The Key to Love

by Betsy St. Amant

  “Well, Remy is back, so that notion is shot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He filled his boss in on the connection between his inspirational hero and Bri’s mother.

  Peter whistled. “Wow. Small world.” He hesitated. “You know, that would make an amazing tie-in to—”

  “Don’t even go there. I’m not writing about it.”

  “I know. Too soon.” A long pause hovered over the line. “I’m a man of my word, Gerard. Lead is yours—if you think you’re ready for it.”

  Gerard opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as he realized Peter had already hung up. He shoved his cell in the back pocket of his jeans and began packing up the remains of the abandoned picnic.

  Blast it—Peter nailed two things.

  He was falling for Bri.

  And he didn’t know if he was ready at all.

  Bri had always been able to count on Mabel and Agnes. They had consistently been there for her—teaching Sunday school, sneaking her snacks on the way home from school, babysitting when her parents went out of town. Ever since her parents died, they’d also been there, as close as family, filling in as many gaps as they could—sitting in the front row of her college graduation, being a shoulder to cry on after breakups, taste-testing new recipes.

  Bri needed them now. Except, she didn’t want to cry this time. She felt too numb to generate tears. Gerard’s words circled in her mind as she knocked lightly on the door of the sisters’ shared townhome, hoping they were still up. It was only eight o’clock, but the way they’d seemed so worn out lately . . .

  She knocked a second time, more timidly than the first. Emotions balled in her throat as she fought to process all the if-onlys crowding her thoughts. If only her parents hadn’t died, she wouldn’t be here right now, so needy. If only her mom hadn’t kept those letters, she wouldn’t have suffered the loss of her favorite memories. If only Gerard hadn’t betrayed her, she wouldn’t be trying to figure out how to mend the fissure in her heart.

  If only she could still cling to the security of her parents’ relationship, then maybe this fight with Gerard wouldn’t have stolen all her hope . . .

  She knocked a third time, her anxiety and frustration pounding into the wood.

  The door opened to reveal Mabel, sporting a robe and bright yellow curlers in her hair. Agnes was right behind her with a baseball bat, a green facial mask smeared across her cheeks and forehead.

  Mabel rolled her eyes at her sister. “I told you it wasn’t a burglar. What kind of burglar knocks first?”

  “The smart kind, to see if you’re home before breaking your window.” Agnes tapped the bat in her palm. “Don’t you watch crime TV?”

  “No. I watch I Love Lucy and Saved by the Bell reruns like a normal person.”

  Agnes huffed. “You couldn’t be normal if your—”

  Bri cleared her throat.

  Mabel’s eyes widened. “So sorry honey, are you okay? Come on in.” She ushered Bri inside, shutting the door behind her. Their townhome, as always, smelled like cinnamon rolls and cookie dough, but it was just from the scented candles Mabel insisted on burning year-round. “Is everything alright? Did something happen at the bakery?”

  Bri started to answer, but Agnes cut her off.

  “I thought you were going to Gerard’s tonight. Wait a minute.” Agnes narrowed her eyes, brandishing the bat. “Did he hurt you?”

  It was too much. The sight of Agnes, alien-green, holding a bat in her thin-as-spaghetti arms as if she could actually wield it against someone did Bri in. She started to giggle. Then the giggle turned into a cough, then into a hysterical guffaw, then a wailing sob. She choked, and tears streamed down her face.

  “Oh dear.” Mabel put her arm around Bri’s shoulder and guided her toward the couch. “Sit down. Agnes, get her some water.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. When someone is upset, you offer a hot beverage.” Agnes leaned the bat into the foyer closet and shut the door. “I’ll put on the teakettle.”

  Mabel sat next to Bri on the couch and picked up her hand. “You’re freezing.” She grabbed the crocheted afghan from the back of the floral-patterned couch and draped it around Bri’s shoulders. “There.”

  Bri gripped the blanket with both hands, the warmth soaking into her back and soothing the burst of hysteria. She hated how scattered her emotions had been lately. Mabel and Agnes had always been steady and constant in her life—she owed it to them to return the favor. She wasn’t a hormonal teenager anymore.

  But something about Gerard made her feel like a high schooler with a crush—out of control, uncertain, and slightly desperate. Was that love? If so, maybe she was better off forgetting about it. Forgetting about Gerard altogether and focusing solely on the Puff. Maybe they could expand the menu this spring and find a way to branch into national sales. That would bring in a lot of extra profit, if the shipping could be factored in cheaply enough. She could even create a website and a whole new marketing plan.

  Feeling better now that she had a new goal, Bri snuggled deeper into the blanket. “I’m sorry I scared you two.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Mabel waved her hand to dismiss the thought. “We don’t frighten easily. Agnes just likes an excuse to wave that ridiculous Loony Toon Sluggard around.”

  Bri wiped under her eyes, checking her finger for mascara streaks. Then Mabel’s words registered. “Loony Toon what?”

  “She means Louisville Slugger.” Agnes appeared with a mug, the tea bag string dangling over the side. She handed it to Bri before taking a seat on the adjacent armchair. “And that is why Mabel never played sports a day in her life.”

  “I preferred to cheer for the handsome players instead.” Mabel wiggled her eyebrows at Bri. “And they enjoyed my cheering for them, trust me.”

  Agnes pursed her lips. “I believe Bri came to us, Mabel. We should hear what she has to say.”

  “She’s just jealous.” Mabel elbowed Bri in the side. “Pay no mind.”

  Bri sipped her tea—green, with a touch of honey—and relished the familiarity of this moment. Their bickering was one of the more comforting elements in her life—it reminded her that some things really didn’t change. She took a calming breath. “I feel better already, just listening to you guys.”

  “Is that so? Maybe we should start a counseling service on the side, along with the matchmaking.” Mabel tapped her chin. “Instead of the love angels, we could be the wise old owls.”

  “Poppycock.” Agnes crossed one flannel pant–covered leg over the other. “You’re not so much wise as you are lucky.”

  “Sure I am.” Mabel cinched her robe belt tighter and squared her shoulders. “I’m wise enough to know why Bri’s here. Duh.” She stuck her tongue out at her sister.

  Agnes’s slipper-clad foot bounced a rhythm. “She doesn’t know yet. We haven’t told anyone.”

  Bri frowned. “Told anyone what?”

  Mabel’s face whitened. “About the Puff.” Her voice shrank a size. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Bri shook her head. “I came to tell you that Gerard is leaving—and we got into a big fight.” Her stomach clenched as she set her mug on the end table. “What about the Puff?”

  “Oh no.” Mabel reached toward Bri. “I didn’t know, I just assumed—”

  “You know what happens when you assume, Mabel.” Agnes stood up, glowering. “Now you’ve upset her again, and we’re out of tea.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want any more tea.” Bri sat up, tossing the blanket onto the couch. She asked again. “What about the Puff?”

  The sisters stared at her, the answer evident in their gaze. A rock settled into her gut, paralyzing her. She tried to swallow and couldn’t. No.

  “It’s for the best, sweetheart.” Mabel touched her shoulder.

  “How? How can it be best? Best for who?” Bri jumped up. Her legs trembled and the room tilted. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of them. Didn’t want to make them feel guilt
y. But she couldn’t stop the storm brewing in her chest. First her parents . . . then Gerard . . . now the Puff.

  She was going to be sick. “I have to go.”

  “Oh no. She’s mad.” Mabel wrung her hands. “This didn’t go the way I’d planned.”

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m just . . .” Unshed tears ballooned inside and begged for release. She didn’t want to hurt them, but she couldn’t believe it. They’d betrayed her too. Why didn’t anyone care about what she cared about? Why did everything have to change at once?

  It was too much. She wanted to hide. Wanted to feel safe. She wanted to go home. But that was the Puff, wasn’t it?

  Her home was going to be demolished—along with the last remaining pieces of her mother’s pedestal.

  Bri sat surrounded by tissues and Coke cans and stared at the plane ticket in her shopping cart, her mouse hovering over the “complete purchase” button. Paris was almost hers. Her mouth dried, and her finger trembled. What did she have to lose?

  Nothing. She’d already lost it.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Just click it. She should go. Prove Gerard wrong—show him that she’d love the authentic City of Light, and that she didn’t need a man by her side to appreciate it.

  Her heart sank. But he would never know if she went, would he? Their relationship, as quickly as it’d started, was over. She had no reason to tell him. If she did this, if she pushed that button—she had to do it for herself.

  Which she was most definitely not accustomed to doing. She was used to doing for others. Discounting treats and handing out coffee and offering a listening ear and a warm hug and a word of encouragement—which always went down better with a fresh petit four. She had no problem doting on others—so why the hesitation to do something for herself? She deserved this. Right?

  She took her hand off the mouse and fiddled with the miniature Eiffel Tower figurine on her desk. What would it be like to finally see it in person?

  A wave of anxiety, maybe even fear, rushed over her, and she quickly pulled her hand away. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest—away from the mouse. Where was the fear coming from? It was as tangible as her heartbeat. Maybe if she figured that out, she could just click the button already.

  Bri tapped one foot against the side of her desk as she ran through the possibilities. She wasn’t afraid to fly. That wasn’t it. She wasn’t afraid to be alone in a foreign city, though she felt somewhat unprepared. Nothing a little research couldn’t help, though. And she wasn’t afraid of the expense—she’d been able to afford it for years now, as Gerard had not-so-tactfully pointed out.

  Nothing jumped out at her as the obvious answer. So why the heart-pounding adrenaline rush holding her back?

  Everything in her wanted to go. Wanted to see the place where her parents fell in love. Wanted to taste fresh croissants and stroll the Seine and all the cliché things Gerard had made fun of—plus the not-so-cliché list he’d mentioned. As much as she hated to admit it, that list sounded incredibly appealing.

  She just wanted to do it with him now.

  That was it, wasn’t it? The fear holding her captive. All these years, she’d held herself back to take care of the Puff, to sustain it and her mother’s memory.

  Now that it was soon to be gone, she had no reason to stay.

  And was terrified to go.

  She groaned as the obvious sank in. Gerard lived fast to avoid planting roots—she clung to her roots to avoid living. What a pair they were. No wonder it hadn’t worked out. Well, that, and the small detail that Gerard had betrayed her. And yet she couldn’t turn her heart off long enough to see the truth. He’d played her for his story.

  Against her own ex-boyfriend.

  For cash.

  It didn’t get much lower than that.

  An ad for his and hers matching luggage sets popped up in the sidebar of the airline’s website. She stared at the happy couple toting their black rolling suitcases, the woman laughing as she half turned toward her clean-shaven guy. Bri snorted. She bet that guy hadn’t betrayed his woman—with her perfect ringlets—like Gerard had her.

  Then again, the guy on the screen probably hadn’t made that girl an authentic French picnic, kissed her in a fountain during a wedding, or wrestled her on a kitchen floor over burned petit fours.

  A smile tugged at her reluctant lips. Gerard, for all the bitterness he’d carried into town, had somehow represented a more genuine love than she’d ever had in any past relationship. Not by sweeping her off her feet with grand gestures, but with honesty, truth, and even confrontation—all when she’d rather live in denial. Over Paris. Over her parents.

  Over love.

  The fear knotting in her stomach began to unravel. He’d never been afraid to tell her like it was. To challenge her, to call her out on her blindness or her bad advice to friends and people she loved. He never avoided conflict for the sake of peacekeeping, like she did. All those uncertainties she’d had about Casey and Nathan’s engagement—had she ever voiced them to Casey? No, she’d hidden them. Gerard, however, who had nothing invested in Casey at all, immediately spoke up that day in the bakery and put her to the test—one Casey immediately passed.

  Which was more loving? Suppressing concern to avoid awkwardness or delivering honesty in love?

  She rolled the Eiffel Tower between her fingers. Gerard had stayed right next to her during the journey through her parents’ love story, and yet somehow, at the same time, he’d refused to let her stay in the misguided fantasy. He had shown her how beauty was found in reality rather than in an illusion. He had pointed out the depth of her parents’ love in her mom’s choice to stay and make it right rather than focusing on how it shouldn’t have happened at all. That spoke of grace. Restoration.

  Would a man like that really hurt her on purpose?

  The knot unraveled another inch. No. Gerard had been honest from the beginning—painfully honest, actually, about not liking her coffee and thinking her interpretation of Pride and Prejudice was all wrong. She smirked. A man who was forthright enough to confront her in a book club wasn’t sneaky and manipulative. She knew that.

  She hadn’t even heard him out. She’d taken the few pieces of information he’d partially explained and held on to them instead of the whole truth.

  Regret pinched hard. She had to make this right—or she’d always have that “what if” hanging over her head.

  Bri jumped up from her computer, her heart racing. She had to find him—now, before he roared out of town and officially out of her life. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the dining room chair and launched toward her townhome door.

  Time to run, for once.

  She started to flip the dead bolt behind her, then stopped. Oops. Almost forgot. Jaw set, she rushed back to her computer.

  Click.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  He wanted a petit four.

  Gerard stared at the rows of packaged candy bars and chips, debating his options. This town had created a stress-eat reaction in him, and since it had no twenty-four-hour gym like in Chicago to fight it off, he had no choice but to hit up the only gas station still open at nine o’clock at night and scrounge for sugar instead.

  He picked up and discarded a chocolate bar, frustration welling in his chest. Before Bri, he’d have just grabbed a Snickers and been on his way. Actually, before Bri, he hadn’t had much of a sweet tooth at all. Now, none of the options on the shelf looked appealing, yet the craving remained. None of them were petit fours or macarons.

  None of them were made by Bri.

  “Sometimes too many choices are a bad thing.”

  Gerard turned at the sudden voice over his shoulder. Pastor John. He sounded his agreement. “Especially when you know you don’t actually need any of them.”

  “Hey, that’s pretty good. I should work that into a sermon.” John grinned. Even this late in the evening, he looked energetic in a hoodie and track pants. “Person
ally, I can recommend these here.” With a wink, he reached out and snagged a package of Double Stuf Oreos.

  They actually sounded pretty good. Gerard picked up his own pack. “Are you a sermon-writing snacker?”

  “Sometimes, when I get stuck.” John shrugged. “Tonight, though, just had a hankering.”

  Gerard nodded. “Same here.” More like he was eating his feelings.

  “Did you finish the feature? Or is this supposed to help?” The pastor gestured toward the cookies.

  “It’s done. I’m done.” He and Bri were done. But then again, John never knew they were together in the first place. And the last place Gerard wanted to vent that entire story was in the candy aisle of a gas station.

  Or at all.

  “I’m glad to hear you met your goal but sorry to see you leave.” John easily held his gaze, his confidence more inviting than off-putting. “So, where to next?”

  “Home for now. Chicago.” Gerard studied the cookies in his hand, wary of John reading the unsaid in his heavy, scratchy eyes. “I’m up for a promotion, so I’ll stick around there for a bit.”

  “Congratulations.” John tilted his head, stepping aside briefly to make room for an older man passing down the aisle. “Right?”

  “Absolutely. It’s what I’ve been after. I’ll have a voice. More opportunities to help my mom. Deeper topics to write about.”

  John nodded slowly. “That sounds good.”

  It did. So why the gaping hole in his heart suggesting otherwise?

  Gerard squeezed the package of cookies. This had been a bad idea. He should have started for home already instead of making the wiser decision to head out at first light. He needed the wind on his face and the roar of his motorcycle in his ears to drown out the doubt. He needed the distraction of an adrenaline rush.

  He needed to move.

  “Staying in one place has its perks, you know.” John flipped and caught the package of Oreos, over and over, as casually as if he hadn’t just somehow read Gerard’s mind. “There’s something to be said for security.” Flip, catch. “For roots.” Flip, catch. His eyes locked with Gerard’s. “For relationships.”