by Jamie Beck
Her mouth opened, just a little. Just enough to tell him that he’d surprised her . . . in a good way. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear his feet had left the ground.
“Thanks, Alec. For the flowers, the meal.” She smiled at him. “For proving me wrong. That’s not something I normally enjoy. I’d better watch out for you.”
“Perhaps you ought to.”
She laughed, completely unaware of how serious he was. He wanted her, but he couldn’t have her. My God, he could’ve saved her husband’s life if he’d only mentioned the damn note to her or anyone in her family. If he would’ve forgiven Mark.
If she knew the truth, she’d hate him.
“What’s wrong? You look sick.” When she touched his arm, he flinched.
“Nothing. Sorry. My mind wandered.” He opened the door, now desperate for her to leave. “Drive safely.”
Chapter Four
“I can’t stay too long because Mom’s waiting for me.” Colby sat on the world’s least comfortable, ultramodern barstool at the marble island in her father’s massive kitchen. As with most things, Jenna favored the style of the wood-and-nickel stool over other considerations such as comfort. Colby sipped the Earl Grey iced tea her father had handed her and set aside her mental to-do list for the moment.
“How’d things go with Alec last night?” He sat beside her, his long frame dwarfing the stool.
The memory of Alec’s intent expression as he sweetly bundled up that bouquet of tulips warmed her chest. That meal had been more memorable than chicken marsala—elegant without being fussy. The music, flowers, candles, and presentation had made her feel pampered and relaxed, which was precisely what she wanted A CertainTea to do for its guests.
Of course, her dad only cared about the bottom line.
“We came to an agreement about making changes.” Alec had also offered to reimburse her for having to reprint new menus. An offer she’d declined because, honestly, Alec needed a fresh start as much as she did.
“Good.” Her dad smiled, his brown eyes lit with a bit of humor. “I’m glad you compromised. Your brother’s been concerned about Alec. And I knew you were smart enough not to ignore his feedback.”
Although somewhat manipulative in his tactics, Alec had proved his point, and they’d had a productive discussion that morning with the staff about next steps. She assumed his high-handed way of establishing authority with the cooks stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t been involved in hiring any of them. If he didn’t settle down once they all got to know one another, she’d be playing mediator every day—the opposite of what she wanted. Of course, her dad played mediator every day at work.
“How can you stand being in the middle of Jenna and Hunter all the time?” If she had to work with those two every day, she’d be pulling out her hair. “Isn’t it exhausting?”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Then again, you know something about that from being in the middle of your mom and me for so long.”
“Not every day, though.” Even she heard the whoosh of relief in her voice.
Her father laughed. “I’ll take dealing with Jenna and Hunter every day to dealing with your mom any day.”
“Be nice, Dad.” Colby understood her parents’ inherent incompatibility, but she wouldn’t let him pick on her mom. “If it weren’t for her early love of green tea’s health benefits back in the eighties, you might never have started CTC.”
“Sorry.” He patted her hand without acknowledging the truth of her remark. “I’ll give Leslie this much—you and Hunter turned out great, and I can’t take much credit for that.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Colby couldn’t mask the surprised grin prompted by his confession. Truthfully, the quiet admission of his absentee-father status was the closest he’d ever come to an apology. “I’d pass along the compliment, but she’d probably faint from shock.”
“Actually, this topic leads to why I asked you here. I need help with Gentry.” His smile evaporated as deep grooves lined his forehead. “She needs . . . ah, hell, I don’t know what she needs, but some direction would be nice. Honestly, she’s more like your mom than you are.”
At twenty-five, Gentry hadn’t yet accomplished much more than provoking her parents. Having been raised by a series of nannies, she’d predictably gone through a healthy dose of teenage rebellion, the inky evidence of which still decorated her left wrist and ankle. After dropping out of college for a while “to travel,” she’d tried photography. When that didn’t take, their father had coaxed her back to college. Still a few credits shy of graduating, Gentry was no closer to setting any serious goals.
“Maybe Mom and Gentry don’t always have their feet on the ground, but in some ways I think they get more out of the journey than we do.” When her father shot her a cockeyed stare, she added, “I talked to Gentry a few days ago. She’s found work as a live mannequin and has started dating a new guy.”
“The hot dog guy, for chrissakes.” He drummed his fingers on the counter.
“Hot dog guy?”
“She told us he was an entrepreneur,” he snorted. “Turns out he’s a hot dog vendor in the city.”
Colby smothered a grin at her sister’s way of goading her parents. “To be fair, she didn’t lie.”
Her father rolled his eyes, then he glanced at the floor, frowning. “Nothing in her life has any permanence.”
The concern in his voice cut through any humor Colby might’ve found in the situation. Like her dad, she worried about her sister’s untethered way of drifting through life. Enjoying the journey had its merits, but so did security and purpose.
“So what can I do? I won’t spy. Besides, Gentry doesn’t exactly listen to my advice any more than yours and Jenna’s.”
“Would you consider hiring her to work at the restaurant?” He raised his hands in surrender. “I know we’re in the process of restructuring our roles, so I’m not forcing you to do this. But I’m asking you to think about your sister.”
Colby froze. She loved Gentry but didn’t exactly relish the idea of babysitting another difficult person every day. Her marriage had proved that job to be futile and painful. “Did she ask you to talk to me?”
“No. As far as I can tell, she’s perfectly content to be aimless.” He shook his head. “I’d like you to pretend it’s your idea. Make her feel like you need her. Like you want her to work with you.”
A CertainTea was supposed to be Colby’s “happy place,” not a job where she’d be a mediator, counselor, and pseudo mother to people like Alec and Gentry. Colby rubbed her hand over her face. “She may be aimless, but she’s not stupid. She’ll see you engineering this from a mile away.”
Colby knew Alec wouldn’t want to train Gentry in the kitchen, nor could she picture her sister carrying heavy trays or waiting on customers. Colby had hired a hostess, which left office support as the sole option. Now that she’d put her personal assets at risk, she didn’t need anyone around who would make her job harder.
“Is that a no?” Her dad sighed with resignation.
He looked exhausted—maybe even a little sweaty—sitting there rubbing his knee like it ached. And he had invested in her dream. The least she could do for him was help manage his stress.
“I’ll ask. Just don’t be shocked if she’s not interested.” Colby glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to go. Is she around?”
“No, she’s shopping with Jenna.”
“They do have that in common.” Censure colored her voice.
She respected Jenna’s accomplishments, but the woman’s picture was probably listed in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary under the term “acquisitive.” In the twenty-six years since marrying Colby’s father, she’d redecorated their McMansion four times and remodeled the kitchen twice. Her shoe closet was bigger than most people’s dining rooms, and her jewelry collection rivaled Harry Winston’s Beverly Hills store. In particular, Colby thought the kitchen remodels monumentally wasteful because Jenna’s cooking skills consisted of reheating whatev
er leftovers remained from wherever they’d eaten the night before—if that.
“It’s what girls do.” Her dad sighed.
“Not all girls.” Colby stood, wishing that hadn’t slipped out. He’d been open with her, after all. And Jenna worked exhaustively for the money to buy her precious things. “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure lately, and now I’m late for Mom.”
“Well, I won’t keep you.” He rose from the stool. “Thanks for helping. I hope you can get through to Gentry.”
Colby rose up on her toes and kissed her father goodbye. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.” He waved her off.
Colby fastened a bit of wire-welded fencing to a corner post in the garden. She gulped down half the bottle of water she’d brought out to the yard and gazed at the horizon. The sun hovered just above the trees now, painting a golden-peach wash across the sky.
Skies like this had been one of the few things that Mark had been able to appreciate when depressed. She withdrew from the memory of him lying in bed silently gazing out the window at such sunsets, and wondered if the guilty reflex of comparing the present to her past would ever end. Unfortunately, it seemed Alec’s return had set her back a step or two from that goal.
Setting the bottle down, she assessed her progress. Two sides completed, two to go. “Mom, if we want to finish tonight, I need more help.”
“My fingers are sore from handling that wire.” Her mom gently pressed her fingertips together twice.
Colby suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She’d split two nails tonight, but unlike her mom, she wouldn’t complain. The instant gratification and sense of accomplishment from doing handiwork were worth it.
“How about wearing the gardening gloves?” Colby unrolled more fencing from the spool by kicking it across the grass. “At least come help cut this section, please.”
“Don’t get snippy. If you would’ve let me hire someone to do the work, we could both be inside having a glass of wine like normal people.” Her mother came over with wire cutters.
“I’m pretty certain you’ll still squeeze in that glass of wine.” Colby shot her mom an amused look. “Come on, we’re almost finished.”
“Don’t rush me. I’m going as fast as I can. My arthritis hurts, you know.”
Colby’s chuckle emerged as more of a brief snort. Her mom didn’t have arthritis. She did have a habit of throwing out references to old-people problems as a way of reminding Colby that she needed help.
“When we’re done, you should stay for a while. There’s an interesting documentary I taped on this whole thing with legalizing marijuana.” Her mom tapped a finger to her cheek. “Wine is one thing, but these . . . potheads . . . I don’t know if this is a good decision for Oregon.”
“Potheads?” Colby smiled. “I think the term is ‘stoners,’ and I wonder if your poet warrior is one, like Yeats.”
“Richard is not a pothead!”
“How would you know?”
“He’s not!” Her mom drew her brows downward. “I’d know.”
“Oh? You mean like he knows about your dog?” Colby scoffed. She, too, had let infatuation trick her into thinking she knew Mark much too soon. “Have you admitted yet that you don’t have a dog?”
“Of course.” Her mom then grimaced. “Although he may be under the impression that I recently lost one.”
“Oh, Mom! That’s a terrible lie.”
“It’s a white lie.” She flipped her hands upward. “Who does it hurt?”
Colby shook her head. “Now I’m going to have to pretend, too. What’s our dearly departed dog’s name?”
“Snickers—a brown, gold, and cream-colored collie.” She smiled, proud of her inventive fib. In a twisted way, Colby almost admired her mother’s fluid relationship with reality. It would be much easier to ignore bad memories if she could continually reinvent herself and rewrite the past.
“Don’t cry to me when the truth comes out and Richard can’t believe another word you say.” She couldn’t blame her mom for wanting a relationship. Most people did. If Colby ever took that leap again—no, even that thought tightened her stomach.
“According to you, he’ll be too high to remember, anyway.” She sniffed, and then, in a classic maneuver, steered the conversation away from her flaws to someone else’s. “I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you or your brother wasting your time and money in those pot stores. Your sister, on the other hand. She’ll probably camp out there.”
“Mom!” Colby set her hands on her hips. “Don’t start in on Gentry.”
Gentry may have been in need of guidance, but she was basically good-hearted, if still a bit juvenile and self-centered. And honestly, Colby’s mother had made a habit of trying just about everything once. If she hadn’t tried pot yet, it was only a matter of time before she wandered into a legal dispensary. Perhaps even with her new poet friend.
“Sorry.” Her mother had the grace to blush.
“Hello!” Alec’s voice beckoned from the side of the house, surprising them both as he rounded the corner carrying a small box. “I saw your car in the driveway, but no one answered the doorbell.”
He’d made good on his promise from last night. She hadn’t been able to count on Mark to follow through with something as important as his therapy, let alone little things like this. Alec nodded at Colby, and a swell of gratitude and temptation cracked that fortress around her heart. How long had it been since anyone had done her a small kindness without expecting something in return?
“Alec.” Her mom wiped her hands on her jeans and started toward him with open arms. “My, my! Such a handsome young man. Come give me a hug.”
He did look handsome. Dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, his floppy bangs playfully dangling above his eyes. The late-afternoon sun bathed him in a movie star–quality glow. Colby gave herself a mental smackdown for that dippy reverie.
“Not so young, Leslie. But thanks.” Alec gave in to her embrace. “You look wonderful, too.”
“Thank you, dear.” Her mom smoothed her hair, preening. “What brings you by?”
“I’m having dinner with my mom, so I thought I’d drop off a few extra pear croustades.” He smiled broadly before winking at Colby. “I remembered how much you always liked them.”
Colby’s reluctant heart skipped another beat in response to his thoughtfulness and soft spot for her mom. Then again, maybe he just wanted to secure his job. The sad fact that she couldn’t trust his intentions skimmed plaster over those cracks Alec had just opened.
Her mother’s hands waved excitedly before she took the box and opened it. “Oh, thank you! This calls for coffee.”
Coffee, of course. Never tea. Her mother never drank tea anymore.
“Shouldn’t we finish this fence first? The rabbits, remember?” Colby guzzled her last bit of water, belatedly realizing that she must look frightful in her grubby jeans, gray T-shirt, and sweaty ponytail.
“Let’s finish tomorrow. Give my fingers a chance to recover.” Her mom wiggled the fingers of her one free hand.
“Looks like quite a project. I didn’t know you gardened, Leslie.” Alec’s gaze wandered from the garden to Colby’s mom. “I’m impressed.”
“You come grab fresh ingredients whenever you need them.” Her mother cast a proud grin his way and touched his shoulder like a practiced flirt. Colby itched with discomfort at her mom’s behavior, given that her own sexual impulses had gone into hibernation until yesterday. “Can you stay for coffee?”
“Thanks, but no. My mom’s waiting on me.”
“Another time, then.” Her mom patted Alec’s cheek. “We have to catch up, especially now that you’ll be working with Colby. I still can’t believe it. After all those years you practiced your cooking on us, and now you two are running a restaurant.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to do what I love.” A wistful expression passed over his face. “And who could ask for a better boss?”
Alec’s heart had taken a lot of beatings thanks to his dad’s antagonism, but apparently his rib cage had absorbed the blows without puncturing the resilient little muscle. Alec might not be considered a tough man by other people’s standards, but those folks weren’t using the right measure.
“I need to run, but it’s nice to see you again.” Alec shoved his now-empty hands in his pockets, like always. His nervous tell.
“Say hello to your mom from me.” Her mom turned uncharacteristically serious. “She’s over the moon to have you back home.”
A hush settled over the yard as Joe’s ghost floated among them, right where they’d all played so often. She could almost hear the giggles and shrieks coming back to life as nostalgia grabbed hold. Now her mother, Alec, and she stood there waiting for something, or some words, that never came.
“See you tomorrow.” Alec nodded at Colby and then disappeared around the corner.
“Let’s eat these fresh tarts now.” Her mom waved her over. “Alec looks much better than I remember. Such a gangly teen, and then so gaunt after Joe died. Guess I never paid enough attention to that one.”
Neither did I, Colby absently thought, glancing over her shoulder toward the Morgans’ house.
“That was excellent, Mom.” Alec loaded his dish into the dishwasher. “Nice and tender.”
“I learned from the best,” she said, teasing him.
He smiled and slung his arm over her shoulder. Her brown hair had grayed substantially, but her green eyes still sparkled with gold, like his. He also shared her Eastern European square jaw and high cheekbones, her long neck, and her introverted personality.
If Joe had been his father’s favorite, then Alec had been his mother’s. Thank God, because he’d needed someone on his side. Someone who’d encouraged his passion rather than disparaged it. His desire for his family to heal was complicated by his dad’s disposition, but Alec could swallow his pride—act more like Joe to make his father happier—if it’d save his family. He owed that much to his mom, anyway.