Rebecca had a recurring dream in which every conversation she had with her mother was being taped, so that she could just roll back all the completely crazy things her mother said. Like this.
“Mom, not only am I not on drugs. But—” she shook her head, saddened a little for her mother that she was so out of touch with her “—I’m not a little girl. What you think is strange behavior, is just me trying to figure myself out.”
“You’re a Potter, sweetie. What is there to figure out?”
“Lots, Mom. Lots.”
“This is your aunt’s fault! You’ve spent too much time with her and all of her worst traits are rubbing off on you!”
“What are you talking about—”
“Flighty, unable to commit, unreliable…”
“Mom!” Rebecca yelled. “I won’t listen to you talk that way about the one person in this family who supports me. I don’t care how you feel about it. This is my life.”
When her mother didn’t reply, Rebecca swallowed hard. The edge of that cliff loomed ever closer.
“Well, I guess we won’t be seeing you for supper.”
“I guess not.”
Jane hung up on her and Rebecca could only stare at the receiver and blink. Was this a good thing? Was this independence?
All she knew was it was a relief not to have to see her parents tomorrow night, and while part of her did feel bad about the tone of her mother’s voice, she shrugged off the guilt as a bad habit.
Her meeting with the principal of Tilton School was in regard to using the school for her after-school programs. Her classes were getting too big for the studio over the café and the tension between Jane, Elle and Rebecca was getting worse, and Rebecca worried that the studio space might be adding fuel to the fire.
Rebecca decided to run down and give Elle a heads-up. Jane was on a warpath.
CHAPTER SIX
February 2—Friday
HIS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD daughter was getting the best of him. Sure, she was clever and smart, but Will was an adult, an officer of the law no less, and he couldn’t get her to crack. Not an inch.
He parked his Jeep and tucked the Valentine’s Day card into his pocket. The third card he’d found in his briefcase since Monday. The third card signed Secret Admirer.
There was no other person who had as much access to his briefcase as his daughter, except for Chief Brass, and Will seriously doubted Brass was the secret admirer.
Will stepped out into the cold, but that Valentine burned a hole in his pocket.
He didn’t know what to do. He’d confronted Penny. He’d thanked her. He’d told her how sweet the cards were. He’d told her she shouldn’t spend her allowance on such things—she’d looked a little pale at that—but she hadn’t cracked.
“Dad,” she’d said each time, as if he was the slow kid in class. “I’m not your secret admirer. I’m your daughter.”
He was beginning to think he was losing his mind. Or at least the part that helped him control his child. He’d called his sister Elaine today and asked if she was behind this nonsense. She’d laughed and told him she didn’t have time to get her husband a Valentine’s Day card, much less drive across town to sneak three into his briefcase.
He stepped into the Cup, the heat and sugary sweet air filling his nose with wonderful smells. Sometimes he just wanted to live at the Cup, among the caffeine and baked goods. He’d even become immune to the increasing Valentine’s Day decorations. They no longer pricked his pride, reminding him of what he’d lost. They were just crepe paper and bows.
“Hiya, Will,” Elle said, her head popping up over the baked goods case. “You want to be my guinea pig?”
“Elle, I’m not signing up for the dateathon,” he repeated for the hundredth time. She was like a bulldog.
“I know.” She held up a flour-dusted hand. “Your loss, though. The town is going dateathon crazy! I can’t believe who has signed up.”
Has Rebecca? he almost asked. But that would have been ludicrous. He had no business asking after his daughter’s teacher. She should be signed up. In fact, he found it rather unbelievable that such a beautiful woman wasn’t already involved.
The mysterious card seemed heavy in his pocket.
I Found You When I Needed You, it said. The picture was of a woman holding an old magnifying glass over her eye, making it huge. It was cute, clever. A step above or away from the usual sappy holiday greetings. All the mystery cards had been like that.
“I’ve noticed the place is much more crowded these days. Is that all from the dateathon?”
“Hallelujah!” Elle laughed. “Love is in the air, Will. Now, come here and try my new Valentine’s Day cake. I’m going to serve it as part of the Valentine’s Day party we’re planning.”
She lifted a beautiful dark chocolate cake dusted in red and pink sugars. He nearly groaned just looking at it. He’d been burying his lonely and lustful demons in the Cup’s cakes and cookies. Maybe if he got fat and diabetic he’d stop thinking about Rebecca.
“Looks good, Elle.” He took the cake. The first bite was gooey, fudgy. He couldn’t even talk for a second.
“Good?” she asked with a laugh.
He groaned.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“I’m going to go get Penny,” he said around the mouthful of heaven.
“I’ll heat up some soup for you to take home,” Elle said and darted back into the small kitchen.
Will turned and found himself face-to-face with the card and journal display. The cards were just like the ones he’d been given, but he’d never noticed. When he’d seen them on Saturday he’d just been so depressed he’d barely seen how fun the cards were.
“Hey, Elle?”
“Yeah?”
He touched the edge of a card with a picture of a woman on a curb holding a pair of broken wings. It Doesn’t Work Without You, the card read. “Who makes these cards?”
“My niece.”
He turned so fast he knocked a stack of journals to the floor. He crouched, his pulse racing as he picked up the books. “Rebecca did these?”
“Yep.” Elle pointed to the cards. “You like them?”
I love them, he thought, but only nodded. “She’s something else,” he murmured.
“Yes, she is,” Elle said, serious and deep affection in her voice.
A million words rushed to his lips. Questions about Rebecca. About her past. About her life. Things he didn’t have the nerve to ask her himself. Things that, should he ask, would open doors in his life. Doors he’d shut two years ago.
I’m confused, almost came to his lips. I’m so confused.
“You should go on up,” Elle said quietly and for a moment he thought she was saying he should go up and ask Rebecca his questions.
“Right,” he said. “Penny’s waiting.”
He started to climb the steps and thought he heard Elle mutter, “idiot” under her breath. But that wouldn’t have made any sense.
PENNY PUSHED her feet into her boots. They pinched at the toes, because they were on the wrong feet but she ignored that. She pulled her hat down over her hair and shrugged into her jacket, all while keeping one eye on her father while he wrote Rebecca a check for more classes.
Becca was not smiling. At all.
And Dad couldn’t even look at her.
Things were not going well.
“Dad, I’m going to go say hi to Elle!” She took off down the stairs before he could stop her.
“Elle!” she whispered as loud as she could. “Elle? Where are you?”
“Back here, Penny!” Elle came out of the bright kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” she wailed and threw herself against Elle’s legs. “The cards aren’t working! Dad’s acting weird and so is Ms. Potter and no one is laughing. Those cards are supposed to be funny!”
Elle bent down and kissed the top of her head, which was really nice. It was nice to be hugged by a lady
who smelled like sugar.
“I know.” Elle took her hand and walked her over to one of the tables. “Have a seat,” she said and Penny climbed into one of the chairs, and Elle fixed her boots so they were on the right feet. “The problem is,” she said, “your father and my niece are two of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”
“What’s stubborn?”
“Stubborn is when you only do things your way.”
“That’s Dad all right.” She nodded remembering their fight last night over her eating salad. He wouldn’t let her down from the table until she’d eaten the whole thing. She’d tried to sit there and not eat it, but finally she’d given up and eaten all the spinach. Just because Dad was stubborn.
“So what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to have to step it up,” Elle said.
Penny liked that Elle took this as seriously as she did. “Yeah,” Penny repeated, not sure what she was saying. “Step it up.”
“Here’s the new plan…”
“SO THAT SHOULD COVER IT.” Will slid the check across the desk rather than hand it to Rebecca. He couldn’t risk an accidental touch. His body would explode at contact.
“Great, thanks, Will. I’ll add her to the Tuesday class.” She smiled, but it was without dimples, and the warmth was gone from her eyes. He had the sneaking suspicion that she was mad at him. But that didn’t make any sense. What had he…?
Then he remembered.
He groaned and shut his eyes. “I just found out you make those cards downstairs.”
“With my own two hands.” She wiggled her fingers at him, her brown eyes dark against the pale silk of her skin.
“I’m sorry for what I said about…” He heaved a sigh. “About your cards. They are beautiful and just because I have a heart of coal doesn’t make them any less special.”
Her mouth dropped open for a split second and then she smiled. The good smile. With dimples and pink on her cheeks.
“It’s okay. Valentine’s Day isn’t for everyone.”
He laughed through his nose. “An understatement.”
“Is it personal? This anti-Valentine’s Day theme in your life or do you feel such disdain for all the lesser holidays?”
He blushed, charmed by her teasing. “My feelings for Arbor Day are murderous.” They smiled at each other and then he realized he didn’t want to joke about this. He wanted to tell her, to share some of what weighed him down.
“My wife left me on Valentine’s Day two years ago.”
She sucked in a quick breath and her forehead furrowed with sympathy. He braced himself for the outpouring of pity. The disingenuous empathy everyone pretended when they heard such a clichéd story of heartbreak.
“That will ruin a holiday,” she said with a sensitive smile.
Her humor was so appreciated—so unexpected—he practically barked with laughter. The studio, with all its glass and bare tables and chairs, seemed at the moment like an unlikely cocoon. And he could easily understand why his daughter so loved this class. Why she so trusted this woman.
It wasn’t the understated beauty of her eyes, or skin or hair. It was her heart—as visible and lovely as all those other things.
“You know what’s funny? I used to love it.” He sighed and leaned back against the table. “I went all out when Adele and I were dating. Huge surprises and trips, scavenger hunts, the whole nine yards. I kept doing it when we were married, but when things started falling apart I realized just how empty these gestures I was making really were. I was trying to be romantic, trying to put in the effort, hoping she would, too.”
“But she didn’t?”
“She did leave on Valentine’s Day. That was a pretty big gesture.” He was joking about this. Miraculous!
“I’ve been thinking about what you said on Saturday—about romance being work…” She toyed with the end of one of her pens and watched him through her lashes.
He nodded, surprised by how painless this conversation was. He’d just opened his mouth and talked. It was that easy, but he’d never done it before. Not with his sister, his parents, no one.
“And I’ve realized that you’re right. It is work, but when the work is honest, it pays off in honest ways. Right? Why should romance or love be any different than anything else? You get out what you put in.”
“I put in a lot,” he murmured. “And I got left.”
“I’m sorry, Will. You and Penny deserve so much more.”
He nodded again and then shook off the glum feelings like a dog coming out of water. “What about you? Has Elle got you lined up for the dateathon?”
“No.” Rebecca laughed, wrapping the oversize red sweater that obscured her lovely shape, around her waist. “Though avoiding it’s been tough.”
“You’ve been too busy for Cupid to get a good bead on you?” he asked. Her lips twitched and she seemed suddenly very interested in making sure her pot of black ink lined up perfectly at the end of her paper.
“I know it can seem ridiculous to keep believing in things like romance,” she murmured, giving the pot a half-rotation. “I’m starting a class for kids from broken homes, for crying out loud. My parents’ marriage seems like a business negotiation and my two best friends, the two most vivacious and exciting women I’ve ever met are somehow alone.” She quit toying with the pot and shrugged. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. I believe in romance and love and roses and candlelight. I guess I have hope for Cupid, yet.”
She looked up at him, and he felt skewered. As if that rascal Cupid had lanced him, right through the chest.
“Seems foolish, huh?” She’d turned her laughter on herself and he wanted to touch her. To take away that need for self-protection.
“I wish I felt that way,” he said honestly and the cocoon grew smaller.
“But you don’t,” she murmured and her smile, so bright moments ago, turned sad at the edges. The cocoon broke open. They weren’t alone in the world anymore. The demons and the past were crowding around them.
“I guess not,” he said because it was safer to say that than it was to say I want to or help me feel that way.
“I better go make sure Penny isn’t eating cake for dinner.”
Rebecca nodded and he walked away into the dark doorway and the stairwell beyond.
“STUPID…jerk…coming here…” Rebecca fumed. “I tried and I got left,” she mocked him totally out of self-preservation and because he was long gone and no one was in her studio to see her being an ass.
She threw paper into stacks that slid right off the edge of desks. She broke a pot and tried to mop up the spill of black ink with her best card stock. Finally, she just fisted her hair in her hands and screamed.
She had been making efforts. Real serious inroads on her crush. She’d been clipping and trimming him out of her head and he’d shown up tonight like some dejected Prince Charming with his broken heart on his sleeve.
She slapped her open palm against her forehead. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Cupid grows up. Cupid doesn’t have crushes.”
She repeated it until she’d convinced herself that she believed it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
February 3—Saturday
SATURDAY EVENING rolled around and instead of getting through the piles of paperwork he’d stacked up on his dining room table, Will found himself driving through a winter storm to the Cup. Penny had forgotten her book bag at Rebecca’s on Friday and according to the frantic phone call he’d just received from Penny—at her cousin’s house for a sleepover—she needed the book bag now.
Truth be told, he was glad for the distraction.
He’d been staring blindly at the paperwork for close to an hour. The house seemed too quiet. The dark too thick. His loneliness too…relentless.
He pulled into the Cup. The low lights were visible through the steamy windows but the parking lot was empty. Made sense. Who would go out for cappuccino in one of the worst storms of the year?
Who would go out retri
eving their daughter’s book bag in the worst snowstorm of the year?
He couldn’t lie. He knew the answer. Rebecca often worked Saturday evenings and those demons chugging around inside him hoped he might see her here. In this empty café. With the lights low.
He pushed open the door to the welcome chime of the small bell and stomped his feet before looking up to see if Rebecca was there.
“Hi, Will.” Her voice carried through the café and his heart, mired in the past for two long years, started to break free.
She’s here, those demons chanted. She’s right here.
In fact, she was behind the counter, surrounded by paper and pens and the beautiful glow of candlelight, which he assumed she’d lit in case the power went out.
For a moment, the combined potency of her beauty, the empty café, the way he’d been thinking about her made him speechless.
“You lost in the snow?” She tilted her head and smiled.
“I followed the cookie crumbs,” he managed to say and then wondered if that made any sense at all. But she laughed and he was able to breathe and walk. He stepped up to the counter.
“My daughter left her book bag here last night. She needs it right now.” He mimicked Penny, and Rebecca laughed. Her hair fell over her shoulder, a shimmering curtain of red and gold and glitter.
Touch it, the demons howled. Just reach out and touch it!
“We can go up and see—” She began to stand, but he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. The thrill that ran up his arm and into his chest surprised and delighted him at the same time.
He was playing with fire. He knew that. He’d made it clear to her that he had nothing to offer a woman, but he still insisted on flirting, on standing in this dark room with possibility burning around them.
“There’s no rush,” he said, despite the fact that he’d rushed out into a storm to get the dumb bag. The idea of leaving her and this place seemed ludicrous.
She shrugged. “Okay, then can I get you something to drink?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded and pulled up a stool and sat.
“The Potter Special?” Her eyes twinkled and he nodded.
Who Needs Cupid? Page 14