Tessa’s style was more likely to claim half of the profit from the sale. Sophie doubted her sister even remembered the furniture. Heck, Tessa couldn’t seem to remember her own daughter’s birthday. Certainly she’d forgotten an old bedroom set and living room furniture.
“What about Ella?” Brad asked. “Maybe she’ll want the connection to her great-grandmother.”
“My grandmother was difficult to bond with and Ella was young at the time.” Besides, Ella was the reason Sophie had to sell the furniture. “She’ll still have my grandmother’s early journals and a few pieces of her jewelry. Ella is more connected to the things we’ve picked out together.”
Brad closed the armoire doors and leaned his shoulder against the tall piece. “I’m not sure I’ve seen a stronger mother-daughter bond than you and Ella.”
That word speared through her core and numbed every cell. She wasn’t a mother. She couldn’t be a mother. Surely Brad saw that. She’d failed to bond with her grandmother. Her own mother had abandoned her two young daughters. And her sister had begged Sophie to let her relinquish her parental responsibilities every day. Sophie’s family tree was filled with rotten branches of unsatisfied wanderers.
Clearly the Callahans lacked the mother gene. No, she couldn’t be a mother. Callahan mothers failed and she couldn’t fail Ella. “I’ve been a good aunt,” she qualified. “I’ve done what I had to do to give Ella the home she deserves.”
Brad stepped close and grabbed her hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t.”
But he must have heard the catch, that dry crack in her voice, and he tightened his grip.
Sophie clutched his hand in return, unable or perhaps just unwilling to break the contact yet. She had to convince him she wasn’t a mother. He had to understand so she could dismiss the impossible thoughts he stirred up for her. She was on emotional lockdown. There couldn’t be any more Sunday-night surprises Brad Harrington style. No more burgers and laundry. No more trips to the corner market like they were family.
Sophie wasn’t homemade, home-cooked or homegrown. She was store-bought, artificially sweetened and a substitute. “Ella has a mother. My sister. I’m her aunt.”
“But her mother isn’t here,” Brad said. “Hasn’t been here. But you’ve been here, through every step, every tear, every moment—good or bad.”
“Someone had to be.” Sophie tightened her grip, as if the force would make him understand.
“No, you didn’t have to be,” Brad said.
Sophie jerked away, losing contact. He wanted her to admit to being someone she could never be. He wanted her to admit she loved Ella more than... No, it was enough that she loved Ella with everything she had. “I couldn’t leave that innocent child alone.”
“Why not? Her own mother left.”
“That’s not fair.” Sophie crossed her arms low over her stomach. His words poked into her like a balloon in midflight pricked from multiple sides. “You don’t know Tessa. You don’t know what she’s been through. How much she has suffered.”
“And you haven’t suffered?” Brad asked. “Or don’t you matter?”
“What do you want from me?” Sophie curled into herself, trying to plug those holes, but she sputtered into a nosedive like that erratic balloon. Tried to block the betrayal in his words. Tried to remember who she was. Who she’d always have to be to survive.
“I don’t want anything.” Brad pointed to the stairs. “But there’s a little girl nearby who thinks of you as her world. As her everything. As her...”
“Don’t say it.” Sophie lunged forward and pressed her palm over his mouth. “I’m better as Ella’s aunt.”
Brad reached up and pulled her hand off his mouth, anchoring her with their linked fingers, catching her before she’d crashed into the ground. He’d exposed her, split open those secret places inside her and now held her while she gathered herself together. Sophie searched his face, noted the emotions swirling through his gaze and the words backing up against his closed lips. Maybe he finally understood.
“I lied.” His voice was low, as if dredged through the darkness. “I do want something from you.”
Sophie watched him and waited. The attic closed in as if embracing them, but a shiver shifted through the air, rippling across her skin. “What?”
Brad tugged her against him. “This.”
The attic sighed; the walls closed in on them as his lips fell against hers. He never let her lock herself back down. Every obstacle she threw up, he destroyed. First with his words. Now with his touch. He teased, he pried and he learned. And he offered—temptation, tenderness and safety.
Sophie stopped fighting, stopped running and stopped hiding. There was so much she couldn’t be. Couldn’t have. But this moment, she’d take this.
Sophie pulled away before she took too much. Before she fell too far. Before she discovered too much of the heart she refused to recognize. “I better check on Ella. It’s a school night.” She spun and raced down the stairs, hoping to outrun her budding feelings for Brad.
* * *
BRAD SCRUBBED HIS HANDS over his face and let his forehead thunk against the antique armoire. Nowhere in the great golden state was there a bigger fool.
He’d wanted to reach Sophie. Reach into her heart, past her fears, and when his words had failed, he’d kissed her. He’d wanted her to see herself as more than an aunt. He wanted her to see that she was everything to Ella. That she could very well become his everything, too. His world.
He wanted her to be a part of his world.
He rapped his head against the armoire again, hoping to jar his sanity loose. He had to be insane. He couldn’t find peace in the arms of a woman like Sophie. He doubted Sophie’s innocence in her father’s scam, didn’t he?
He rubbed his palms up over his face and let out a deep breath. His world wasn’t made for hearts and soft sentiments and Sophie with her adorable niece and inviting kitchen and endless rescues. He’d taint Sophie’s world even more than her father, teaching her to twist his love into something darker.
He really needed to leave. He needed to jump on the Freedom Seeker and shove the engine to full throttle. He needed to speed right out of the bay, drown his heart in the current and let his emotions sink to the ocean floor. Then he could forget Sophie and how right she seemed to fit, whether holding his hand, stepping into his embrace or settling into his heart.
No, that wasn’t right. And the longer he stayed here with Sophie the more he lost himself.
Time to leave and not look back. That meant no more impromptu dinners. No more stolen kisses. And no more favors for Sophie.
Besides, he’d fulfilled his commitment to her. He’d installed her security system and introduced her to his mother as she’d requested. And she’d obviously handled her unwanted customer. He had no business rushing into her store like her protector. He had no business inviting himself into her traditions as if he belonged. He had no business here other than what he’d promised.
And he’d promised Evie he’d bring George Callahan to justice. Time to fulfill that promise.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SOPHIE’S STOMACH GRUMBLED. Lunch had been postponed because Beverly Baker had delivered on her promise. Three new foster people had arrived ten minutes after Sophie had returned to the Pampered Pooch from walking Ella to school that morning. Between the adoption paperwork, a mixed-up supply order and several spunky day-care dogs, her Monday morning had turned into late afternoon before she’d taken a seat behind the counter.
The reprieve had lasted a mere five minutes before Erin, her part-timer, had arrived, allowing Sophie to take Ella to her after-school appointment with her vision therapist.
Sophie wasn’t needed at the doctor’s during Ella’s regular visit, so she headed for Kay’s apartment to che
ck on April. The ten-block walk only increased Sophie’s appetite. She welcomed the discomfort, which gnawed through any thoughts of Brad. Work had been a welcome distraction, as well. She quickened her pace, stomping away the memory of Brad’s words and his touch. Reminding herself last night was a blip and nothing more.
Kay’s place was above the Sugar Beet Pantry. Sophie stepped inside the café for a bowl of fresh soup. She planned to eat while she visited with April until she had to pick up Ella.
Sophie lifted the stainless-steel lid on a pot of creamy tomato soup and inhaled the thick scent of basil. But the peppery odor only took her back to her kitchen and the intoxicating scents Brad had created last night. She dropped the lid too quickly and it rattled loudly. She’d been much the same since last night: rattled. Sunday-night surprise had delivered more of a surprise than she’d imagined possible. She had to stop these intrusions of thoughts of Brad. She lifted more soup lids, concentrating on her hunger. Finally she discovered the wild-mushroom soup and settled on her longtime favorite that carried no connection to Brad.
Sophie flattened a plastic lid on her soup and balanced several fresh breadsticks on top before grabbing a handful of crackers.
Pans crashing in the kitchen ensued before a woman strode through the swinging door, wiping her hands on a neon apron and moving behind the cash register.
Sophie set her food on the counter and smiled. “Is this your third new chef, Liv?”
“Fourth.” Liv grimaced at the kitchen. She opened a paper bag and placed the food inside. “But I’ll be looking for the fifth tonight.”
“That bad?” Sophie leaned across the counter to peek into the kitchen at the disgruntled cook.
“I called the culinary school in Napa to inquire about private chef classes for myself.” Liv punched the keys on the cash register.
Sophie picked up the bag. “Then you’d have to manage the storefront and the kitchen. You’re just one person.”
“That fact slaps me awake like a dirty dish towel to the face every night when I crawl into bed.” Liv rolled her shoulders, slowly stretching. “You’re understaffed, Sophie, and you make it work.”
Barely. But Liv didn’t need those details. And Sophie planned to do more than barely make it. She just had a few roadblocks to remove first. “You’ve been here less than two months. You’ll find your rhythm soon. It’ll work out.”
Another crash echoed from the kitchen, the pinging of steel utensils hitting the tile floor. Liv’s eyes narrowed. “I hope that magical rhythm finds me soon before my kitchen implodes.”
Sophie patted her bag. “You’ve still got one of the best soup selections in the city.”
“Thanks for the boost,” Liv said. “I should get back in there, but I’ll see you at the gala in a few weeks. I wish I could’ve done more.”
“You made donations to the auction and you’re coming to the gala. That’s quite a lot.” Sophie understood too well the stress on Liv’s small business. If only both Liv and Sophie had unlimited funds to support their business goals.
Liv reached under the counter and handed Sophie another small bag. “Hopefully, this helps April find her smile again.”
“Has she been crying?” Sophie asked.
“Not in front of me.” Liv watched the kitchen door. When only silence pressed back, she glanced at Sophie. “But there’s sadness behind April’s too-brief smiles. And she seems distracted or like she’s retreating.”
April had always been melancholy. “Maybe it’s nerves.”
“Probably,” Liv said. “I can’t imagine having one baby, let alone two. Hug April for me and let her know I’ll be up after I close.”
“Will do.” Sophie hurried around the side of the building to the apartment entrance and let herself in with the emergency key Kay had given to her.
Sophie had seen April two nights ago. There hadn’t been much laughing or time for giggling as they’d worked on the gala financials and silent-auction starting bids. April had seemed happy enough. Sophie had tried to ask about the babies, but April always deflected their conversation to the gala. Tonight they planned to finalize the starting bids for the silent auction items so Sophie could deliver the final version of the list to the printer before Wednesday.
Sophie set the food on April’s nightstand and smiled. “I can eat this in the kitchen if the smell bothers you.”
“Everything bothers me these days, even the scent of my own deodorant.” April jammed her elbows into the pillows stuffed behind her and scooted higher up on the bed.
Sophie pointed at the bags on the nightstand. “Liv sent up something for you, too.”
“I’ve got a drawer full,” April muttered, and pulled open the nightstand drawer to reveal a pile of ginger lollipops.
“Look, we don’t have to work tonight.” Sophie sat on the edge of the bed. “We can play cards. Watch some TV. Talk about the babies’ room.”
“You need to get ready for the bash.” April shoved the drawer closed. “I can’t be the reason you aren’t ready.”
“You won’t be.” Sophie touched April’s arm and drew the woman’s attention to her. “I promise. If I’m not ready for the gala, it’s my own fault. You’ve been a huge help already.”
April nodded, but the motion seemed distracted, as if April were carrying on an internal argument with herself.
Sophie took in April’s pale lips and rubbed her cold arm. Even April’s copper curls had unraveled and dulled. Liv hadn’t exaggerated the changes in April—her eyes looked as if they’d withdrawn into the deep, dark circles underneath. “Have you eaten today?”
April picked at a loose thread on her comforter. “A few crackers.”
“Have my soup.” Guilt had wiped out her appetite. She’d been so focused on her own problems she’d missed the downturn in April’s health. “Let me do something for you first.”
“You are doing something. You’re letting me help with the gala planning.”
That hardly seemed enough. The woman was pregnant with twins. About to be a mother soon. About to be responsible for two lives. Sophie knew firsthand how overwhelming and humbling that could be. April looked as if she hadn’t quite gotten beyond the overwhelming part yet. Sophie’d eased into things. “What about tea or something?”
April nodded and shoved her limp curls behind her ear. “Liv gave me ginger tea. It helps my stomach.”
Sophie smiled and quickly went into the kitchen to heat a pot of water. She’d lost her smile after one cup of ginger tea and April’s resistance to discuss the babies. Finally she’d switched over to the pricing of the auction items, determined to talk babies while they worked. But April ignored Sophie’s every attempt to chat about the twins. She’d even cut Sophie off when she started to ask April if she’d like some of Ella’s old baby supplies.
Every time April moved, Sophie cringed. It was as if every adjustment in the bed encouraged April’s argument against Sophie’s price suggestions or the topic of the twins. They’d made not a lot of progress—on the bash or April’s impending delivery.
But Sophie refused to cry defeat. She was here for April. She’d give the mom-to-be something to focus on other than the four walls in her tiny room.
“Find the starting bid for the Napa two-night getaway that we did the other night.” April tossed off the blankets and rolled into a sitting position, her legs hanging over the side of the bed. “My price wasn’t that low.”
Sophie gaped at April’s ankles, swollen with deep indents from the mattress like fingerprints mushed into a stale marshmallow. Worry tapped on Sophie’s shoulder, but she forced herself to slow her words from a startled shout. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.” April stood, and her puffy bare feet smacked against the floor like two flat bricks. She braced one hand on the nightstand and the other on her lower back.
Sophie sucked in a breath. There was pale, porcelain skin and then there was April’s. Even Ella hadn’t looked that translucent when she’d been born. “Can I help?”
“No,” April snapped, and rubbed her back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Sophie moved toward the doorway, within lunging distance on the chance that April’s muscles and bones had become as paper-thin as her skin. “You’re carrying twins and on bed rest. I’ll get more tea.” And check the time. Surely Kay would be coming home soon. Or Liv would be closing up. Surely someone was coming so April wouldn’t be alone when Sophie left.
Sophie lifted the teapot and used her free hand to steady the swaying from the tremble in her arm. Something wasn’t right, but Sophie wasn’t qualified to offer good advice to a mom-to-be. Even her stomach had stopped rumbling, as if it too anticipated something bad.
“Sophie!” April’s shout splintered through the apartment and cracked along Sophie’s spine, releasing her inner terror.
Sophie dropped the teapot on the burner and sprinted down the hall. April stood in the bathroom, clutching her stomach with one hand and bracing herself with the other. “There’s blood. There isn’t supposed to be so much blood.”
Sophie rushed forward as April swayed, her legs buckling. Sophie wrapped her arm around the woman’s waist and guided them both to the floor. A quick glance at the usually white bathroom tile confirmed April’s words.
Bile rolled through Sophie’s stomach and crawled up her throat. That was too much blood. Sophie pushed aside her panic. “I’ll call for help.”
April’s head rolled to the side, her green eyes wide, her lips dry and her face ashen. Sophie flashed back to Tessa and those frightening moments in that damp basement, too petrified to do anything more than hold her sister’s hand and too powerless to take the pain that stole her newborn niece’s cry.
But April wasn’t in labor. Sophie watched for contractions but none came. The look in April’s eyes was the same as Tessa’s, though—terrified.
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