Fighting Love

by Melissa West

  Zac hadn’t told anyone about his and Sophie’s agreement, partially because he knew his family would make fun of him, but also because he was starting to question his motives for asking Sophie, of all women, to fake the dating thing. He’d spent one evening with Ms. Organic, and every evening since, he’d contemplated how he could repeat the date without coming on too strong. His thoughts drifted to her and that sweet, yet full-bodied laugh of hers, and how within it he would catch glimpses of a sadness that made him wonder what had happened to cause it. And why she couldn’t let it go.

  In short, he wanted to know more about her—everything about her—and that scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Because what if this was all for her reputation with the town, nothing more. Or worse, what if she decided to give it a go, like him, only to leave once he’d handed over his heart?

  His thoughts drifted back to the morning Lora left. He had woken to find her sitting at the edge of the bed beside him, a bag in her hand. He’d discovered the affair the day before and was stupid enough to believe that she felt bad about it, that he had the upper hand. But he realized in that moment that he had been a fool. She never intended to stay.

  So he got up and all but dragged her to Carrie’s room and asked her to look at her daughter. Then he asked her how a person of any heart at all could leave such a perfect little girl. His feelings be damned—he didn’t want that for Carrie.

  Lora started crying and said she couldn’t be a good mom to Carrie, not like she deserved, that it would be better to have no mom than her. She started for the door at the very moment that Carrie awoke, calling for her.

  He would never forget the way his sweet daughter ran after her mother, crying for her to come back, her bare feet covered in grass clippings as she watched Lora drive off without a backward glance.

  It took everything in Zac not to shout obscenities at his wife, but that wouldn’t help his little girl through the pain. So instead, he squatted down beside her and pulled her into his lap, where he would let her cry against his chest for another hour. His body was coiled so tightly from the effort not to join Carrie in the tears that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand once her tears had dried.

  Finally, Carrie, not five years old, had looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks soaked. With her bottom lip trembling, she asked if he was leaving her, too. And that was when Zac lost it. Right there, a grown man on his knees before his little girl. He assured her that he would never leave her. He would die first. He would never put anyone or anything above her; she could count on him. He promised her again and again until her tiny eyes appeared less afraid and more . . . heartbroken.

  But that would heal over time. Zac had spent every day since making sure Carrie knew she was loved, knew she might not have a mother, but she had a family—a father, grandparents, aunts, and cousins—and friends who all loved her. People who would never leave her.

  It had taken a solid year for her to smile like she meant it, but finally the little girl he knew came back to him, a notch of heartbreak on her heart. But it made her stronger, and instead of her heart turning hard, like his, she became the most loving child he could imagine. Never turning away a friend, never killing a bug, forever saving anything and anyone she could—loving despite her circumstance. And in truth, Zac felt he could learn a lot from his daughter.

  Though a man’s heart wasn’t so easily mended.

  Gripping the steering wheel now, Zac veered right onto the main stretch of road that took him from Triple Run back to Crestler’s Key, where he would throw himself into Southern Dive for the next several hours. Maybe then he could forget what had brought him back home and instead remember that maybe things like this were a blessing in disguise. They were happy here. Mostly.

  After parking behind the shop, he went inside, not surprised to find Charlie there. Charlie had been running the place while Brady handled dive lessons and Zac handled things at the farm. It was tough to keep it all going, but with the three of them, they made it work.

  “Hey,” Charlie said, “thought you were visiting Kate.”

  “I did. Dropping Carrie there to stay the night tonight.”

  Charlie’s eyes lifted. “What’s that tone?”

  “Nothing.” Zac tossed his keys onto the counter and went behind it to check the dive lesson schedule for the next few weeks.

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing. You sound pissed.”

  “I am.”

  “Is this about Kate giving you a hard time at the farm?”

  He spun around. “She called you.”

  “She might have.”

  “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  Charlie set down the stack of magazines in his hand and turned toward his brother. “What’s the big deal?”

  “You mean besides the whole damn family thinking I’ve got a thing for Sophie Marsh? Nothing. No big deal at all.”

  “And you don’t have a thing for Sophie Marsh?”

  “Of course not.”

  Charlie went back to filling the magazine rack. “Right.”

  “You got something to say? Say it.”

  “All right, fine. You can think whatever you want, deny it as long as you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that we know you. And we know when someone’s affecting you. Sophie Marsh is. Call it what you like—hate, love, lust, whatever the hell you want. But you feel something for that woman, and you might as well explore it. Death’s coming for us all, man. Might as well give life the attention it deserves while we can.”

  Zac leaned against the counter and stared out over the shop. “It’s not about that.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s . . .” He ran both hands over his face and sighed. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to screw things up.”

  “With Sophie?”

  “No. With Carrie. She’s happy now, ya know? I don’t want to invite anyone into our world just to have that person leave her again.”

  “And you think Sophie would leave?”

  Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re not anything—not even friends, really—so I can’t say what goes on in her head. But I get the feeling she’s a breath away from running. Like there’s something else behind that smile, and the tiniest push could have her packing up.”

  “She bought the farm, spent a fortune revitalizing it, and then created the Fresh Foods brand. I don’t think she’s going anywhere. And nobody said you’ve got to be talking about forever. Carrie’s older now, she gets that you need to date. Hell, she’s the one who asked you to do it.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “So just go slow. We’re not talking marriage here. Just get to know her a little. See if there’s even anything there between you.”

  Zac already knew there was something between them. They had the sort of chemistry people dreamed about, but chemistry was only one piece of this thing. The problem was Zac didn’t have the time or energy to start something, only to have it end painfully for everyone involved.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just think about it.”

  He grabbed his keys and started for the door.

  “Where you going?”

  “Home.”

  “But you just got here.”

  Zac stopped at the door, the guilt at leaving someone hanging always there, reminding him that the days were never long enough to get everything done, to help everyone who needed his help. He brushed his hair out of his face. He was tired, dawn-of-the-dead tired, but he shouldn’t leave Charlie to do everything. “Need help?”

  Charlie opened his mouth, but then took in his brother and closed it. “What time did you start at the farm this morning?”

  “Four.”

  “Nah, go home. I’m almost done anyway. I’ll close up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, but hey. Brooks called me, said he tried you, but didn’t get you. He’ll be in town for a few days. Wants to meet up.”

  “Wow, thought he ditched town for good.” />
  Brooks was one of Zac’s best friends growing up and, to Zac’s knowledge, the only person besides him to move away. Of course, Zac came back, but Brooks owned an investment company now and produced money like most people breathed air.

  “He said he had some business in Lexington and planned to drive down to visit his parents’ graves. Asked about getting drinks, and I said sure. You can back out if you need to.”

  “Nah, it’ll be good to catch up.”

  “All right, then. I’ll text him back that we’re game and let Brady know.”

  “Sounds good.” Zac nodded a thanks and then set out for home, eager to shower off the day and lose himself in a project. Or maybe he’d let himself pass out early so he could recover before starting all over again tomorrow.

  He thought of his organic farming enemy then, curious if she might be home, too. Then he decided that maybe instead of spending the evening on some project that didn’t really matter, he’d grab a beer and sit out on his front porch.

  And then he’d call Sophie Marsh.

  Chapter Ten

  Sophie signed her name at the check-in at Magnolia’s Nursing Home, smiled a hello to the attendant, then walked to the common room where they’d brought Nana for her visit today. A slight floral scent mixed with a chemical cleaning-type smell hung in the air, and Sophie’s heart pinched in guilt at the thought of Nana smelling the weird scent all day when she was a born baker and should smell fresh bread baking all day.

  The common room was crowded today. Several families were visiting, some laughing, others close to tears, and Sophie wondered which emotion would find her today.

  “She’s by the windows.” A warm hand wrapped around Sophie’s arm and squeezed. “How are you, honey?”

  Sophie peered over at Melinda, Nana’s favorite nurse, and smiled before offering the woman a hug. “How is she today?”

  Melinda shrugged. “It’s hard to say. She seemed okay when I brought her in, but you know that can switch quickly.”

  Sophie did. She’d been talking to Nana a few weeks ago when Nana jumped up and backed away from her granddaughter, convinced that Sophie was there to hurt her. It had taken everything in her not to cry right there; instead, she told Nana she loved her and walked away while the old woman screamed and fought against the staff, before no doubt getting an injection to calm her down.

  “I don’t want to upset her.”

  “You let us worry about that. Go get you some Nana love, sweetie. I know you miss her.”

  She did. Deep in her bones, she missed her. Nana was the only person in her life beyond her daddy to really love her, and missing out on that kind of love made Sophie feel like a piece of her heart had disappeared, never to turn up again.

  “Go on now.”

  With another smile, Sophie took her time walking off to the windows that overlooked Magnolia’s courtyard and gardens. From the windows, the outside world looked like something out of a fantasy, all bright reds and pinks and oranges and yellows. Beautiful in every way. Sophie understood why Nana chose to sit near the windows. She would do the same if she lived here.

  Taking a seat beside her, Sophie peered over at her grandmother, whose white hair was now cut in a choppy bob, her face blessed with far too many wrinkles, her hands knobby from arthritis. But when she glanced over and those crystal blue eyes of hers hit Sophie, Nana smiled.

  “Hi there.”

  “Hello. Is it okay if I sit with you for a while?”

  “Help yourself, honey. They say it’s a free country, though I have my doubts.”

  Sophie laughed, the moment easy, until Nana asked, “What’s your name, dear?”

  It wasn’t the first time Nana had asked her the question, but it cut straight to her heart all the same. Like always, she grinned at her grandmother. “Sophie.”

  “I’m Gwendolyn. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. You have quite a beautiful view here.”

  She nodded. “It’s my favorite. Looks like a fantasy.”

  Sophie smiled at her words, so similar to her own thoughts on the garden. “Yes, it does.”

  For the next hour, they talked as strangers. Nana told Sophie about her time as a nurse during Vietnam, while Sophie talked about Fresh Foods and her hopes for where it would be in five years. Finally, Sophie knew she’d reached the end of her luck and didn’t want to chance an episode. So she stood.

  “Thank you, Ms. Gwendolyn. This has been a lovely afternoon.”

  “Thank you, child.”

  Sophie started for the door, then paused. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”

  Her grandmother stared quizzically at her, before her face lit. “We’re in the South, honey. No need to ask for a hug. We give them freely.” Then she stood and wrapped her arms around Sophie.

  It took everything Sophie had not to squeeze tightly, to beg Nana to come back to her. But she knew this hour had been a tiny gift from God, and she had no intentions of taking it for granted. So she pulled back and smiled once more. “You have a nice night. Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

  Then she walked out of the nursing home, her heart full.

  * * *

  Back at her house, Sophie put her iPhone on the docking station in her kitchen, turned up Carrie Underwood, and set her eyes on her kitchen cabinets. Her visit with Nana had inspired her, and she intended to put that inspiration to good use.

  For two months now, her cabinets had been half-painted, half-not. At first, she claimed she needed more chalk paint. Then paintbrushes. Then some of that fancy dark and light wax that a project like this required to make it all look right and set or whatever the wax did. But enough was enough.

  The inspiration to take her old oak cabinets to a pretty seafoam color with dark wax to give them that aged look had come to her while watching an episode of Fixer Upper. Though, to be honest, several of her projects were the result of her obsession with the show: the crate coffee table and end tables; the old stained wagon wheel to go over her bed in her master bedroom; the mason jars turned into candleholders for her table’s centerpiece.

  There were more ideas than time in the day. Which led to Sophie’s great problem with renovating—she liked to start a project. But finishing? Well, that was an entirely different topic. But that ended today . . . at least for the cabinets

  She couldn’t have guests over to her house without having to explain that she was renovating her kitchen. Of course, her only real guest was Glenda, and Glenda already knew the story and how Sophie struggled to finish a project, but still. Other people could come over. People like Annie-Jean or Patty or . . . Zac.

  Just the thought sent a spiral of hope, followed quickly by dread that she couldn’t shake. Why did this have to be so hard? Was she really that bruised and broken that she couldn’t try to like a man? He didn’t even need to know that she liked him. It would be her little secret.

  The problem was that the issue wasn’t him—it was her.

  Sighing, she worked on a pair of latex gloves and started for the left half of her cabinets, the right already painted and pretty, facing the left all high and mighty. All judge-y. Well, it was time the left get a piece of the pretty cake. And now she was talking about her cabinets like they were people. Again.

  Needing some liquid relaxation so she could turn off her brain and get to work, she poured herself a tall glass of pinot grigio, the only wine she liked. She took a sip, then two, set down her “Women Rule the World One Glass at a Time” wine glass, and started for the cabinet closest to her just as her wall phone rang.

  Glaring at it, Sophie contemplated letting it go, but what if it was someone needing an order for the next day? As if that ever happened. Just ignore it. But even as she tapped her paintbrush against her countertop, her eyes landed on the ringing phone, and she all but ran to get it, fearful she’d miss the call and they’d think she was a snob and decide to add that to the laundry list of reasons why they shouldn’t do business with her. Well, that wasn’t
going to happen.

  “Hello?” Sophie asked, a smile on her face so it’d show in her voice. There was silence on the other end, and Sophie thought whoever it was had already hung up, until she caught what sounded like metal scraping against metal, the sound so faint she wasn’t sure she’d heard it at all. Then she heard a crackling sound, followed by the dial tone.

  “Well, okay, then,” she said. “I didn’t want to talk to you anyway.”

  She hung up, went back to her cabinets, and dipped her brush into the chalk paint. She started on the face of a cabinet just as she’d seen in a YouTube video on Pinterest. Soon she found herself in a pattern, coating inch after inch, until she’d finished the side she was working on.

  Sophie put the brush down to pour another glass of wine when her phone rang again. With a huff, she set down her glass and checked her watch. “Ten thirty? Seriously? This had better be a mega order. Like thousands upon thousands.”

  “Hello?” She tapped her foot, waiting on the reply, but once again she was met with silence. “Glenda, if that’s you, speak up. I’m busy finishing a project here.” But then she remembered that Glenda had driven out to see her parents in Lexington and wouldn’t be back until Sunday. So who then? A wrong number? Yes. Had to be.

  She hung up the phone and shook out her hands, but she couldn’t keep the shiver from crawling down her back, that tiny, scared voice in the back of her mind still ever present, whispering like a ghost that refused to find a grave.

  Night had set in long ago, but with the storm joining it, the outside looked less dark navy and more forever black. The trees surrounding her house hid the other homes around hers from view, and the wind from the storm whistled against the windows, creating an atmosphere straight out of a horror movie.

  A rumble of thunder boomed, causing the windows to rattle at the same time the phone rang again. Sophie jumped a foot in the air, her heart in her throat, before her eyes narrowed in on the damn phone. She jerked it off the receiver and pressed it to her ear.