The Truth in Tiramisu (A Poppy Creek Novel Book 2)

by Rachael Bloome

  Penny shrugged, crunching on another chip. “He can handle it. Now, stop changing the subject.” She glanced left and right as if to make sure no one was in earshot before whispering, “I think Grant still has a thing for you.”

  By now, the heat had traveled up Eliza’s neck and blazed across her cheeks. “I think you’re imagining things.”

  “Deny it all you want, but you two are definitely getting back together.” Penny plopped another chip in her mouth before sauntering off, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

  Eliza’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. Oh, how she wanted to believe Penny was right. But under the circumstances, a second chance for her and Grant simply didn’t seem possible.

  Moving to the refreshment stand, Eliza slid her plate onto the table and grabbed a tall mason jar. Turning the spout of the beverage dispenser, she searched the crowd for Ben while her glass filled. She’d told her parents not to let him run wild with his friends until after lunch, but once Sylvia got to chatting, she easily lost track.

  “Looking for someone?”

  The hairs on the back of Eliza’s neck prickled as she met Harriet’s icy gaze.

  “Yes, my son.”

  Harriet raised one sharply penciled eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure you weren’t looking for someone else?”

  Eliza’s heartbeat stilled, every muscle in her body tense. What exactly was Harriet insinuating?

  Suddenly, Eliza’s cup overflowed. Ice-cold lemonade drenched her hands and the hem of the sundress she’d thrown over her bathing suit after the race. Frantic, she scrambled to switch off the spout.

  “Here, let me help you.” Harriet grabbed a handful of napkins and stepped in front of Eliza, keeping her head lowered as she dabbed the sticky, sopping-wet stain. “You should really be more careful.”

  Harriet’s venomous tone made Eliza’s blood run cold. And Eliza instantly knew she wasn’t talking about the lemonade.

  Taking a step back, Eliza yanked the hem of her dress from Harriet’s grasp. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Glad to hear it. And how are your parents?” Harriet asked pointedly, a small, almost imperceptible sneer playing about her lips.

  Eliza’s breath hitched in her throat, and she glanced around for a quick path of escape.

  Harriet took a step toward her, her eyes narrowing. “You remember our agreement, don’t you, Eliza?”

  Swallowing past the lump of fear in her throat, Eliza whispered, “Yes.”

  “Good. Then it would serve you well not to forget it.” Harriet crumpled the soiled napkins into a ball in her fist before tossing them in the nearby trash can. “Have a nice day.” With a sharp wave of her hand, she disappeared into the throng of merriment, leaving Eliza breathless and trembling.

  “Mom! Mom!” Ben appeared by her side, tugging on her arm. “Grant asked us to sit with him at lunch. Can we? Can we?”

  “Um…” Eliza blinked several times, trying to reorient to her surroundings, shaking away the tremors in her hands with a flick of her wrists. Concentrating on Ben, she forced a wobbly smile. “Not today, Bug. Let’s sit with Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”

  Ben’s lower lip protruded in a pout. “Okay.” Within a millisecond, his face brightened, as if he’d forgotten all about his previous disappointment. “Can I have some lemonade?”

  “Sure. Second time’s the charm.”

  Ben tilted his head, gazing at her with a quizzical expression.

  “Never mind.” Eliza smiled. “Help yourself.”

  As Ben filled his mason jar, he asked, “Can we have Grant over for dinner tomorrow?”

  Eliza winced internally. “I don’t think so. We need to focus on homework tomorrow night. And Grant’s a busy guy. He can’t spend all of his time painting with you.”

  Ben’s face instantly fell, and Eliza regretted being so dismissive.

  But how could she possibly explain to him that they needed to steer clear of Grant from now on?

  If not for their sakes, then for her parents’.

  Chapter 14

  Her heartbeat thrumming wildly, Eliza screeched into the school parking lot and slammed on the brakes. Agitated, she lunged for her purse on the passenger seat, dropping her keys in the footwell. After bending to retrieve them, she whacked the back of her head on the steering wheel as she straightened. Pain shot through her temples, and Eliza released a low moan.

  She’d been a wreck ever since her run-in with Harriet at the barbecue yesterday. Even Cassie mentioned she seemed jittery and absentminded after she’d charred an entire tray of White Chocolate Cappuccino cookies. But the worst offense was forgetting Career Day at Ben’s school. As if she needed another reason to be on Daphne’s bad side. Fortunately, her mother had reminded her with a few minutes to spare.

  She raced up the front steps of the old brick schoolhouse and froze when she spotted Grant at the top of the staircase. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi!” His smile faded as he took in her ashen appearance. “Are you okay?”

  “What are you doing here?” Eliza repeated, pressing a hand to her forehead. The intense throbbing seemed to match the staccato tempo of her pulse.

  Grant’s eyes widened in surprise. “I… I’m speaking in Ben’s class for Career Day. He asked me yesterday at the barbecue. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Suddenly nauseous, Eliza gripped the wooden railing to keep from collapsing on the stone steps.

  “Are you okay? You look like you might throw up.” Grant set his portfolio and laptop bag on the bench and moved to her side, offering his arm for support.

  Eliza waved him aside. “I’m fine.” She needed to collect herself and salvage the situation as quickly as possible. If Harriet found out that Grant—Eliza shook her head sharply. No, Harriet wouldn’t find out. She couldn’t. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “What do you mean?” Grant took a step back, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “Ben asked me to—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eliza snapped, squinting as another sharp pain pierced the back of her eyes. “Career Day is for parents. Not acquaintances.”

  Grant flinched, his features crumbling. “Okay… point taken.” For a moment, he stared at her as though he’d never seen her before, and Eliza’s nausea returned tenfold.

  She had no reason to be so unkind to Grant, but panic had completely taken over.

  Steeling herself against another wave of anxiety, Eliza squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze with an apology poised on the tip of her tongue. “Grant, I—”

  He held up his hand. “Say no more. I think you’ve been perfectly clear.” Looking away, he gathered his belongings from the bench and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. “Please explain my absence to Ben.”

  Guilt constricting her throat, Eliza nodded.

  Grant passed by her on the steps without another word, but she felt the frustration radiating from his body like steam curling from a pie crust.

  She didn’t blame him. Her harsh words were inexcusable. What was happening to her? The lines between right and wrong, the truth and lies… Everything seemed blurry, painted in shades of gray. She hated gray.

  Her eyes burned and Eliza squeezed them shut, fighting back tears. Slowly breathing in and out, she concentrated on the rhythm of her pulse, the warmth of the sun on her bare arms, the tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker in the distance. Finally, she thought about Ben. Focusing her attention on her son usually centered her.

  But in her mind’s eye, Ben became a part of the gray landscape, disappearing into the drab, faded background.

  Fear gripped Eliza’s heart and her eyelids flew open.

  She needed to find a way out of this mess before she lost everything that mattered to her.

  Especially her son.

  Confused and humiliated, Grant kicked the car door shut with the heel of his suede loafer.

  What had just happened? Ever since the race yesterday, Eliza had been avoiding him. It was almost as if…

  Grant paused
halfway down the slate walkway, a weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

  Oh, no…

  The bitter realization fell over him like a dark shadow.

  Eliza had discovered he still had feelings for her! And this was her way of rejecting him.

  Pain stabbed his heart, and Grant ran his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself.

  Could it really be over between them? Less than twenty-four hours ago, it seemed like their lives were just beginning. He’d been almost certain he’d felt a spark, a strong electrical current that ran both ways. What had snuffed it out so swiftly?

  Dragging himself up the porch steps, Grant didn’t even notice his father reading on the wicker bench overlooking the front garden. Lost in his thoughts, Grant skulked past him into the house, still agonizing over every syllable he’d exchanged with Eliza.

  Could he be misreading things? Even if Eliza didn’t want to get back together, why did she have to push him away from Ben so fiercely? While only a friend, Luke seemed to fill the role of father figure in the boy’s life. And, in some ways, so did Jack and Reed. Why couldn’t Grant be another one of Ben’s role models? Unless…

  Suddenly queasy, Grant yanked open the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of sarsaparilla, popping off the cap on the edge of the counter. Leaning against the sink, he threw his head back and chugged, waiting for the subtle licorice flavor of the soft drink to work its calming magic on his churning stomach.

  Who was he kidding? Grant couldn’t blame Eliza for not wanting him around her son. His rapport with his own father was fraught with tension and bitterness, dysfunction Eliza had witnessed with her own eyes on numerous occasions. That type of toxicity was bound to worm its way into other relationships—the exact reason Grant never wanted kids. He didn’t trust himself to do things differently.

  So why did being around Ben make him want to try? Before coming back to Poppy Creek, he’d been content to remain child-free for the rest of his life. But over the last several days, something had shifted. He couldn’t explain it. But deep in his gut, something about the possibility of being cut out of Ben’s life felt… personal.

  “Everything all right?” Stan appeared in the doorway.

  “Just peachy,” Grant muttered dryly, taking another swig of sarsaparilla. Realizing it was empty, he tossed the glass bottle into the recycling bin and grabbed another one from the fridge.

  Propping the cap against the counter, Grant attempted to pop it off like the first, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustration building in his chest, Grant yanked open kitchen drawers, rummaging through them in search of a bottle opener. “Where’s Mom?” he growled, feeling angry with the world.

  “Knitting club.” Stan removed the keychain clipped to his belt loop and tossed it to Grant. “There’s a bottle opener in the Swiss army knife.”

  “Thanks,” Grant mumbled, snapping off the bottle cap before tossing the keys back to his dad.

  “Rough day?”

  “You could say that.” Grant downed another gulp, the carbonation burning the back of his throat.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Grant stared at the tile floor, realizing he’d forgotten to remove his shoes when he’d entered the house. Fantastic. As if he wasn’t already on his mother’s bad side lately. Although, she’d be happy to hear about the day’s altercation. It seemed that his mother and Eliza were finally on the same side.

  The thought fueled Grant’s irritation, causing the words to tumble from his lips before he could stop them. “I showed up at Ben’s school today. For Career Day. He asked me to speak in front of his class, by the way.” Grant placed extra emphasis on the invitation, a dull ache settling around his heart as he recalled Ben’s hopeful expression when he’d made his request. “So, there I was, giving up a few hours out of my day for a kid that’s not even mine, and guess what?”

  Pacing back and forth across the kitchen, Grant didn’t wait for Stan to respond before blurting, “Eliza tells me to get lost.”

  “She actually said that?” Stan’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Well, not in so many words, but basically. She told me I had no reason to be there because Career Day is for parents.”

  “I see,” Stan said softly.

  Something in the cautious edge to his father’s tone irked Grant, feeding into his agitated state of mind. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Clearly, it’s something. I take it you agree with her?” A not-so-subtle voice inside Grant’s head told him to stop now and walk away. He needed to cool off and think before he spoke. But an even louder voice—the reckless one—wanted his father to say it out loud.

  “Well…” Stan started slowly. “You’re not the boy’s father—”

  “And if anyone knows about not being a father…” Grant trailed off, short of the final blow. But it didn’t matter. He’d made his point. It was stamped across Stan’s pallid features.

  Regret pierced Grant’s heart, and he set down the soda bottle, ready to apologize. “Dad, I—”

  Stan cleared his throat. “Your mother said she won’t be back in time for dinner, so she left a casserole in the fridge. The heating instructions are on the notepad on the counter. I’ll be at a card game at Mac’s tonight.”

  Without another word, Stan strode out of the kitchen.

  Leaving Grant to stew in his remorse.

  Chapter 15

  Wincing, Grant dropped the square of sandpaper, flicking his wrist to dull the pain as it fluttered to the floor. He deserved the splinter. And then some.

  Grant thought helping Luke with the wedding arch would clear his head, surrounded by the restorative scent of cedar and pine sap. Not to mention the repetitive motion of sanding. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the harsh words he’d said to his father earlier that day. True or not, they never should have left his lips.

  “Careful,” Luke told him. “The wood’s pretty rough. I’ve received my fair share of splinters on this project.”

  “Then I have some catching up to do.” Grant attempted a smile as he stooped to pluck the sandpaper from the pile of sawdust covering the hardpan floor.

  As he straightened, he took a moment to soak up the surroundings. Grant had to hand it to Luke. The man had built an impressive workshop. When he’d first reconnected with Luke behind his store in town, Grant had assumed Luke did most of his woodworking in the courtyard. But now, seeing the enormity of Luke’s converted garage, Grant realized how off-base his assumption had been. “I have to say, this is quite the setup.”

  “Thanks.” Luke gazed around his workspace with a satisfied smile. “It’s taken me several years to build it up to this point, but I’m pretty proud of it.”

  “I take it Cassie is moving in to your place after the wedding, then?” The answer seemed obvious to Grant, considering Luke’s home and workshop sat on an enormous piece of land flanked by a lush pine forest and tranquil stream, a slice of heaven in an already idyllic setting.

  Plus, Luke’s house wasn’t your typical bachelor pad. The striking two-story log cabin could easily grace the cover of Architectural Digest.

  To Grant’s surprise, Luke’s smile faltered. “We’re still discussing it.”

  “Really? I might be dense, but who wouldn’t want to live here?”

  Luke’s smile reappeared, albeit more subtle this time. “I appreciate that. But a lot of factors go into the decision. While my whole life is here, the cottage means a lot to Cassie. And she hasn’t lived there very long.” Luke sighed, casting a wistful gaze around the room. “It would be hard to leave this place. But I want to be wherever Cassie is, as sappy as that sounds.”

  A familiar ache gripped Grant’s heart. And while he wouldn’t admit it, he knew exactly how Luke felt. He’d gladly give up his life in San Francisco to be with Eliza. A dream that had never seemed more out of reach. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.” Grant offered a smile he hoped communicated both sympathy and optimism.<
br />
  “Yeah, I’m sure we will.”

  The two men went back to work, settling into a comfortable silence.

  Lulled by the rhythmic swish, swish, swish of the sandpaper, Grant’s thoughts returned to the conversation with his father.

  Being back home had forced him to face emotions he’d artfully repressed. Or thought he’d repressed. But considering he’d never quite settled into a rich, full life in San Francisco, preferring to keep to himself rather than make meaningful connections…. Grant had to acknowledge the facts. If he didn’t resolve his issues—both with his father and Eliza—he’d be destined to live a life secluded in bitter isolation whether he remained in Poppy Creek or not. Because the walls he’d built had nothing to do with his apartment in the city. And everything to do with the walls around his heart.

  “What about you?” Luke asked, disrupting his moment of introspection.

  “What about me?”

  “Something’s clearly on your mind. Is it Eliza?”

  “Not this time.” Although, Grant couldn’t deny it was a good guess. Eliza seemed to consume his thoughts on an increasingly more frequent basis these days.

  “Then it must be serious.” Luke pulled a stool from beneath his drafting table. “Wanna sit?”

  “No, thanks.” Grant kept his gaze fixed on a knot in the wood, pressing firmer than necessary with the sandpaper. Something about smoothing out the rough edges of the beam felt like progress, even if he’d barely grazed the surface of his own issues.

  “Come on,” Luke cajoled. “Cassie tells me I’m a good listener.” He used the steel toe of his boot to nudge the stool toward Grant.

  “Is it because you’re a good listener? Or because you hang on her every word?” Grant teased.

  “Maybe a bit of both,” Luke chuckled. “But there’s a good way to test the theory.”

  “Touché.” Grant flashed a rueful grin. “Fine, you win. I’ll spill. But only if we keep working.”