“I’ll text it to you. It’s rough.” He’d warned Byron that shoring up the Bradford place was going to take a lot of time and a lot of money. Byron hadn’t blinked an eye at the numbers or the timeline.
“Aren’t they all?” she responded, jogging down the stairs and shouting something to one of the crew as she went.
She was right.
All the properties Sinclair chose were rough. All the projects that he took on were difficult. He liked them that way. It kept his mind and hands busy, kept his thoughts from wandering to dark places.
Places like the one where he’d been earlier.
This was the anniversary of the explosion, and no matter how much he tried to forget the day, it always grabbed him by the throat and tried to choke the life out of him.
He’d left Seattle at two in the morning, sleepless and desperate to outrun the thing that was inside of him. The thing that demanded he grab a few beers, a few pills, step on the gas, and drive like hell through the snowy mountain passes.
Byron’s apartment hadn’t offered solace, but the run had done what it could, the adrenaline oozing out of him as the snow fell from the still-dark sky.
He’d run until he couldn’t run anymore, and then he’d turned back, seen the light in Chocolate Haven.
Maybe he should have ignored it.
Adeline didn’t seem brave enough or strong enough to go after what they both wanted, and he didn’t have the time or patience to convince her.
He wanted someone more mature than that.
Someone who knew what she wanted and went after it 100 percent. He wanted what he’d thought Adeline was. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Yeah. He should have gone up to the apartment and ignored the light, but he hadn’t, and when he’d seen Adeline, he hadn’t been able to make himself leave.
“Bro!” Gavin called from the bottom of the stairs. “You up there?”
“On my way down.” He left the attic and walked through the hall that had once been filled with junk. It was clean now, the old wood floors gleaming, the walls painted creamy yellow. Gavin stood near the top of the stairs, his jeans tucked into work boots, his jacket hanging open.
“This place is hot!” he said as Sinclair approached. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Keep it looking this way. That’ll be thanks enough.”
“I will. I can promise you that. Lauren is going to love it here.”
She would. Sinclair knew it, and that was enough to make all the time and money invested worth it. “She’ll love it as long as it stays clean and neat and—”
“No need for a lecture, bro. I know what I need to do, and I plan to do it.”
“I hope so,” Sinclair muttered as he headed down the stairs.
Maybe Gavin would do what he needed to.
Maybe he wouldn’t.
If he didn’t, he’d have to dig himself out of whatever mess he created. Sinclair had done what he could. He’d made something beautiful out of all the bad memories and the piled-up junk.
He walked down the stairs, bypassing the display of antiques set on old shelves. His grandmother’s things. Just a few. The rest were spread out around the house. According to his friend, some were worth nothing. Others were worth thousands. The value didn’t matter. What mattered was honoring the vision his grandmother had had.
Outside, the snow had stopped, leaving a layer of white on grass and pavement. It was pretty. Prettier than he’d remembered when he’d been thinking about returning. Prettier than he’d ever thought it was when he was a kid just trying to get by.
He waved good-bye to the crew, hopped in his truck, and headed back to town. He and Janelle were looking at a couple of properties. Most were big old farmhouses that had been left to crumble.
If he found one he liked, he’d buy it and restore it. If he ended up spending his life there, good. If not, he’d sell it for a profit. No harm. No foul.
He wanted to be excited about the venture, but he just felt tired.
Chapter Sixteen
Adeline had sold the first piece of fudge at ten that morning. By noon, a line had formed, dozens of people standing in the shop and outside of it, all of them waiting to get their hands on Lamont family fudge.
Because of the fudge Addie and Sinclair had made?
That’s what it had tasted like: Lamont fudge. Not the poor facsimile that Adeline had been making. The stuff she’d sold that day had been the rich, beautiful confection that her family had been making money on for generations.
That had been a surprise.
As a matter of fact, Addie had been so sure that the fudge was going to suck, she’d almost thrown out both batches. She’d seen Millicent hightailing it toward Chocolate Haven’s door about three minutes after the shop opened, and she’d known exactly what was going to happen: Millicent was going to come in. She was going to buy fudge. She was going to be disappointed. If Addie had had time, she would have yanked every piece of fudge from the display case and tossed them in the trash.
She hadn’t, and Millicent had done exactly what Addie had expected. She’d ordered a pound of each type of fudge, biting into a piece of one before she’d even left the shop. Addie had braced herself for the complaints that she’d known were coming.
Only they hadn’t come.
Millicent had walked out of the shop without a word, but an hour later, a group of church women had arrived. They’d heard that the Lamont family fudge was finally being served again. Every one of them ordered a pound. To a person, they’d bitten into a piece and offered rave reviews.
That had made Addie curious.
After they’d left, she’d taken a small piece of fudge and tasted it. She’d nearly died from joy as it melted in her mouth, because the fudge tasted exactly the way it was supposed to. Creamy, rich, silky, and smooth, with just a hint of family and love thrown in.
By one o’clock, she’d sold the last piece of fudge.
By five, the last piece of chocolate was gone.
The display case was empty, the shop silent.
She felt . . . good. Better than she had in a long time. Not just happy. She was that, but she also felt content and excited, interested in seeing what the next day would bring.
More fudge success maybe?
She wasn’t counting on it, but she had a feeling she knew the secret to her sudden success. She could hear him walking above her, the floor joists creaking as he moved across the room.
Outside, the soft splash of rain pouring from the gutter downspout offered a quiet tribute to what had been an epic day. Record sales. Record for Addie, anyway. She really did think she had Sinclair to thank for that.
And she really did think she should thank him.
Only she wasn’t sure she could face him again. Every time they were in a room together something happened. Every single time, she forgot that she didn’t want to date anyone, that she didn’t want to be in a relationship, that she didn’t want or need a man to make her life complete.
She hung the CLOSED sign, wiped down the counters, thought about that fudge and the way it had changed from nothing special to something special because of Sinclair. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was true, knew that having him there had added that elusive thing that the fudge had been missing.
Joy? Contentment?
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she’d felt it while she and Sinclair had worked together, and she’d known that something magical was happening.
Too bad she hadn’t told him that.
Too bad she was too much of a chicken to do it now.
She walked out the back door, her toes curling as cold water splashed onto her feet.
She really needed to buy shoes.
And she really needed to go home, but Sinclair’s truck was parked in the back lot, and she thought she heard the soft strains of a guitar drifting along on the quiet night air. Early morning snow had changed to rain, and it fell in soft, silent sheets, soaking her hair before sh
e’d taken a step away from the door.
Her head told her to keep walking, to get in her car and go home. She had a whole list of things that needed doing. A bed to buy, grocery shopping to do, dinner to make. The house probably needed to be cleaned. It was amazing how messy the place got with two kids in it.
Yeah. Her head was telling her to leave. Her heart, though? It was saying something else. It was telling her to walk up the stairs, knock on Sinclair’s door, see if the magic she’d felt earlier was something that just might last, because if it was, that was something special. She’d be an idiot to turn her back on it.
She walked to the bottom of the stairs, rain splattering on the pavement and on her hair. She could see Sinclair’s door and the light that filtered out from beneath it. The guitar music sounded a little louder there, and she thought she recognized the tune. An old blues song that made her eyes sting with tears that she had no reason to shed.
She stood there, listening to the music and wondering if risking her heart was worth it, if she could actually go into a relationship with Sinclair, knowing that maybe it wouldn’t last, that maybe in a year or two or three, it would be over.
The song ended, the soft splash of rain on pavement filling the silence. She swiped rain from her eyes, told herself to go up the stairs or to leave. She couldn’t stay there all night. She’d freeze to death. Or get carted away to the psychiatric hospital, because it really was crazy what she was doing, standing out in the rain wishing she had the courage to go after what she wanted.
The apartment door opened and Sinclair appeared, standing on the threshold, a guitar in one hand, a can of soda in the other.
“You going to stand there all night?” he asked, and she knew she had a choice to make, that this was it. If she walked away, she was walking away for good. If she stayed, she was staying forever.
“I’ve got a million things to do,” she responded, because what she really wanted to say was I want to spend time with you. I want to come up to the apartment and sit on Byron’s couch while you play guitar, and I want to look into your eyes and I want to know that we’re building something that’s going to last.
“Then why are you standing out in the rain?”
“Because I don’t know where to start.” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to be braver than I am.
“The beginning is always a good place. What’s the first thing on your list?” he asked, setting the guitar in the apartment behind him.
“You,” she said, but the rain seemed to carry the word away. Or maybe she just didn’t say it loudly enough, fear making the sound catch in her throat.
He didn’t move from the doorway, and she thought maybe she should just leave, but leaving meant giving up something wonderful. Someone wonderful.
“Adeline,” he finally said. “You need to get out of the rain. You’re going to freeze to death if you stand there much longer.”
He didn’t move toward her.
Things would have been so much easier if he had. Sinclair moving at the same time she did seemed so much less risky than her moving on her own, putting herself out there, being vulnerable again.
She grabbed the railing, icy metal stinging her palm, but Sinclair had turned and was heading back into the apartment.
“Sinclair,” she called, her voice hot and scared and rusty from all the things she was feeling.
“What?” He turned back, his eyes hidden by shadows, his jaw hard.
“That fudge we made, it was the best the shop has ever sold.”
“Yeah?” His expression didn’t soften, and she thought he was going to go inside and close the door.
“Yeah. I wanted to let you know, and I wanted to thank you for helping me with it.”
“No problem. I’m glad I could help out.” He crossed the threshold, walked inside, and she knew she could turn around and go home, forget what she’d felt and what they might have had.
Or she could do what Byron had said and fight for what she wanted.
She walked up the stairs, the metal clanging beneath her feet.
He hadn’t closed the door, and she stepped into the apartment, rain dripping on the floor and pooling around her nearly frozen feet.
He was there, just a few feet away, old jeans hugging his hips, a soft T-shirt clinging to his chest.
“Sandals,” he said, his gaze dropping to her feet, “are probably not the best idea on a day like today.”
“Tiny ate my sneaker.”
He didn’t even crack a smile, just watched her silently as she wiped moisture from her cheeks. “Maybe you need to replace them,” he suggested.
“It’s on my list.”
“Is visiting me on your list too?”
“No.” Her throat was so tight she could barely get the word out.
“What do you want, Adeline?” he said wearily. “Because I had a long night and a long day, and I’m too tired for games.”
“I was hoping,” she said, “that maybe you’d help me make some more.”
“More?”
“Fudge. For tomorrow.” Her mouth was so dry, she barely got the words out.
“That’s why you were standing at the bottom of the stairs? Because you wanted me to help you make fudge so that you could cross an item off your damn list?” He walked into the kitchen, set the soda on the counter.
“No,” she admitted.
“Then why?”
“Because I can’t do it without you, Sinclair.”
He laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. “You can run a shop and have your own business. You can take care of your grandfather and a couple of kids you barely know. I think you can make fudge.”
“Not like the fudge we made together.”
“What’s your point? We could spend hours together in that kitchen, Adeline. None of it will matter to me if I go home alone when we’re done.”
“Sinclair—”
“You want to be safe, right? You want to keep from being hurt. You want to be careful and cautious and certain that things will work out before you ever risk your heart again, but that’s not the way things work. It isn’t possible to be in a relationship without taking risks. Not when you give someone everything you have. And that’s all I want from you.”
“I—”
“Like I said, Adeline. I’m tired. How about we talk about this another time?”
She could have left then, walked out the door and gone home, but she couldn’t leave him. Not when he looked so tired. Not when he seemed so discouraged. Not when everything she’d been looking for and wishing for and secretly longing for was in his eyes.
“I have a better idea.” Her heart pounded frantically in her chest.
“What’s that?” His dark green eyes stared straight into hers, daring her, it seemed, to tell him exactly what she wanted.
Not help with the fudge.
They both knew that.
But it was hard to be vulnerable again, and even harder to believe in something that she’d given up on long ago.
“We can go down to the shop and make the fudge together,” she responded. “I’ll put on a CD, and we can listen to Bing croon while we do it.”
“Bing, huh?” He smiled so gently and sweetly, her breath caught.
“I’ve always had a crush on him,” she said. “If he were alive, I might just stalk his house and beg for autographs.”
“And since he’s not, I’m second choice?” he joked, but she didn’t want to be funny. Not with so much riding on the moment.
“You’re the only choice, Sinclair,” she said, pulling him out the door and into the rain.
They went down the stairs side by side, hand in hand, and she didn’t think anything could be more perfect than the rain and the darkness and the man walking beside her.
They walked into the dark shop, and she turned on the light, the clean counters and quiet kitchen comfortingly familiar. She hadn’t wanted to take over the shop for Byron. She’d done it out of obligation and concern.
She’d grown to love it though, and she thought it would be strange to wake up one morning and not go to work, odd to not have the scent of chocolate clinging to her hair and clothes at the end of the day.
“You’re sad,” Sinclair said, taking a dish towel out of a drawer and using it to dry her hair. His hands were gentle, his warmth seeping through her soaked clothes as he worked.
“Not really.”
“Then why do you look like your best friend just died?”
“I was thinking about how strange it’s going to be when Byron comes back to work.”
“And you go back to your life?”
“Yes.” She took the towel from his hand, stood on her tiptoes to run it over his hair.
God! He smelled good. Like rain and sunshine and cold winter mornings.
“Isn’t that what you want, Adeline?” he asked, his voice husky and deep. “To go back to the way things were? To have your life back the way it was?”
“No.” She looked into his eyes, seeing the softness there, the quietness of his spirit. He was the toughest man she’d ever met, and the gentlest, and she couldn’t believe he hadn’t always been in her life. Couldn’t fathom him ever not being in it again.
“Then what do you want? A fudge-making partner? A friend? Someone to play the guitar for you while you work?”
“I want you, Sinclair. That’s it. Just you.”
He smiled and bent to kiss her, his lips cool from the rain, his hands warm on her back. She lost herself in that kiss, lost herself to everything but him. His hands. His lips.
A dog barked, the sound barely registering through the haze of longing that seemed to be consuming her. She wanted more. Not just of his kisses, of his hands sliding along her spine, finding their way to her waist, not just of his fingers trailing across her skin. She wanted more of him. More minutes and hours and days. More time to enjoy his smile, his humor, and even his moods.
Sinclair broke away, panting, his eyes blazing.
“I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you, Adeline. You know that?”
She thought she did, because she felt the same.
She touched his cheek, her palm resting on warm, rough skin. “I feel like I’ve been waiting even longer for you.”
Sweet Haven Page 26