Sweet Somethings

by Barbara Freethy

  "I am. I just finished the wedding cake. It looks amazing. They're picking it up in the morning, so I'm relieved to have that done. But I still have a dozen more orders to fill before tomorrow afternoon."

  "You're not going to sleep, are you?"

  "Does putting my head down on the table count?"

  "No. You should take a little break, just so you don't accidentally pour rum into a carrot cake."

  "Hmm, that's not a bad idea for a combination."

  He laughed. "I wasn't trying to give you ideas."

  "I know, and I am making sure to be careful, because I do realize that I'm working on a lot of caffeine and not much else. But Valentine's Day is tomorrow. I want it to be perfect for everyone. Oh, hey, did you talk to your grandfather?"

  "No, why?" he asked warily.

  "He and Cecelia are having dinner together tomorrow night at his house, and he asked me to make them a cake. Isn't that amazing?"

  "I can't believe you took another order for a cake."

  "Didn't you hear me? It's not about the cake; it's about your grandfather and Cecelia."

  "I heard you. I'm glad they're still talking."

  "He sounded happy when he spoke to me, like really happy. Wouldn't it be incredible if they got together after all this time?"

  "It looks like they're heading in that direction. I hope Martha doesn't get in the way."

  "So do I. She could ruin things. On the other hand, I don't think Cecelia will let anyone stop her if she decides to go for it this time."

  "What time is the dinner?"

  "They said they're meeting about seven thirty, so I told him I'd bring the cake by at eight-thirty. He'll be my last delivery."

  "You really need to get some help."

  "After tomorrow is over, I am going to look into that." Silence fell between them. There were so many things she wanted to say but in light of all the uncertainty, she didn't know if she should say them. Unfortunately, she seemed to have little restraint when it came to Roman. "I missed you today."

  "Right back at you," he said, a tender note in his voice. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow after all the crazy baking is done."

  "I can't wait," she murmured. "Have a safe flight."

  "Don't fall asleep in the cake batter."

  "I'll try not to." As she ended the call, she found herself smiling and feeling a lot less weary than she had a few minutes earlier. She could do this. She could get through the night and the day and then she'd see Roman again. She didn't want to think past that moment. For now, it was enough.

  * * *

  Juliette was standing in the kitchen of Roman's grandfather's house, pulling his cake out of its box on Tuesday night, when Roman entered through the back door.

  Her heart jumped with the sight of his handsome face and she almost dropped the cake. That would have been a disaster. She carefully put it on the counter, then turned to look at him.

  He was closer than she'd thought, slipping his arms around her waist, lowering his head to kiss her hello. It was a long, tender kiss, filled with promise—at least she hoped that was promise and not just wishful thinking.

  "You're still alive," he teased, as he lifted his head to give her a smile.

  "I am. I made it through the day. Who knew Valentine's Day would be so harrowing? This is my last delivery."

  "How's it going with my grandfather?"

  "Let's take a peek," she said, leading the way into the hall. They crept quietly toward the dining room, then paused so they wouldn't be seen.

  Vincent and Cecelia sat close together at one end of the table, which was lit with candles and decorated with flowers.

  "Wow, did he do all that?" Roman muttered.

  "It's beautiful. I wonder if he cooked. There aren't any dishes in the sink."

  "He probably ordered out." He paused. "He looks like a teenager in love."

  "Cecelia looks young, too. They found their way back to each other. I still can't quite believe it."

  "You're the one who made it happen," he reminded her as they made their way quietly back to the kitchen.

  "And you," she said. "I'm just glad our meddling had a good result."

  "Me, too. We make good partners in crime."

  "I don't know if we'll rob any banks together, but I get your point."

  He smiled. "I have a feeling you could talk me into anything."

  And she had a feeling that the one thing she couldn't talk him into was what she wanted most. That thought was depressing, and she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. She'd been running on adrenaline for too many days, and she didn't think she could handle an emotional conversation right now.

  "I should go," she said abruptly. "You can serve them the cake in a few minutes."

  "Don't you want to do that?" he asked in surprise. "It's your dessert."

  "It's theirs now. I'll leave it to you."

  He followed her out of the house. "Juliette, wait. Why are you rushing away?"

  "Because," she said with a helpless shrug. "I can't talk to you right now."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want you to tell me that you're leaving. And I know you will. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but soon. When I'm not so tired, I'll be able to handle it better. I'll wish you well and offer to throw you a good-bye party and pretend everything is great." Her voice caught, and she had to blink back a sudden welling of tears behind her eyes.

  "Hey," he said softly, taking her hand. "Nothing is decided."

  "Isn't it, Roman? You're in good shape. You'll go back to the Marines. Maybe it won't be your exact job, but it will be something. I want that for you, because you want it. You're a soldier. That's your life. I just need a little time to…I don't know…sleep." She pulled her hand away from his. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll see you around."

  She walked quickly to her car, hoping he wouldn't follow. She didn't want to cry in front of him.

  * * *

  As Juliette pulled out of the driveway, he felt torn between going after her and letting her have the space she'd asked for.

  He'd seen the emotion in her eyes and knew she was barely holding it together, and he'd hated to see her so vulnerable. He'd wanted to reassure her that whatever was between them wasn't ending, but he didn't want to lie to her.

  He didn't know what was going to happen with his job, where he'd be a week from now or a month or a year. The uncertainty had always been okay with him before. He'd never had anyone to worry about except himself.

  Still pondering the best move, he went back into the house. He'd just entered the kitchen when his grandfather and Cecelia walked in.

  "Roman," his grandfather said with surprise. "I heard someone in here; I thought it was Juliette."

  "She just left. I was supposed to bring you the dessert, but you beat me to it."

  "Oh, the cake looks lovely," Cecelia said, eying Juliette's latest masterpiece of chocolate and strawberries. "She is so talented. And chocolate and strawberries are my favorite combination." Cecelia turned to Vincent. "You remembered that?"

  "We dipped strawberries in chocolate on our second date," he said. "I've never forgotten the look of joy on your face."

  "I can't believe you remember that," Cecelia said in wonder.

  "I remember a lot of other times, too," he told her.

  "So do I," she replied.

  As his grandfather and his love exchanged a poignant look, Roman felt very much like a third wheel. He cleared his throat. "I'm going to get out of your way and let you enjoy your night."

  "You can stay and have cake with us," Cecelia suggested.

  "No, he can't," Vincent said, shaking his head.

  Roman laughed. "I really can't." The last thing he wanted to do was cramp his grandfather's style.

  "You don't have a date tonight with Juliette?" Cecelia asked, giving him a speculative look.

  "She's about to collapse from all the baking."

  "Oh, I'm sure that's true. But I bet she'd still like to spend some time with you." />
  "She actually told me she wanted to go home and sleep," he said. "Anyway, you two have fun."

  "Tell Juliette thank you," Cecelia said. "Not just for the cake, but for everything. When you see her," she added with a mischievous smile.

  "I will do that. When I see her," he echoed.

  "Make that soon," Vincent told him. "Don't let pride or fear or doubts keep you apart. You don't want to wait too long to be with the one you love. Sometimes you don't get a second chance."

  "I think that's what I said to you."

  "Oh, there's one more thing." Vincent walked across the room and picked up an envelope from the counter. "I left this for Juliette, but I guess she didn't see it. Can you give it to her?"

  "What is it?"

  "You'll find out when she opens it," his grandfather said with a smile.

  "All right." He figured the envelope gave him another reason to go to her now.

  She'd told him she didn't want to talk to him tonight, but he couldn't wait until tomorrow. Maybe he couldn't promise the future, but he could at least tell her how he felt.

  * * *

  The kitchen of her bakery looked like a disaster zone. The pots and pans were piled high in the sinks. On every available surface she saw remnants of her mad baking marathon of the past twenty-four hours with flour, sugar, cinnamon, excess dough, miscellaneous fruits, chocolates, and jams all waiting to be cleaned up.

  Juliette sighed as she looked at the mess. She really wanted to turn off the lights and go upstairs, but she was too conscientious for that.

  Even though Valentine's Day was over, the bakery would be open tomorrow, and while they'd be putting out desserts that were already baked, she would still need to throw a few bread loaves from the refrigerator into the ovens in the morning and make some batches of chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies, which would be back in popularity now that the Wish cookies were done.

  Those cookies had done the trick for at least a few people, she thought with a smile, as she started to wipe down the counter. Several people had told her yesterday that they were sure their Valentine's Day plans were the result of the cookies. She was happy to be a part of the tradition her father had started. But she was also eager to put it behind her until next year.

  She was a little overwhelmed by her own turbulent emotions about Roman and all the couples falling in love around her. Seeing Vincent and Cecelia together had made her heart ache with happiness for them, but she also couldn't help thinking about all the years they'd lost.

  She'd always thought love was easy, that when it was right, everything worked out. That's the way her parents' relationship had looked to her. Of course, she had no real idea what they'd gone through. She'd been a child, watching the two people she adored. Had they fought? Had their courtship been more complicated than she'd heard? Had they ever wondered if they could go the distance? Would they have made it forty, fifty, sixty years together if they'd lived?

  She'd never know, but they'd be happy forever in her mind, and maybe that was all that mattered.

  The bakery bell pealed, and she jumped.

  It was probably Roman.

  A part of her wanted to stay in the back and hope he just went away, but as the bell rang again, she didn't think he was going to leave.

  She walked out to the front and opened the door. "Roman, it's late, and I told you I didn't want to talk."

  "But I do." He pushed past her and walked through the store and into the kitchen. When he saw the state of the room, he had one word. "Wow."

  "I usually clean as I go, but not today," she said defensively, pushing a strand of hair off her face. "Now do you see why it's not a good time to have a conversation? The flip side of a romantic Valentine's Day is a mess like this."

  He gave her a smile that warmed her up despite her best effort to keep him at arm's distance. "I'll help you clean up." He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook.

  "You don't need to do that."

  "But I'm going to." He rolled up his sleeves and went over to the sinks.

  "You didn't come over here to wash dishes."

  "No, I came over to see you. I have a few things to say, but they can wait."

  "Maybe you should just say them and go."

  He turned on the water. "Or you can go upstairs and lie down while I take care of this."

  She couldn't believe he was offering to clean up the kitchen. "I can't let you do that."

  "You're not letting me," he told her, giving her a purposeful look. "I'm doing it. So stand and watch or go upstairs and relax—your choice."

  "I have another choice," she said. "I'll help you. It will go faster."

  While he washed the bigger pans and loaded the smaller items into the dishwasher, she put ingredients away, wiped down the counters and took out the trash.

  When she came in from the back alley, she found herself smiling at the sight of Roman in soapy dishwater up to his elbows. If the truth were told, he'd never looked sexier than he did right now.

  "What?" he asked, giving her a speculative look.

  "Just thinking how hot you look right now."

  "Yeah, sure," he said with a laugh.

  "It's true. You continue to surprise me. I've never had anyone offer to clean up my kitchen before."

  "Then you've been hanging out with the wrong people."

  He set the last dish in the drying rack and wiped his hands on a towel. "If you hadn't been working tonight, I would have liked to take you out for Valentine's Day."

  "What would we have done? What's your idea of a romantic evening?"

  "Well, for you I would have skipped the desserts, because nothing compares to what you make, and I wouldn't have wanted you to do any work for our date."

  "So, then what…"

  He tilted his head. "I would have taken you down to the water, rented a boat—maybe Doug's big yacht, if he wasn't using it—and we could have sailed across the bay." He paused. "Do you like boats?"

  "I love them. That would have been fun, Roman." She felt a little sad that she'd missed out on that.

  "It wouldn't have mattered what we did, as long as we were together," he said quietly.

  "You're right." A knot grew in her throat. "I like everything we do together, including this."

  A smile curved his lips. "Who knew all I had to do were a few dishes to warm your heart?"

  "You warmed my heart from the beginning—well, maybe not the very beginning," she amended.

  "You did not like me tearing down your house," he said. "But we seem to have gotten past that."

  "Well, it wasn't your idea; you were just helping your grandfather. How could I blame you for that?"

  He stepped forward, taking her hands in his. "I told you I came over here to talk to you."

  "And I still think we should save any more conversation for tomorrow or the next day or maybe a long time from now."

  "I don't want to end this, Juliette."

  "Really?" Hope sparked within her.

  "Really. Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but I think we should work it out together."

  "Together?" she echoed. "How can we? It's your choice what you do with your career, not mine. I won't ask you to give up the Marines for me. I won't ask you to stay in Fairhope. It wouldn't be fair. You are who you are, and you have to do what makes you happy."

  "Are you done?"

  "For the moment."

  He squeezed her fingers. "Yesterday when I was taking all those tests, you were right there with me. You were running, doing push-ups, pull-ups—everything."

  "Wow, I'm very active in your thoughts," she said lightly.

  He grinned. "Yes, you are. But my point is that I couldn't stop thinking about you. At first, when I walked onto the base, I thought this is where I belong. This is where I feel comfortable, where I know who I am, but at the end of the day, all I wanted to do was see you again. When I called you on the phone from the airport, and you didn't answer, I couldn't believe how disappointed I was. I had
never felt like that before."

  "I did call you back."

  "And made me very happy."

  "So what do we do? Wait and see what happens? As you know, I'm not very patient with inaction."

  "My gut tells me that I'm not going to be cleared to go back to my old job. They need me operating at one hundred percent, and I still have limitations. That means a reassignment, or I might be able to terminate my contract early."

  She drew in a breath at his words, not wanting to let herself believe he might actually stay. "You might still get to a hundred percent, Roman."

  "Or I might find that being a contractor in a small coastal town is where I belong now."

  "Do you think you'd like that?"

  "Fairhope has grown on me. My grandfather is here. But the real lure is you. This is where you want to be—where you've found happiness. And I'm not talking about the past anymore. You're building a life for yourself."

  "It has room for you in it."

  "Good, because I'm falling in love with you. Since I met you, you have changed my life. You have pushed me to get involved, to care about strangers, to make up with my friends, to do better. And you've brought the light back. My only concern is that I'll bring you down."

  "You won't do that. You push me, too, Roman. You make me think about things longer, and you call me out when I'm lying to myself."

  "I'm glad you think that's a good thing."

  "I've never felt like my real self with a man before. You see me—the real me—and that feels good."

  "It goes both ways." He paused. "Before I start kissing you—which, by the way, is going to happen really soon—my grandfather asked me to give you something."

  He walked over to his jacket, pulled out an envelope and brought it back to her.

  "What's this?" she asked.

  "He said I'd find out when you did."

  She opened the envelope and pulled out two pieces of paper and stared at them in shock. "Oh, my goodness. It's a deed, Roman. It's a deed to my old house."

  "Seriously?"

  "And a note from your grandfather."

  "What does he say?"

  She read the note aloud: Juliette, I bought the house to feel connected to the woman I once loved, but you gave her back to me. And now I'm giving you back the house you love so much. I will transfer this deed into your name. I'll sell the house to you for what I bought it for. If you need a loan, I'll finance one for you. I'll finish the remodel, but you'll have full say over what you want done from here on out. Thank you again for bringing Cecelia back to me.