Home At Last

by Raney, Deborah;

  Grant caught her eye across the room and motioned for her to meet him in the foyer. After weaving his way through a tangle of grandkids and assorted lingering guests, he put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. “I’d say it all came off pretty well, don’t you think?”

  “It did. Everything was about as perfect as it could be. And oh, they looked so happy.”

  “They are. Drew loves that girl like crazy.”

  Audrey looked past him into the kitchen where Link was talking to Shayla. She nudged Grant. “Speaking of loving a girl like crazy . . .”

  “I know. He’s got it bad, doesn’t he? Do you think they’re on again?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It looks pretty mutual. She’s a sweet girl. Did you get to talk to her much?”

  “Not much. But I’ve always thought that . . . that she was sweet. Just from the bakery. I have half a mind to go have a word with Mike Michaels.”

  “Ooh, Grant. I’m not sure you should do that. You know how much trouble I got in when I tried to set Link up that one time.”

  “I’m not trying to get him to turn over a dowry or anything. I just think it might be good for two dads to have a heart-to-heart.”

  “Would you tell Link first?”

  “I don’t know. Let me pray about it. I won’t do anything stupid.”

  She reached up to pat his cheek. “I know you won’t. I trust you.”

  He watched the two lovebirds in the kitchen. “I’ve never seen our son that . . . besotted. Reminds me of when I met you.”

  Audrey looked up into eyes that held only love. She could read every nuance of his thoughts and knew no words were needed.

  ***

  “Thanks, Derrick.” Shayla handed him the last box to be loaded in the delivery van. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys tonight. Thanks.”

  “Thank you for the extra hours,” Valerie said.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind giving Derrick a lift?”

  “Not at all. I go right by the dorms to get to my apartment.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Shayla had been watching the two of them tonight, and she had a sneaking suspicion they were flirting with each other. Or maybe she was just confusing it with all the flirting she and Link had done.

  Most of the guests had gone home, and the honeymooners had been sent off with rice and bubbles and balloons an hour ago. But the rest of the Whitman family was gathered in the front room, ties loosened, shoes off, with lots of love flowing through the house.

  She sighed. It made her sad. And it made her happy. If Mama were still living, this is what their house would be like. On a smaller scale, yes. But she could so easily picture Mama and Daddy relaxing in stocking feet in the sitting room above the bakery—before it had become Portia’s room. Jerry and Tara would be on the floor playing with Portia, and—the next image tugged at Shay’s already-tender heartstrings—she would be curled up on the love seat, maybe pregnant with her first baby, a handsome husband at her side. And try as she might, she couldn’t picture anyone in that role but Link Whitman.

  They’d found their way back to each other so easily. Like these past three weeks had never happened. Like all the crazy issues they faced had evaporated. But it couldn’t really be that easy, could it?

  Landyn came around the corner carrying a stack of wedding gifts. “Shayla, you’re still here? Good grief, woman, go home. You’ve worked your tail off!” She set the gifts on the end of the island, picked up a dish towel, and started drying one of the serving trays Shayla had washed.

  “You don’t need to do that. I’m almost finished.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ve hardly gotten to say a word to you anyway. Everything was perfect, Shayla. Thank you so much. I’m sure Bree will get in touch with you when they get back, but she was so pleased. Everyone was.”

  “I’m so glad.” Shayla dipped her head, but she felt like cheering, despite a twinge of guilt over the near-fiasco with the cake. It was one thing to cater a corporate luncheon or a company picnic, but there was a lot riding on a once-in-a-lifetime wedding. “I’m really glad you’re happy with the way things went. And hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I haven’t forgotten about saving those coffee bags for you—if you’re still interested.”

  “Oh, I definitely am. I’ll stop by sometime next week.”

  “Um, you might want to give me a couple weeks. I took your and Bree’s advice and made curtains from the ones I’d set back for you.” Shay cringed. “Sorry. But they turned out really cute.”

  “Oh, no problem.” Landyn waved her off. “I’m in no huge rush.” She tilted her head, studying Shayla. “Your hair is so cute like that. I wonder if I could get my crazy curls to do that?”

  She laughed, remembering what Link had said about his sisters wishing they had each others’ hair. She picked at a bouncy curl falling over her forehead. “I can try to straighten it all I want, but it pretty much has a mind of its own.”

  Landyn rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Since the twins, I usually default to the messy ponytail. At least it’s supposedly back in style.”

  “I hear you. I’m just thankful I can wear a scarf at work. Best ’do ever.”

  Eyes wide, Landyn snapped her fingers, laughing. “Scarves! Hey, maybe you could hook me up with a couple of those!”

  “I’ll get you fixed up next time you come in, girl. Just ask for Shayla.”

  Landyn smiled. “You’ll laugh when I really do come in and order a dozen scarves instead of scones.” She dried her hands and picked up the gift boxes again. “I’d better get these loaded. Thanks again for everything. See you soon.”

  She breezed out of the room and Shayla laughed. This had to be a first: a hair discussion where she could commiserate with a white girl.

  “You need any help in here?” Link poked his head around the corner. “What’s so funny?”

  She hadn’t realized she was still smiling. She waved him off. “Nothing. And thanks, but Derrick and Valerie got me all loaded. I just want to finish cleaning up the kitchen.” She picked up the dish towel Landyn had been using as if she owed him proof.

  He came closer. “The place looks great, Shay. You don’t have to leave it spotless.” He motioned back toward the front room. “It’s about time to roll out the snacks, so it’s just going to get messed up again.”

  “I’m almost done.” Truth was, she didn’t want to leave. She had a nice little fantasy going on in her head, and she wanted to languish in it for a while.

  “You did a great job today . . . tonight. I heard lots of compliments about the food, the presentation . . . everything. Especially that cake.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

  She smiled. “That’s one for the books, for sure.” She gave a little gasp. “And by books, I mean the top-secret, locked-away, never-to-be-read-aloud kind of books.”

  “I promised, and I’m as good as my word.”

  Yes, you are, Link Whitman. You’re a good man, and your word is the same. “I’ll let you know when the anniversary cake is ready. You’re sure you don’t mind sneaking the right one into their freezer?”

  “I consider it my sworn duty on behalf of my crazy dog. And speaking of that cake, where’s the damaged goods? Don’t you dare throw it out. The top part never touched the floor. We can slice off the bottom and—”

  She plopped her hands on her hips, dish towel still in hand. “And just how are you going to explain why you’re eating the anniversary cake?”

  “Oh. Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And that’s exactly what scares me.” She folded the towel and laid it back on the counter. “Well, I guess I’d better get out of here.”

  He put a hand on her forearm. “Hey, I wanted to ask . . . How’s Portia? I kind of miss Her Prissy Little Highness.”

  Shayla laughed. “She’s spunky as ever. She’s all about polishing toes and fingernails these days.”

  He shook his head. “I think my sisters had to be twenty-tw
o before Dad allowed that.”

  “Yeah, well, I might spoil her just a little. I am making her wait till twenty-two for her first tattoo.” She wondered if Link would remember telling her how much his dad hated tats.

  His laughter said he did. When it faded, an awkward few seconds passed as he seemed to be grasping for something else to say. “So . . . things are going okay at the bakery?”

  She loved the spark his blue eyes held. “Actually business has picked up a little.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Well, maybe. It’s mostly college kids, and Daddy’s afraid they’ll scare off the regulars.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, I know. But hey, those kids order four-dollar lattes instead of ninety-nine cent free-refill black coffee, so I don’t see the problem.”

  He laughed.

  She wanted to stay. Listen to that laughter, listen to him talk all night. But what purpose would that serve? It would only send her back to square one with trying to get over him. She looked at the floor. “I really need to go, Link.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll walk you out. Hang on, and I’ll get your coat.”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine. You go be with your family. I’ve stolen you away for too long tonight.”

  “Well, let me follow you to the door at least and turn on some lights.”

  He helped her with her coat, then flipped a couple of switches that lit up the driveway.

  “Goodnight.” She opened the door and walked outside, a cold wind hitting her in the face and a heaviness in her heart that she feared would never go away.

  “Shay—”

  She turned back to see him standing in the doorway. So handsome. So . . . fine. “Yes?”

  “It was really good to see you again. Will you tell Portia hello for me?”

  She couldn’t honestly assure him she would. Portia had asked about Link—whined to see him—almost daily over the past three weeks. Shayla didn’t want to stir that pot, only to have to wean the girl off of him all over again. She sighed, too loud, and tried to cover it with a smile. “It was good to see you too, Link. Goodnight.”

  She had to get out of here before she said something she’d regret. Before she asked the questions that were eating her alive: “Why did you quit calling? Why didn’t you pursue me harder?”

  She hurried to the van, searching for her keys, eager to be home—and very aware of Link still watching her from where he stood in the doorway. She climbed in and buckled up, enjoying that satisfied feeling of a job well done. While also being glad it was done.

  She slipped the key into the ignition and waved to Link as he closed the back door, then smiled to herself as the image of that silly anniversary cake going splat on the floor returned. Thank the good Lord Link had come up with a way to salvage—

  She turned the key again. Nothing.

  No! No . . . not now! Please, God, let this stupid van start.

  She tried a third time. But the engine didn’t even attempt to turn over. Daddy had said it was fixed. And it ran fine all the way out here. Why was this happening?

  She tried turning the headlights off and on. She tried pumping the gas pedal. She’d learned a lot of tricks over the years they’d owned this temperamental vehicle. But none of them were working now. Including prayer.

  Finally, she grabbed her phone and started to dial her dad to come and get her. It was late. He’d have to wake Portia and bring her with him—and waking Portia in the middle of her night was never a pretty proposition.

  But before the call could go through, she realized—she’d parked, at Link’s insistence, directly in front of the garage. To make it easier to load the delivery van. She couldn’t just leave the van here. She’d need to have it towed. Tonight. Or at least roll it out of the way so the Whitmans could get their vehicles out tomorrow.

  She growled with frustration. This was beyond embarrassing—and such an inconvenience to Link’s family when they were trying to celebrate a wedding. She dialed her dad. Maybe he could at least tell her what was wrong with this bucket of rusty bolts. Maybe there was some new trick he knew since his latest repairs to get it running—at least long enough to get her home.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”

  “No! This stupid van won’t start.”

  “You’re kidding. It was running fine this morning.”

  “Well it’s not now. It won’t even turn over.”

  “Did you try giving it some gas while you hold the key?”

  “I tried everything that ever worked before, Daddy. I’ve got lights, but nothing happens when I turn the key.”

  “That makes no sense. It was running fine.” He blew a frustrated sigh into the phone. “I’ll have to get the girlie up, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She pictured her father pulling into the inn’s driveway, likely causing the entire Whitman family to come out and see what was wrong—not to mention Daddy and Link face to face again. And Portia no doubt howling in her booster seat.

  Another image came. Link, under the hood of his pickup out at the pond, that night his truck wouldn’t start. “You know what, Daddy? Don’t wake Portia just yet. I know one more thing to try. I’ll call you right back.”

  Steeling herself, she climbed out of the van and picked her way around to the front door in the dark. She rang the bell and the door opened almost immediately.

  Link’s mother stood there, smiling, no doubt with the remains of some family joke that had just been told. “Shayla! Come in. Is everything okay?”

  Before she could answer, Audrey called over her shoulder. “Link? Come here, honey.”

  Audrey held the door wider. “Come in out of the cold.”

  Link appeared, saving her from having to face the whole family. “Hey.” His smile held concern—and curiosity. “What’s up?”

  Audrey slipped away, perhaps thinking this was something personal. She wouldn’t blame Link if he thought it was just a ploy to talk to him a while longer. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but the van won’t start.”

  He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Sorry. I promise I’m not laughing at your troubles. Just remembering when the shoe was on my foot. Let me grab my coat and we’ll take a look. Come on through and we can go out the back way.”

  A rush of laughter from the inn’s front room made her hesitate. “I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just meet you around by the van, okay?”

  “Suit yourself.” He bent to look out past her. “Can you see okay out here? Let me turn some more lights on.” He flipped a couple of switches and the spots at the side of the house lit up.

  “I can see fine. Thanks.” She followed the sidewalk around to the back where her van sat like a giant, unbudging elephant in front of the garage.

  Link came out of the house carrying a flashlight and met her at the driver’s door. “Is there a hood latch inside?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure this was one of Henry Ford’s originals.”

  Laughing, he held up the flashlight. “If you’ll aim this for me, I’ll see if I can get the hood open.” He tinkered with the latch.

  She concentrated on pointing the light where he was working, hoping this was a quick fix so she could get out of here.

  He fumbled some more, squatting down to peer beneath the lip of the hood. “Man, there must be some secret to this I’m not getting. You’re sure there’s not a latch inside?”

  Link went around to the driver’s side and groped blindly beneath the dashboard. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  The longer he worked, the worse she felt for taking him away from his family on this night they were supposed to be celebrating together. “Link, I’m so sorry. I called my dad to come and get me, but then I realized if we left the van here overnight no one would be able to get out of your parents’ garage in the morning and—” Her voice wavered with embarrassment.

  He regarded her in the dark, but she quickly let the flashlight dangle,
and turned her face away so he wouldn’t see how close to tears she was.

  He paused and held up a hand. “Hey. It’s okay. I don’t mind at all. I truly don’t, Shay.”

  The kindness in his voice, the way he said her name, broke the dam. The tears came, silently, but in a flood. She turned away, trying to keep holding the flashlight and wipe her cheeks dry at the same time.

  “Hey.” An arm encircled her, and she let him pull her closer, her back against his chest. She imagined she could feel the beating of his heart, even through the heavy layers of their coats. His warm breath brushed her ear with tender words. “Please don’t cry. We can fix this.”

  Oh, if only they could fix it. Fix everything that had gone wrong between them. But that was just it. Everything was right between them. It was the rest of the world that had issues. And she was afraid, so afraid, they were beyond repair.

  26

  It destroyed Link to see Shayla’s tears, and he suspected they were for so much more than a “bag of rusty bolts” that wouldn’t start. And yet, he had to admit he was glad for an excuse to hold her. To feel the familiar warmth of her body pressed against his. To feel her hair tickle his cheek. To breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume.

  He missed everything about her. Her voice, her laughter, the feel of her hand in his. Missed her more than he’d even realized until tonight.

  And he realized something else. Losing Shayla was more than a mere “breakup” with a girlfriend. It felt so much bigger than that. Like a defeat in a battle they’d been forced to fight against their wills, simply because of the color of their skin.

  They’d done nothing wrong, yet they’d let a messed-up world tear them apart. To make them rivals. And it made him question if things could ever be better. If the wall dividing them—and so many others—could ever really be torn down.