me it was all just a dream, that he loved me and our family and that he’d never let me go.
He was a fucking liar.
Instead of being the sweet, affable, hard-working man he projected to me and the outside world, he was actually a cheating, vagina-licking asshole, who only cared about getting off and being free of responsibility.
I’d gone from sweet and caring housewife to bitter, hard-as-nails single mom, who worked her ass off to give her kids a quarter of the life they were used to. Putting my photography skills to use, I’d gone to work for a scumbag PI. He used me to dig up dirt on his clients.
I was happy to do it.
I was doing a public service for women like me who thought the men in their lives could actually be trusted, and I really enjoyed my job.
I’d learned quickly that men suck, my children are my saving grace, and there is always room for cupcakes.
“GET IT IN FOCUS THIS time, Lila . . . none of that grainy shit you sent me last week. I need to actually see what’s going down, or in this case, what’s entering what.”
“Ugh, thanks for that mental image, Moose,” I said with a grimace into my cell. “It’s bad enough I have to see that shit through my lens, I don’t need you constantly talking about it.”
“Quit your bitchin’ and get me some good shots. This one’s a high roller.”
“Got it, boss,” I replied, and pressed end on the call.
My boss may be a creepy, low-life PI, but he’d taken a chance on me when my douchebag ex left me high and dry. So even though I regularly gave him shit, he knew I’d do anything for him.
Especially if that meant a more lucrative paycheck.
That’s why I was currently scrunched down in my caravan outside a seedy hotel, a half-eaten sandwich on my lap and my camera at the ready.
Moose got the clients, then hired me to get the goods. This usually involved taking pictures of men, and women, having affairs, but sometimes it was as easy as following someone and snapping a shot of them being somewhere other than where they were supposed to be.
Being a wronged woman myself, I didn’t feel guilty about catching liars and cheaters in the act. I just wish I’d had an inkling that there were problems in my own marriage, and had thought to hire someone like Moose and me to get evidence against The Douche. Instead, I’d been clueless.
I thought my twelve-year marriage was perfect. I was a doting housewife, who’d loved raising our kids, keeping the house spic and span and having a hot meal ready for our family dinners every night. My husband made good money, we had a nice house, and we lived in a neighborhood where the kids could play outside and we didn’t have to worry.
Then, one day he was supposed to be out with his buddies watching the game at a local bar, and Elena, one of our twins, had a sharp pain in her stomach that wouldn’t quit. I got scared and tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. Since our town was small enough that I could drive around it in fifteen minutes, I packed the kids in the car and went to the bar.
Imagine my surprise when neither he nor his buddies were there. Figuring I got the place wrong, I activated the phone finder app I’d installed on all of our phones and ended up in the parking lot behind Starbucks.
Seeing some movement in his car, I told the kids I’d be right back and jogged over to the vehicle, which, although it didn’t register at the time, had foggy windows.
Filled with worry over our daughter, I didn’t think, I just acted, and yanked the car door open. That’s when I saw Slutty Shirley Finkle, legs spread wide, bare cunt lifted in the air, with my husband’s face buried nose deep inside.
“You mother-fucking son of a whore!”
Yup, I’m pretty sure those were the exact words I’d yelled in the Starbucks parking lot before snapping a picture with my phone and hightailing it out of there to take my kids to the hospital.
Now my kids and I lived in a shitty three-bedroom apartment in The Heights. I worked for Moose, and picked up shifts at my best friend Amy May’s bakery whenever I could. They saw their dad most weekends, while I avoided him at all costs.
He’d humiliated me, broken my trust, and made me feel like an idiot for having such blind faith in him all of those years. I hated everything about him. His blond wavy hair, his chiseled jaw, and the stupid way he looked in a perfectly tailor
ed suit. I wanted no reminder of the life we had together, except for our beautiful children, of course, which was why I’d left all of our material possessions behind with him and the house we’d once shared.
And as I watched a slick-looking middle aged man guide a heavily breasted, much younger woman into the seedy motel, I thought, this one’s for the sisterhood. I pumped my fist as I watched them walk back out of the office and down a few doors, then got ready to strike.
First floor . . . nice.
At least this time I wouldn’t have to climb anything.
When I’d first started out, about ten months ago, I’d been woefully out of shape. After being chased down the street by a heavyset woman wearing only a teddy and almost getting tackled, I’d decided it would be in my best interest to join a gym and take up running.
It made all the difference. Sometime I had to get creative, but, knock on wood, I always got the shot . . . even if it was sometimes grainy.
Taking pictures of people in the act is actually easier than you might think. People are stupid. Especially the ones who think they’re untouchable, they’ll never get caught, and that their shit don’t stink.
I eased out of the van, looking around the mostly empty parking lot as I walked casually toward the door they’d entered. I even started whistling, just to make myself more conspicuous.
Hiding in plain sight actually worked.
“Thanks for leaving the curtains cracked,” I murmured as I slid up to the window, camera up and ready, and peeked inside.
Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for my pocketbook, they’d left the lights blaring and must have done some heavy petting in the car, because they were already going at it.
“Sixty-nine . . . classic.”
I snapped quickly, making sure their faces were in frame as I captured each lick, suck, slobber, and moan.
“Gross,” I grumbled as I hurried back to my car.
One of the downsides of the job was that it sometimes took hours to get the sordid visions out of my head. On occasions like these, there was one thing that helped ease my pain.
A Pinch of Salt (Three Sisters Catering Book 1) Page 16