“I’ll send that on to—”
“I heard you joined the dateathon,” Will interrupted and Rebecca’s eyes went wide.
She nodded. “I did.”
He didn’t know what to say. “Is it working out?” he finally managed to ask.
“So far so good.”
Don’t kiss anyone, he wanted to say. Don’t let those men touch your skin, or hold you close. They don’t deserve it.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “We’ll see you on Thursday.”
He walked out to the Jeep, but couldn’t get into it. He couldn’t drive to his parents’ house and pretend that everything was okay. Hot despite the gently falling snow gathering on the ground, he unzipped his jacket. He felt feverish. Restless.
He needed to walk.
After Adele had left he’d walked and walked until one day the decision to leave South Carolina and the home they’d made seemed easy. Seemed right.
He imagined Rebecca on a date at the Valentine’s Day party that Elle had planned, waiting, eyes sparkling as she waited for her dream man to walk through the door.
A dream man who wasn’t him.
He knew love existed. His parents, his brothers and sister were all proof of that—proof that love was possible between two people who worked at it.
Rebecca was the opposite of Adele. She was dependable, considerate and empathetic, probably to a fault. Sort of like him.
He stopped in his tracks.
She worked at relationships. Like him. Enjoyed the window-dressings of romance—the way he used to. Maybe the trick to a successful relationship was choosing a person who wouldn’t require him to do all the work.
Rebecca Potter would meet him in the middle. He knew it.
He picked up his pace, zipped up his coat and walked.
He walked until his decision, scary and troublesome, was easy. Right.
He would be Rebecca’s dream man.
February 10—Saturday
THE CUP was filled to the brim and Rebecca was working her tail off. The high school chess club seemed to have become regular devotees of the café and Rebecca cheerfully steamed up plenty of Potter Specials for the boys and served up the last of the Chocolate Valentine’s Day cakes.
They whispered and huddled in the corner over a laptop and when Rebecca brought the last of their order she finally gave in to temptation.
“Hey, can you show me how to check my site?” she asked the boy sitting in front of the keyboard. He seemed to be their leader. “Max explained it to me, but I blanked out.”
“Sure,” the boy said. “You just need to remember your passwords.”
That wasn’t hard. Rebecca had the same passwords to everything in her life. She typed them in when the kid told her to and her page, with the drawing she’d made of herself, appeared on the screen.
“Thirteen hits!” one of the kids yelled. “Damn, Ms. Potter, you’re hot!”
She smiled, torn between pleasure and the stifling regret of knowing none of those hits were from the man she really wanted. “Yes, I am, boys. I am hot.” She smiled at them and headed back to the counter.
“Don’t you want to check them out?” the boy at the keyboard asked.
“Maybe later,” she said, without much heart.
Her life had taken a strange turn the past few days. Principal May at Tilton had been eager for her to teach her class at his school and she could move her program anytime. But she hated having to tell Elle that she was leaving. She hated leaving. But her mother was becoming nasty about the informal agreement Rebecca and Elle had regarding the rental of the space.
And if she needed added incentive, she’d been interviewed by the paper, and the story had come out this morning. It was supposed to be a story about the class for kids from broken homes, but it had turned into a sort of tell-all, about her cards and her after-school program.
It was an article about her.
Front page, full color.
She’d cringed and laughed off everyone’s compliments over the photo but in reality had been secretly pleased by the way the photographer had made it appear as if she didn’t have a double chin.
Secretly she’d been pleased about all of it.
“I need two hot cocoas,” she told Lorna, who was helping out today. Rebecca turned her back to the bar to dump some dirty dishes in the buckets and the bell over the door rang.
Her whole body went cold. Then hot. Every muscle tight.
It was Saturday and Will and Penny usually came on Saturday. She would turn around and see him and it wouldn’t be a big deal, because she was getting over her feelings for him.
She was.
Except she couldn’t turn around.
“Coffee to go,” she heard Chief Brass say, and she sighed in relief.
Getting over Will wasn’t going to happen overnight. It would just take time.
February 13—Tuesday
WILL STARED blankly at the sign on the door of Rebecca’s studio.
“Dad,” Penny tugged on his hand. “I told you classes are canceled this week.”
“I know, but why?” he asked. The cold, clear message on his answering machine today hadn’t given him any good indication.
Sorry, guys. Classes canceled this week. We will start again next week same time, but in the Tilton School cafeteria, she’d said.
“And where is she now?” he asked his daughter who shrugged. He’d just spent the weekend figuring out his feelings for Rebecca and now he couldn’t find her to tell her.
“Why’d they move classes?” he asked, before his daughter could answer his first question.
“I told you I didn’t know in the car. What is wrong with you, Dad?”
Elle breezed past them looking like a woman with a bone to pick. He’d never seen her look quite so angry and wondered if maybe now wasn’t the time, but Penny stepped in when he needed her.
“Hey, Elle? Where’s Ms. Potter?” Penny asked and Elle turned to face them.
“I think she might stupidly be trying to talk some sense into her mother.”
“Is everything okay?” Will asked. He put his hand on Elle’s shoulder, which was up around her ear.
“It’s fine.” She managed a smile. “My sister is getting the best of me, as usual. But that’s nothing for you guys to worry about. Are you here for dinner? I have some leftover wraps.”
“Sure,” Will said. “Is Rebecca coming back tonight?”
“I don’t know. She might be back to pack her things.” She went on to explain that Rebecca would no longer be renting the studio.
Suddenly the Cup O’ Love didn’t have as much appeal as it had when he knew Rebecca was upstairs working on her valentines.
“Dad?” Penny pulled on his hand. “What’s wrong? You look funny.”
“I do?” He smiled and then started laughing. He’d thought his Cupid had been killed two years ago. Run down by a red convertible, but as he thought about Rebecca’s Valentines he was struck by an arrow.
“Dad, you’re being weird.”
“Hey, Elle, we’re just going to head home. You still having that Valentine’s Day party tomorrow night?”
“That’s the plan.”
“We’ll see you there.”
A slow smile creased her face. “You finally coming to your senses, Will Blakely?”
A blush burned his cheeks. Elle didn’t miss much and he wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he’d thought.
“Looks like it.” He grinned.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on,” Penny howled.
He looked down at his daughter. “I need your help tonight, kiddo. We’ve got lots of work to do.”
“With what?”
“We’re going to make a valentine for Rebecca.”
IT WAS MIDNIGHT, and Becca packed the last of the finger-paints into the milk crate Elle had loaned her.
This is good, she reminded herself. This is change and g
rowth. The program can only get bigger.
But it didn’t make her feel any better about leaving her safe haven above the Cup. She loved this room with the huge windows and creaky floors. She even loved the draft that swept up the stairs anytime anyone opened the front door to the Cup.
She loved what kids had made here. What she’d made here.
“Onward and upward.” She grabbed the milk crate and spun toward the door to come face-to-face with her mother.
“Jeez, Mom.” She set the crate back down and put a hand over her leaping heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
Jane continued to stand in the doorway, her handbag in front of her like a shield.
“Did you need something?” Rebecca asked, unable to help her haughty tone.
Jane swallowed, opened her mouth and then shut it, and Becca sighed with weary frustration.
Don’t apologize, she reminded herself. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re just living your life.
“I saw the article in the paper today.”
Rebecca braced herself for her mother’s censure.
“It was good,” she said and coughed awkwardly. “Enlightening.”
“Thank you.” Rebecca wondered if maybe she’d slipped down a rabbit hole.
“Mom—”
“I need to buy a Valentine’s Day card,” Jane finally said. “A few actually.”
Rebecca took a moment to let the world settle back on its axis.
“You want one of my Valentine’s Day cards?” She had to ask, just to be sure.
“I hear they’re the best.”
Rebecca smiled. That would matter to Mom. But still she recognized an olive branch when she saw one. “You can judge for yourself.”
She grabbed the stack of “almost perfects” from the top of the milk carton. She’d rejected these cards because of little errors or ink splatter, but she hadn’t had the heart to throw them away. Now she was reluctant to show them to her mother. She wished, desperately, she was handing over her very best work.
Her mother slid her purse onto her wrist and took the cards, and Rebecca, as much as she wished she could be indifferent, got very nervous.
She was eight years old again bringing home an art project for her mother’s opinion.
She’s going to hate them.
“They’re lovely,” Jane said. She looked up at Rebecca with a smile. A real smile. One that lit her eyes and put dimples in her cheeks. “Very special.” She cleared her throat. “Like you. I don’t tell you that enough.”
Tears flooded Rebecca’s eyes. It had been years since she’d felt the balm of her mother’s good opinion, and she’d thought she’d outgrown the need—but here she was twenty-seven years old and nearly crying over her mother’s compliment.
Her mom heaved a big breath. “Your aunt came in today and made me realize what I was trying to do to you, and while I am saddened that you don’t want to work full-time at the firm, I understand and…respect what you’re doing for kids and for yourself. I should have told you that long ago.”
Thank you, Aunt Elle.
“Thank you, Mom.” Rebecca finally said, her voice a scratch and whisper in the quiet studio.
“So,” Jane said, opening the clutch on her purse. “How much do I owe you for these cards.”
“They’re not really for sale. They’re my mistakes.”
“They’re perfect,” her mother said. “How much do I owe you?”
Rebecca thought of Elle, of the way she did battle for Rebecca at every turn. It was time to return the favor.
“You can’t buy them from me,” Rebecca said. “You have to buy them downstairs at the Cup.”
Jane blinked. “It’s closed.”
Rebecca nodded and smiled sympathetically at her mother, knowing what apologizing cost the proud woman. “You’ll have to come in tomorrow and buy them from Aunt Elle.”
Jane looked at her a long time and Rebecca looked right back. She felt so sure of herself, the ground beneath her feet these days was firm and steady and not even her mother could change that.
Finally Jane nodded. “I can do that,” she said.
“I know you can, Mom.” Rebecca picked up the box again. “Help me with the door, would you?”
Valentine’s Day
REBECCA OPENLY STARED at Elle and Max all but making out at one of the café tables and couldn’t stop smiling.
Her aunt had finally succumbed to Cupid and it was perfect! Between Mom showing up today and the very public display of affection going on over there, Elle’s Valentine’s Day was turning up roses.
“Well.” Rebecca tapped at the dangling pink string of one of the red balloons that covered the ceiling. “I’m glad one of us is getting what we deserve,” Rebecca murmured.
The whole dateathon idea was a success. All the tables were filled with people making small talk and trying not to stare at each other too long.
And the whole café was abuzz with Lucky’s brave and bold move. The fact that Rebecca couldn’t reach her on her cell phone or at the store was all the proof she needed that Lucky and Cupid had come to an understanding, too.
It was adorable.
And threatened to have Rebecca bawling her eyes out.
She’d looked at all thirteen of her hits the other day and not one of the men had seemed worth the time it would take for her to shave her legs and put on real clothes and pretend to forget Will Blakely for the span of an evening.
I’m gonna kill Cupid, the little bastard, if I see him, Rebecca thought, nursing her battered heart with wine made from some sour grapes.
“Hey, Ms. Potter?” Rebecca leaned over the counter to see Penny Blakely dressed in head to toe red, including a crown made out of plastic rubies.
“Wow, that’s some crown,” Rebecca said.
“Thank you, I was the Queen of Hearts for Halloween last year,” Penny said.
“I’ll bet you were a fantastic Queen of Hearts.” Rebecca smiled at the charming little girl. Part of losing Will to his own cowardice was the pain of losing a little of Penny, too. Rebecca had spent some time fantasizing about what a happy family they’d make. She could have taken Penny into the Art Institute and—
“This is for you,” Penny said, holding out a piece of folded red construction paper.
“Thanks, sweetie, but you’ve already given me your valentine, remember?”
“It’s not from me,” Penny said with a huge smile.
The construction paper was rough in her fingers, heavy in her hand. She looked at the folded card like it was a loaded gun.
“Are you going to open it?” Penny asked, bouncing on her tiptoes. Her crown slipped over one eye, and she impatiently shoved it back.
“Sure,” she said, but didn’t. She wasn’t an idiot, something was happening here. This was a moment.
Finally she opened the card. Guessed she had it upside down and turned it over, but that didn’t help the drawing much.
“You had it right the first time,” Penny said. “Dad is a very bad drawer.”
Joy and disbelief bubbled in her throat.
The drawing was of a stick man—covered in arrows, so many she thought initially it was a porcupine.
You got me, the caption read.
“Penny,” she asked, unable to take her eyes from the crude black crayon drawing. “Where’s your dad?”
Penny giggled and did a full pirouette—and Rebecca laughed, knowing exactly how she felt.
“He’s upstairs in your old studio.” She came close and whispered, “He’s waiting for you!”
“Then I better go get him,” she whispered back and leaned down to kiss the girl’s cheek. “Thank you, Penny.”
“Go already!” Elle cried and Rebecca looked up to realize that the whole café was watching her. Instead of panicking, instead of shrinking and freaking out, she made a bow, untied her apron and ran up the stairs.
A pink piece of construction paper was taped to the outside of her door.
/> Beware, it read, Cupid On The Loose.
There were pictures of Cupids in the corners of the paper. Penny had drawn them; Rebecca knew because she could tell what they were.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
And gasped.
It was a cloudy twilight, dark and gloomy so the lit candles set on the floors, stood out in beautiful relief. So did the roses that had been stuffed in an oversize olive jar.
Tears blurred her eyes and it took her a second to find the man responsible, but he stood by the windows, his hands in his pockets.
His hair was smoothed back.
He looked nervous.
“Hi,” he said with a silly little waist-high wave. He immediately put his hand back in his pocket and cleared his throat.
He was nervous.
Her heart started to beat erratically. Oh, what a man.
“You, uh… You’re standing on your next valentine.” He pointed to her feet, and she realized that scattered across the floor were a few more folded pieces of pink and red construction paper.
One was mashed under her tennis shoe.
She lifted her foot and grabbed the card.
I had no idea how cold I was without you, it said. But she couldn’t tell what…
“That’s me in an iceberg.” Will told her. “I’m not much for drawing. But Penny did that one…” He pointed to a pink piece of paper and Rebecca bent to pick it up, and the tears she didn’t fully realize she’d shed fell in big round blobs on the paper.
This is us now, the card read. This is us with you.
The picture was of the three of them, Penny, Will and Rebecca, all wrapped up in winter coats but there were no tears. There were big smiles and sparkles in the air. A dog with a spot over his eye with a big long tongue sat on Penny’s foot. Will and Rebecca were holding hands.
“Will…” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “Will, what are you doing?”
“It’s not me,” he murmured, the tips of his ears red and his eyes filled with a raw mix of emotions. She knew what it had cost him to put himself out there like this. But his blue eyes gleamed with happiness.
“Cupid made me do it,” he said with a shrug.
She swallowed…opened her mouth to say something funny or clever. Something that would take away his nerves. But no words would be as effective as what she really wanted.
Who Needs Cupid? Page 16