by Jewel E. Ann
“Yes.” I nodded a half dozen times. “If I gave a tin of popcorn to my friends and family every year but had the chance to give them a bottle of white balsamic vinegar infused with quince and pomegranate, I totally would do it. I don’t even know what quince is! But that’s what would make it such a cool gift. And cooking classes that people will love. They’ll do girls’ nights and birthday parties. It’s a brilliant marketing idea. I’m sure he’ll use all the fabulous products from his store, and he’ll make money on the classes and all of the products people buy after the class. I can’t compete with that. I can’t compete with him. I mean, did you see his apron? Come on!” My hand jerked with my frustration, splashing wine onto the deck.
Amie chuckled and sipped her wine. “You mean … did I see him? And hell yes. I can’t stop seeing him. He should come with a warning. But … you always said running that store wasn’t going to be your destiny. If he runs you out of business, maybe that’s a sign, the opportunity to do something for you.”
Her words packed a punch. I had said that—so many times—but that was before Craig died and the fate of the store landed in my hands. As long as his parents were still alive, I didn’t have the heart to close the store, move out of Epperly, and follow new dreams.
Guilt was a wide, all-encompassing storm that I couldn’t escape, so I’d weather it every single day.
“I think helping them stay in their home is enough. At this point, it’s probably too much. But I know why you do it,” Amie said with reverence in her voice.
I sipped more wine and focused on the birds congregating on the water. “If I say they won’t live forever, that sounds horrible, like I’m waiting for them to die. If I say I don’t mind and my dreams don’t matter, then I’m lying. The truth feels really selfish, so I just ignore it. Leaving Craig wasn’t going to be easy. Divorcing him would have felt like divorcing his family. And I knew he wouldn’t let them stay in their house for long after I stopped taking care of things for them. But I was okay with that. I knew it would be on his shoulders—his conscience dealing with that. Not now. It’s all me now. Can I really be responsible for Craig’s death and his parents losing the last of their independence?”
“When is it okay?” Amie rested her glass on the arm of her chair.
“When is what okay?”
“When is it okay to be happy without anyone’s permission, without judgment? And I mean anyone. Your parents, Craig’s parents, your children, your friends, the people who go to your church, me? Were we really put on this earth to please other people? Are kindness and love defined as doing whatever it takes to make someone else happy?” Amie finished with a slow exhale followed by silence.
Truth?
She didn’t know the answers. I was her sounding board, and she was mine. We drank wine and contemplated life’s greatest mysteries. That was our thing.
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “I don’t know where that balance exists—the one between loving yourself and loving others. Maybe it doesn’t exist. It feels like balance is this brief moment … a breath … a second in the middle while we teeter between the two. And sometimes it’s just so …”
“Exhausting.”
I nodded slowly.
“Angel Brayhill flagged me down at the grocery store after work. She said she heard you were so inspiring at that last meeting.”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a slip of the tongue. Ten months of silence fermenting in my conscience.”
“Well, clearly a lot of widowed and divorced women in this town feel imprisoned … silenced too.”
“Angel’s on her third marriage. I’m not sure she’s been silenced.”
Amie laughed. “Well, today’s revelation was news to me.”
My nose wrinkled. “Do I want to know?”
“No. But I’m not keeping this image to myself.”
“Don’t.” I shook my head. Angel always managed to find the worst men. A magnet for the worst of the worst. “Please don’t tell—”
“And I quote …”
“No!” I grimaced, shaking my head.
“I simply asked how she and Merlin were doing, and her response was, ‘It’s hard to love a man who puts your bank account into the negative, buying foot porn on the internet.’ And then she threw your name in there with an ‘Elsie would understand.’”
I coughed on a laugh. “What? That’s so wrong. No. I don’t understand. Saturday shaboink is not the same as spending your last dime on foot porn.”
We laughed.
And laughed some more.
“I needed that.” I finished giggling and took another sip of my wine.
“Me too. You know what else we need?”
“Chocolate?”
Amie grinned. “Well, duh … always that. But I’m thinking more along the lines of a cooking class this Friday.”
“You want me to support my competition?”
“No. I want us to spy on the enemy.”
My lips corkscrewed for a few seconds. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
That Friday, Amie helped me close up shop so we wouldn’t be more than a few seconds late to the class.
“Good evening. Welcome. Are you here for the class?” A young, black woman with cute, curly hair greeted us.
“Hi. Yes. We are.” I returned a warm smile.
“Did you purchase the class here or online?”
“Oh … uh … Kael invited me and a friend.” I jerked my head toward Amie.
“You have a free voucher. Cool.” She tapped the screen of her phone. “What’s the name on the reservation?”
“The reservation?” I cringed.
“Yes. The coupons for the free classes have a number or online website to book your class. No reservation?”
Maintaining my cringe-worthy level of embarrassment, I shook my head. “I didn’t even read the card. I’m sorry. We’ll come back another night when we have reservations.” I glanced past her to the glass wall between the store and the room on the other side, a test kitchen type area. Ten or so people (all women) were seated around the island, all wearing aprons. Kael animatedly talked and busied his hands with holding up different bottles.
“I’m sorry. Do you want to go ahead and schedule while you’re here? We just don’t have any more space for tonight’s class.”
Kael peered in my direction, and I whipped my body around, putting my back to him and my front to Amie. “I’m sorry. I really should learn how to read.” I facepalmed my forehead.
She chuckled. “It’s fine. Let’s go ahead and try next week.”
The young woman pressed her lips together. “Mmm … sorry, we are actually booked out for the next four weeks. I can put you on the waiting list, but I’ll also go ahead and get you reserved for early December.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I felt stupid, especially since my competitor (the enemy) saw me … on the wrong night … no reservations.
Classic Elsie.
I was the classic middle-aged woman, making the classic mistake of not reading the fine print, probably because I was too busy defending the classic (outdated) food at my store.
“Hey, did we mess up and overbook?” Kael asked, poking his head out the glass sliding door.
I plastered a mature grin on my face and turned.
“Got it handled, boss,” his employee murmured as she glanced up at me. “What’s the name you want on the reservation? I’ll need a number to either call or text confirmation and to let you know if we get a cancellation.”
“Elsie Smith,” I said to her before shifting my attention to him.
Hot.
Captain America.
Way too young for my fantasies … Kael.
And enemy number one.
“Not your mistake. Mine. I didn’t read the card close enough to see that I needed a reservation. Which clearly I would need one since you’re obviously busy.”
Wooing my customers!
“Nope, my mistake for inviting you this week and not going ahead and r
eserving two spots. Come … we’ll make room.”
“No. Really …” I shook my head as a nervous grin clung to my face since everyone in the other room had their attention fixed on me. Why would Elsie Smith—new reigning queen of the Classic Holiday Guilt Food—come to a class offered by her competitor?
Such a good question.
“We’ll come back in December or after the holidays if you’re still doing the classes.”
His thick eyebrow lifted a fraction. “You mean if I’m still in business?”
“Yes. No.” I shook my head, biting my lips together.
“Trendy stuff can be a tough sell in the Midwest.” Amie shrugged.
Kael eyed her with amusement before shifting his ornery gaze back to me. I allowed myself two seconds, maybe three, to relish the way his gaze made me feel.
Twenty. He made me feel like a young girl with nothing better to do than flirt with cute guys.
Only … I wasn’t young. And Kael wasn’t flirting with me no matter how badly my body misread his cues.
“So true.” He nodded several times. “But … when I first scoped out Epperly for my business, I instantly got this trendy vibe. Like the residents here are hungry for something new.”
He did not just say that!
As if he read my mind, his confidence fell a few degrees. “What I mean is that Epperly has a good mix of people—those who like the traditional stuff and those who are a little more adventurous. Plenty of people and different tastes to support all kinds of businesses.”
“Well, I hope so for your sake, young man.”
That was when it happened. The moment I aged myself two full decades. Forty-two to sixty-two.
Young man.
Maybe I needed to verbally put it out there for myself and the whole universe to remember that Kael was a young man. Not as experienced in life or business as I was. Not as experienced in marketing. Not as experienced with sex.
Scratch that last part. I didn’t actually think that. Okay, I did think it, but it was a fleeting thought at most. Maybe not even my thought. What if Amie was thinking it, and my brain hijacked it? I had to consider all possibilities.
My young-man comment brought a supercharged grin to his face. “Well, Mrs. Smith, either way … tonight I have a class going on, and you and your friend are invited to join us.” He stepped back to make room for us to enter the kitchen.
“There’s no room.” My head resumed its shaking.
“Holy. Sexual. Tension. Mrs. Smith,” Amie whispered under her breath. I prayed to God that no one else heard her.
“Come on. We’re all friends tonight.” He jerked his head toward the group of people and raised his voice. “Everyone refill your wine glasses and get cozy with your neighbors. We have two more ladies joining us this evening. For those of you who might not know, this is the lovely Elsie Smith, owner of Smith’s Specialties across the street. I hear the sharp cheddar is to die for. And her friend …” Kael smiled at Amie, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Amie.” Her lips pulled into a tight smile.
Everyone at the table knew us, but they all managed to avert their gazes while crowding closer to accommodate us. Kael filled two more glasses with wine and jumped right back into his high-energy speech on vinegars and olive oils.
I spent the next hour avoiding eye contact with him as well as Amie’s glances at me. It felt like we were in high school again, and she wanted to make sure I knew some guy was checking me out.
Kael was not checking me out.
At least, that was what I told myself, but I had no way of knowing because I refused to look at him.
“More wine, Mrs. Smith?” He pressed his chest to my back as he leaned over me to grab my glass while everyone ate the fruits of their labor.
Amie kept her head down toward her plate, but I didn’t miss her wide-eyed expression as our teacher invaded my space.
“Th-thanks,” I croaked, catching a whiff of his culinary scent. Herbaceous and spicy.
“Are you ladies enjoying yourselves? Would you like me to demonstrate anything else for you tonight?”
“Elsie hoped you were opening a fitness club. Do you happen to have a six-pack under that apron and shirt?”
“Amie!” I coughed, choking on the food that lodged in my throat when I gasped at her comment. “Cut her off, please. She can’t handle her alcohol.”
Everyone … everyone heard her, and the room broke out into laughter. The whole room was high on food, buzzed from a long week, and drunk on wine.
I was ten shades of red, pitting out, and unable to breathe as Kael stayed right behind me where I couldn’t gauge his reaction.
“If Mrs. Smith needs a private trainer, I can check my schedule.”
More laughter. A few really embarrassing whistles. And Mrs. Smith dying. Seriously … I was dying.
I used to be the Queen of Snappy Comebacks, but I had nothing except fire in my cheeks, sweat pooling between my cleavage, and a dry mouth.
“Kidding.” He rested a hand on my shoulder for several seconds before his presence behind me vanished and I could breathe again—but just barely.
My hand gripped Amie’s arm. “You are dead to me.”
She snorted, wiping her mouth before reaching for my wine since he did, in fact, cut her off. “Our teacher likes you. Oh my god … does he ever.”
Way too much wine for her. And I thought chiropractors were a little more health oriented than four glasses of wine on a Friday. I stood, grabbing my purse and hers, slinging both over my shoulder. “It’s past our bedtime. Thank you, everyone, for accommodating us tonight.”
“Our bedtime? Are we sleeping together now?” Amie stood on weak legs and looped her arm around mine. “I knew we would be lovers someday.”
Giggles ensued as I dragged her toward the door.
“Thanks for coming, ladies. Kira is out there if you want to make any purchases before you leave. Everything purchased tonight is twenty-five percent off.” Kael had the nerve to make a last-minute sales pitch as I struggled to get my drunk BFF out the door.
Classic …
Chapter Six
I hated the way he couldn’t make one freaking decision by himself. I’m not saying his mama failed him, but … yeah, she failed him.
* * *
Epperly got its first snow of the season in early November, and it was a big one.
Ten inches.
Like everyone else, I anticipated a dusting but woke to plows on the streets and my driveway covered. After Craig died, Finn made sure he was up and running the snowblower early in the morning. His natural instinct to step up and be the man of the house brought me to tears. He took off a semester of school to grieve and be with me and Bella. But he was no longer at home for the man-of-the-house call of duty.
“I’ll never get out.” I frowned, peering out the window as I sipped my lemon water.
Bella slid her eggs onto her plate. “You have four-wheel drive. You’ll get out. But I’ll help shovel the driveway.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it. I need to figure out the snowblower since Finn is not here this winter.”
“Have you used the snowblower before?”
“No. Hence the figure it out. Your dad didn’t like—” I stopped myself. It wasn’t that I was getting ready to say anything that I wouldn’t have said in front of her when Craig was alive, but it suddenly felt disrespectful to say anything negative about him in front of our children—especially since she and Finn knew the truth.
“Say it.”
I shook my head.
“Jeez, Mom … just say it. I didn’t think Dad was perfect. I hated the way he always rolled his eyes when I wore something sexy or too much makeup. I hated the way he acted like I was going to be this irresponsible teenager getting pregnant and ruining my life. I hated the way he couldn’t make one freaking decision by himself. I’m not saying his mama failed him, but … yeah, she failed him.” She sighed. “Too soon?”
I s
norted, shaking my head slowly. She had no idea I initiated major venting in my grief group. “His mama? That’s your grandma.”
Her serious face cracked, revealing a smile. “I know. But it’s the truth.”
My eyes narrowed as I sat opposite of her at the kitchen table. “Did you hear me say that?” I couldn’t remember saying it, at least not in front of her. But I thought it. Oh boy, did I ever think it.
“No, Mom. I have my own superpower of observation. Everything was ‘ask your mom.’ And he asked you what he should have for a late-night snack. He’d ask you if he should shave his mustache or grow out his beard. He’d buy three pairs of shoes and wear each pair around the house for a week before making a final decision and taking the other two back. And even then, he’d ask all of us, a million times, which pair we liked best.”
I laughed. She was right. Very observant.
Craig liked to be the man of the house—in theory. Basically, he liked to have the appearance of being the man of the house. Consequently, I never used the lawn mower or snowblower. Except I did mow his parents’ yard, and sometimes I shoveled their driveway if his dad was having knee issues. But at our house, appearance meant everything. Craig hated the idea of the neighbors seeing me instead of him doing the “manly” chores around the house.
Had the neighbors heard his commentary during sex, they would have questioned his manliness.
“You like that?”
“Uh-huh …” I replied as he moved over me.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I breathed heavily.
“Harder?”
“Um … sure.”
That was fine. How kind of him to make sure I was enjoying it. Right? But as the years progressed, it felt like he lost his confidence, and I had no idea why. After all, I was the one with a little extra around the waist from having four children. I was the one with stretch marks. I was the one with boobs that looked and felt like two punctured balloons sagging to the sides when I was on my back.