“You’re my hero.”
“You’re late today,” Meredith observed, punching numbers into the portable register.
Lillian shrugged. “Everyone has to sleep in every once in a while, right?”
Meredith smiled. “Spoken like a city girl.”
She laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Thanks, Meredith. Have a good day,” Lillian winked.
“See you later, Lilly,” Meredith answered, turning her attention to a customer with a question about the tomatoes.
Lillian wove through the crowds toward Nan’s, thankful that, though the bakery’s tables were packed, there was only one person in line at the counter. She didn’t see Nan anywhere. A weekend employee, Alice, finished with the woman in front of Lillian, then took her order. Alice was busy filling a pastry box with Lillian’s order of a dozen cinnamon buns and a mix of mini orange scones, chocolate croissants, and two bagels with cream cheese when Nan emerged from the back.
“Back for more I see,” Nan said, a glimmer in her eyes.
Lillian accepted the box from Alice. “More?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.
“Don’t tell me Chuck forgot to share.”
Just the sound of his name kicked her heart into fifth gear. She licked her lips.
“I’m just getting dessert for tonight’s dinner, and a little something for Tiffany. She, uh…she helped me out last night, and I want to surprise her with breakfast.” She had no idea what Nan was talking about. And couldn’t get past the flush sweeping over her just thinking about her last moments with Chuck.
“He was in here just after sunrise this morning, saying you two had a breakfast date.” Nan’s eyes darted to Alice, her cheeks suddenly a rosy pink. “But I probably just misunderstood him.”
Lillian’s heart stuttered to a stop. Sunrise? That morning?
No.
“Did he,” the words tangled in her dry throat. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Did he say what time our date was?” She shrugged, her free palm raised. She quickly lowered it before Nan noticed the way it trembled. “I think I forgot.”
Nan’s eyes softened. “No, dear. He didn’t. But he ordered your favorite pastry.”
“My favorite...” Oh, no.
She looked around frantically for a clock, found one in the corner near the door.10:46. And Nan said he’d come after sunrise. To buy breakfast. For her.
Had he had gone to her apartment to deliver…had Drew answered? And if not—if she was spared such an awful possibility—why hadn’t he called her? She patted her jeans. No phone. She must have left it plugged in at Tiffany’s. She thanked Nan and Alice, or at least she thought she did. She meant to. She stacked the boxes, balanced the cartons of berries on top, and hurried out of the bakery and through the stifling crowds—had she found them charming just moments ago?
Once she’d climbed the stairs, she didn’t know which way to go. To her apartment? Tiffany’s? Or Chuck’s? Her feet made the decision before her heart could catch up. She set the packages on the floor next to her apartment and knocked on Chuck’s door.
Lillian pressed her ear to the door and knocked again, the door rattling against her face. Silence echoed on the other side. Either he wasn’t home or—
She curled her hand into a fist and pounded as hard as she dared. “Chuck!”
No answer.
Lillian rotated toward her apartment, terror melting into rage. The key jammed so hard in the lock she was surprised it didn’t snap off. She turned the handle and flung the door open. It banged into the stopper and shuddered. She bent to retrieve her packages then stormed into the kitchen and set them on the counter. Lillian braced her palms against the cold quartz, unsure if she wanted to turn around. If Drew was gone, great. But if not…?
A ragged snore came from the other room. Her room.
She crossed the living room and found what she’d dreaded. Drew asleep in her bed, the covers tangled around his waist. Her eyes rounded on his bare chest, then skittered toward the lump his legs made beneath the sheet. Was he…she swallowed…naked under there?
She turned around. “Drew, get up.” Why was her voice so hoarse?
A startled snort. A deep sigh. Lillian could picture him blinking, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Blinking more and looking around in confusion, the cords in his neck prominent as he lifted his head from the pillow. Then, lying back and closing his eyes again.
She hated that she knew so much about him.
“Drew,” she repeated, her voice more forceful, void of the earlier rasp. She pounded an open palm three times on the doorframe, barely noticing the pain that shot through her arm. “You need to get up, get dressed, and get out.”
She left the doorway, paced in her kitchen. Wished she had her phone so she could text Tiffany. Or call Chuck. Oh, how she wanted to talk to Chuck.
At last she heard Drew shuffle slowly into the living room. “Well, good morning, Lil,” he drawled. “Are you house sitting or something? This place is incredible.”
She spun on him. His shirt was open, chest exposed. His jeans—thank goodness he’d pulled them on—hung low on his waist. He stood barefoot, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He turned to her, tired face lifting into an obnoxious grin as he took her in.
“You look hot,” he said.
And that’s all it took.
His sleepy eyes flashed, then widened in shock as Lillian stomped toward him, gravity pulling at his lips.
Nostrils flaring, she almost slapped him. Almost. Unfortunately, that was illegal. And, most likely, not how the Lord would have her behave. Instead, she pushed him against the wall.
That wasn’t quite the same as slapping, right?
“Did you seriously just shove me?” His nostrils flared.
“Why wouldn’t I, Drew? What right do you have to show up at my building at three in the morning, harassing my tenants?”
He shook his head, brows furrowed. “Your tenants? What are you talking about—”
“What right, Drew?”
He didn’t answer. Only stared at her with unflinching, dull brown eyes. Dark bags hung under them. His cheeks were sunken—skin, pale. He looked as awful as she felt. Then, “I…I don’t know, Lee. I guess I thought we could just get back together like we always do.”
She shook her head so violently she was surprised she didn’t fall over. “Drew, we haven’t been together in a long time. You were in bed with someone else the last time we dated, remember?”
He opened his mouth, but she slashed her hand through the air. “We’re not talking about that, though. We are through. And never getting back together. And stop calling me Lee.”
Drew swallowed.
“Drew, did anyone come over here this morning?”
“Uhhh,” He rubbed his face with both hands, sniffed loudly. “I guess some guy knocked—”
He looked around, and Lillian finally noticed the white Daily Bread pastry bag and coffee caddy on the entry table beside the door. Two large cups told her all she needed to know. Heat burned behind her eyes. She blinked rapidly.
“And you answered? Please tell me you had clothes on.”
He looked down at himself, narrowed his eyes, thinking. “I think I had my jeans on.”
“Did he say anything?”
Drew massaged the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. “I don’t think so. I was out of it. He just…” he shrugged. “I don’t remember, Lee.”
Of course, he didn’t. “You need to gather your things and leave, Drew. And you’re not going to come back, ever again. Do you understand?” Her voice was soft, controlled. But barely.
Drew slowly raised his head and curled his lips up on one side. Had she once found that sexy? She was a different person in every way. His presence was a rotting heap of shame and regret, its odor soiling her bright and beautiful new life. He had to get out before she was sick to her stomach.
“Lee. Come on. You don’t mean that.”
Something snapped behind her eyes. A shrill torrent of demands escaped her lips, rapid fire in their eagerness to be spoken aloud at last. “No, Drew. You don’t get to ‘Lee’ me. Ever. You don’t get to call me or text me or come to my home when you want—ever again. You’re done here, do you understand? I found love—real, true, wonderful, beautiful love and you might have ruined it for me forever. So, Drewie, you will get your things, and get out!” Lillian barely recognized the words as her own when they escaped her lips.
A desperate sob broke through as she realized how true it all was. She’d probably lost Chuck forever. Lillian scooped up Drew’s flip flops and belt from the floor, shoved them in his arms, and pushed him toward the door, stopping short at the sight of Rhetta Goodwin standing in the hall just outside the still open door.
She held a long white envelope in the air between two fingers. Her rounded eyes toggled from Drew—open shirt, bare feet and all—to Lillian —face mottled red and most likely spouting spittle from her mouth. Lillian sucked in air between her clenched teeth. How much had the woman heard?
“Hi, Ms. Goodwin.” The forced brightness in Lillian’s tone wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Uh…I just came to drop off my rent,” Ms. Goodwin said, inching forward to drop it in the slotted lockbox. Drew and Lillian stood silently while the woman fit the envelope into the slot and let it drop. She turned to face them, her cheeks sucked in, painted red lips pushed out thoughtfully. Ms. Goodwin surprised them both when she squared her small shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her waist.
“And now, young man, I believe that Lillian asked you to leave.”
A soft laugh escaped Lillian’s lips as they opened in surprise. Drew shuffled back, clearly sizing up the small woman. Rhetta met his glare and doubled it. Drew muttered darkly to himself. He dropped his flip flops, the smack against the wood floor jarring Lillian’s rattled nerves, and stepped into them. At last, he made his way to the door.
Lillian called out his name just as he stepped into the hallway. He turned halfway, a hard mask settled on his features.
“I mean it; don’t call me and don’t come back. As the manager of this building I am officially telling you that you are not welcome here. Ms. Goodwin is my witness. If you step foot on our property again, if you so much as touch the buzzer outside, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” She didn’t know how she kept her voice so calm.
Drew snorted under his breath and continued down the hall. Adrenaline that had charged through her veins so relentlessly before, abandoned her in a rush. Lillian’s knees buckled, and she dropped onto the couch. She met Ms. Goodwin’s gaze and held it for long moments. The other woman smiled softly and nodded, turning to pull the door closed on her way out.
Chapter Forty-Four
In spite of his electrocuted emotions, Chuck slept deeply most of the day. He woke slowly, eyes scanning his surroundings, taking a minute to recognize the sparse living room. A key crunched in the lock, and he sat up as the knob turned. The agonizing squeak of protest proceeded the rustling of plastic. Chuck set his feet on the ground, rubbing his hands hard over his face to wake himself up, stubble scratching the palms of his hands. Felix shut the door behind him, a blast of hot air skittering across Chuck’s form.
“Sorry, man,” Chuck croaked. “I didn’t mean to sleep here all day.” He stared blankly at the carpet.
“Not a problem. You obviously needed it.” Felix held up a grocery sack. “I got steaks, potatoes, and corn—you interested?” A case of Jones’ soda dangled from his other hand.
“What time is it?”
“About 5:40.”
Family Dinner started in twenty minutes. Chuck winced. Yeah…there was no way he was going to that. “Sure. Thanks. But only if you let me cook—no use letting you ruin perfectly good meat.” He attempted a smile. Failed miserably.
“Sounds good to me. I’m going to grab a shower.”
Chuck had smoke pluming from the grill’s chimney by the time Felix stepped out on the small deck, clean shaven and dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved button-down shirt.
Chuck gave him a once over. “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me.”
Felix clapped a hand on his shoulder on his way to the table where Chuck had set out the case of cream soda, paper plates, and four potatoes he’d nuked in the microwave.
“I have a date with Tiffany. I was supposed to join her for Family Dinner, but I convinced her that you needed me, and I would pick her up later. Between you and me, I was glad for the excuse; tonight was Meatless Mashup.” An exaggerated shudder wiggled up his spine.
“Happy to give you an out,” Chuck said, lips twitching briefly. He gave a mock salute with the tongs before turning the foil wrapped corn. Heat that had nothing to do with the grill mercilessly hallowed out his stomach. The cause? A beautiful brunette roughly five miles south. He could see Lillian’s face in the shimmers of heat rising from the coals as she would be right at that moment—seated at the head of the table, smiling with joy at anyone and everyone gathered around the long table.
He tried to shake the image from his head. Unfortunately, he was not an Etch-A-Sketch.
Man up, dude.
Two short, loud buzzes shook the plastic table. Chuck glanced over. Felix lifted his phone and smiled to himself before tapping out a reply.
“How’s Tiffany?”
Felix finished texting and set the phone back down. “I think the better question is, how are you?”
“Why, what did Tiff tell you?” It was the first time it occurred to him that Felix probably knew more than he did about his own relationship at that moment.
“Just that she thought you might need a friend. And that I should tell you to call Lillian.”
Chuck sucked in a breath. Did Lillian want him to call? Or was that Tiffany doing her Tiffany thing and trying to fix everything? He transferred the steak to a plate, tenting it with foil. He moved the corn to the top rack and shut the lid.
“Those just need a few more minutes,” he said, setting the steak on the table before sitting down. He twisted the cap off a soda and took a long drink. Felix waited.
Chuck rolled the bottle in his hands and hunched forward, letting the last twenty-four hours spill out. When he finished, the silence stretched taut in the hazy summer heat. Something popped and sizzled in the grill. Chuck rose to retrieve the corn and set that plate on the table.
“Wow, Buddy,” Felix said at last. “I don’t know where to begin.”
Chuck chose a steak for himself, doctored his potato, and unwrapped the corn, the foil burning his fingers. “I’m sure you can’t rattle me any further, Felix. Just say what’s on your mind.”
“What were you thinking using sex to vent your frustration?”
Chuck cut a bite of meat and forked it into his mouth before he could answer. Figures that’s where Felix would start. Served Chuck right for asking Felix to be his accountability partner in high school. Shouldn’t that kind of thing have a statute of limitations? “I didn’t say that I used sex at all, man.”
“You implied it. Did you go too far with her, Chuck?”
“No,” Chuck spoke around the bite, one cheek bulging. “At least I don’t…I don’t think so. I mean, physically, it was just kissing. Definitely heavy kissing, but still just kissing. My mind wasn’t exactly in the right place…”
Felix’s face hardened.
“But I didn’t act on it. Not completely.”
“And that makes it okay?”
A flash of anger coursed through him, and Chuck sat back in his chair, knife and fork still gripped tight in his hands. “Of course not.” He pointed the fork at Felix. “But are you honestly telling me you’ve never kissed Tiffany and had your mind stray, Felix? Even if your hands didn’t?”
Felix averted his eyes. Shoved a scoop of potato in his mouth without answering.
“That’s what I thought.” Chuck leaned forward again. “Anyway, it’s not that, Felix. You don’t
have to make me feel any worse than I do. I promised her from the beginning that I wouldn’t put her in that position. That I wouldn’t kiss her behind closed doors. Because I knew from the very first time I kissed her that I wouldn’t always be able to behave. And last night, thank goodness, she stopped me before I could prove just how okay I was with misbehaving.”
He took another pull from the bottle, and set it down. He rolled the fizzy drink around in his mouth before swallowing. The bubbles seemed to expand on their way down, pushing painfully against his throat. He cut another bite of steak.
“And, apparently, I pushed her right back into her ex’s arms,” he muttered.
“Oh, come on, Chuck. You can’t believe Lillian would do that.”
“He answered her door at six in the morning, Felix. Without a shirt on.”
“She wasn’t there, man.”
Chuck paused, the fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
Felix took a bite of corn, rolled the cob and took another, in no rush to answer. Chuck’s heart pounded in his ears.
“What do you mean, Felix?” Oh man, was that his pleading voice? He cleared his throat.
Felix finished the corn, wiped his hands on a paper towel. He swept his tongue to his upper teeth and sucked loudly. Chuck nearly grabbed him by the collar.
“Tiffany called me this morning, wondering if I knew where you were, Chuck.” He met his friend’s hungry stare. “Lillian had nothing to do with Drew coming over. He showed up sometime in the middle of the night, completely wasted. He was buzzing her old apartment. That tenant called Lillian, and Lillian went downstairs to try and get him to leave. He wouldn’t; then he forced his way inside.”
“Why didn’t she call me—” Only, she had. But he’d been too absorbed in his own dark thoughts to hear it or answer.
Chuck set his elbows on the table, dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until spots danced and popped behind his eyelids. “Oh, man. So, why didn’t she call the police, then?”
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