Sugar and Spice

by Shandi Boyes

  James did say his car was a few years older than me, but he failed to mention it was a classic.

  “No. Come on, we only have a few miles left to travel.”

  I glance down at the crude map the fast food attendant thirty miles back drew for me before returning my eyes to the bouncing fuel needle. It’s not sitting just above the E or even on it; it is sitting below it. I am nearly out of gas, and there isn’t a gas station in sight. I can only hope the hospital Cormack mentioned before our call was disconnected is the one I’m traveling toward.

  “It’s just over the horizon. We are right there. I know you’re thirsty; so am I, but if you keep going for a little longer, I’ll fill you up with premium. With skyrocketing gas prices, that’s the equivalent of liquid gold.”

  Pretending it is perfectly sane to talk to a car as if it is a human, I continue my journey. I am beyond exhausted, but the devastation in Cormack’s tone when he told me about K is fueling my campaign.

  His pain was raw, his heartache unmissable.

  And for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I know not all of his heartache solely resides with K.

  “Yes! You did it!” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, ecstatic we made it all the way into the dimly lit parking lot with the engine still running. “I owe you big time.”

  After snagging my dead phone from the middle console and my hoodie from the back seat, I clamber out of James’ car and dash toward the emergency entrance of the private hospital in Hamptons Beach.

  My disheveled appearance gains me the attention of a lot of eyes, but it doesn’t bother me like it usually does. I am sure I look like a wreck. My hair and teeth haven’t seen a brush in over twenty-four hours, and my constant fight to keep from crying makes me look like a drug addict. I deserve their gawks—this time.

  My ballet flats coming to a skidding stop alerts the emergency department clerk of my arrival. “Hi, I’m looking for K. . . K. Attwood.”

  The suspicion in the clerk’s eyes grows when they rake down my hoodie-covered body. The blob of mayonnaise on my shirt is compliments of Florence’s love of condiments, but the dribbles of lemonade are entirely my fault. I didn’t lower my speed before taking a sip.

  “Are you family?” The clerk’s tone advises she already knows the answer to her question.

  I nearly shake my head, until I realize honesty won’t get me anywhere fast. “Yep,” I reply, giving the P an extra pop.

  When she puckers her lips, silently calling me out as a liar, I snarl, “I don’t want or need your approval, lady. I’ve got butt kisses coming out of my ass, so you can be assured I don’t need any more. . .”

  She tries to interrupt me, but I continue talking, “But if you don’t take me to my grandmother’s room this instant, I’ll have your ass fired within the hour! Capisce?”

  She leaps from her seat and begins down the hall. I save my dropped jaw until she is a few steps in front of me. I can’t believe that spoiled brat routine Colby used on me months ago actually works. What happened to the days where manners opened doors and rudeness closed them?

  My peacock feathers bend when the clerk scans her ID on the large double door of the intensive care unit before gesturing for me to follow her. Oh no.

  The further we venture into the cold, sterile environment, the lower my heart hangs in my chest. Am I to blame for this? Was K’s wish to bake my wedding cake the reason for her collapse?

  K’s room is located in the hub of the ICU. Although it is separate from the other patients, the walls are made of glass, giving her no privacy. They also allow me to see the man sitting at her bedside. Cormack’s eyes are as dark-rimmed as mine; his head is hanging just as low. He is holding K’s hand, which looks frailer than it did just yesterday.

  As if he has sensed my presence, Cormack’s head lifts. His eyes don’t float around the room; they lock straight onto mine. “Harlow. . .” He only says my name, but the way he delivers it breaks my heart more. Not all the darkness rimming his eyes is because of K. Some belongs to me.

  Realizing that I am not an intruder, the clerk leaves without speaking a word. My greeting to Cormack is just as quiet. I offer him a tight smile before making my way to the opposite side of K’s bed. My first thought was to go to him, so it is a conscious effort not to.

  “What happened?” I ask, my words as feeble as my limbs feel.

  After dumping my jacket on a chair, I curl my hand over K’s resting at her side. She doesn’t move, but I’m certain she has sensed my presence.

  My eyes turn to Cormack when he says, “She had a heart attack. A bad one.” The moisture in his eyes triples the wetness in mine. “She’s been unresponsive all day. They don’t think she’ll pull through.”

  “Oh, Cormack. I’m so sorry.” Words won’t improve anything, but they are all I have, so they are all I can give him.

  Realizing there is one more thing I can give him, I gently squeeze K’s hand before crossing the room. Cormack’s eyes remain on mine the entire time. The air is void of the lust that generally bristles between us, but our mutual admiration is as strong as ever.

  The deep sigh he releases when I curl my arm around his shoulders bursts the dams in my eyes. It is a heartbreaking sound I’d give anything to never hear again. “Don’t give up hope. She’s still here, Cormack. That means she’s fighting.”

  Hearing the sobs I am unable to stifle with words, he pulls me into his lap to sit. It doesn’t erase our fight or change a single thing between us, but that’s not what this is about. It is comforting someone in their time of need—nothing more, nothing less.

  I don’t know how long we stay huddled together. It isn’t long enough for my tears to dry, but long enough for the nursing staff to notice K has more than one visitor.

  “No one should be here at this hour. Don’t make me revoke the privilege,” a nurse in her late sixties snickers as she glances down her nose at us.

  Taking her stern warning as the law, I slip off Cormack’s lap. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  Before I can get two steps away, Cormack seizes my wrist in a gentle grip. “You just got here. You should stay.”

  He steals my chance to reply by cupping my jaw in his hands. He clears away the tears sitting on my cheeks with his thumbs, not the least bit concerned by the glare the nurse is giving him. It is the simplest thing for him to do but has the greatest impact on my sanity. That is not something a person would do for someone they don’t care about. Especially not in the hospital room of a woman he admires and respects.

  “Stay as long as you want,” Cormack says softly before pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth.

  After watching him leave, I stand in silence for a few minutes, unsure what to do. I’ve never been awarded so much respect before, I honestly don’t know how to handle it. Even in a moment of crisis, Cormack led our exchange with dignity. That is remarkable. It also reveals why I was so blindsided by his betrayal. I didn’t think he had a deceitful bone in his body.

  I’m snapped from my thoughts when a throaty garble rumbles through my eardrums. My eyes rocket to K, certain the noise came from that direction. Other than the faint crinkle of her lips, she is peacefully sleeping.

  “K? Was that you?” I pace closer to her, my steps half their natural stride. There is an eerie feeling in the air, like I’m seconds away from being scared within an inch of death.

  The prompts of my body are spot on when someone suddenly grabs my wrist. I nearly scream blue murder, until the silky smoothness of the hand alerts me to its owner.

  “Oh my god, K. You scared the poop out of me.” When her pained blue eyes lock with mine, I say, “I’ll get the nurses.”

  The origin of Cormack’s lightning-fast reflexes comes to light when she stops my retreat by tugging on my wrist even more firmly. Considering the ordeal she went through today, her hold is strong.

  “No fight. Love.” Her voice is faint, but I’m certain of what I heard.

  I stare at K, open-mouthed and wi
de-eyed. Our interactions the past three months revealed she understands English, but I didn’t know she could speak it.

  When she repeats the same three words, I nod, understanding her objection. K is a lover, not a fighter.

  My agreement loosens her grip on my wrist. I brush my thumb over the translucent skin on her hand. I feel conflicted yet privileged. I wish Cormack was here when she awoke, but I’m also grateful I was awarded the honor.

  Only once K’s breathing settles to a regular pattern do I dart to the nurses station to alert them of her awakening.

  My next visit is to the family waiting room.

  K drifted in and out consciousness for the next five hours, but as the sun dawned, so did her lucidity. We left her room after only ten minutes with a hearts full of hope and a minds full of bewilderment. She was sitting in bed, eating strips of toast while grumbling in Finnish about its lack of flavor. Her recovery is nothing short of a miracle.

  “When did Mummon learn English?”

  Colby and Cate glare at Cormack like he is crazy. Mine is more of an excited stare. Did K talk to him as well?

  “She doesn’t speak English. That was her way of sticking it to the snobs. She refused to communicate in any language but her native tongue.” Colby laughs, amused by his grandmother’s stubbornness. I smile too. I could just imagine how that went down with the pretentious people in her husband’s industry.

  Cormack’s eyes rocket to mine when I say, “No Fight. Love.”

  He remains quiet, but his sharp intake of breath answers my question before I can ask it. K is playing matchmaker.

  The dawn of a new day is the equivalent of an atom bomb to my eyes when we enter the parking lot of the hospital. Colby and Cate break away to a convertible parked illegally in a handicapped spot, leaving Cormack with me. If I wasn’t still reeling from K’s miraculous recovery, I’d look further into it. But since the only thing I want to see for the next twelve hours is a bed, I leave it on the back burner.

  “Where did you park?” Cormack asks, his eyes scanning the lot. Not expecting a moss green vintage classic, his tired eyes skim past James’ car.

  “That’s me.” I point to James’ car, my voice high with embarrassment. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. That car saved my life today. I will forever love it. Furthermore, Cormack doesn’t judge anything based on its price tag. I think.

  Yesterday, I wouldn’t have hesitated with my reply. Today, I’m lost.

  When confusion slashes across his face, I say, “It’s a long story. One we don’t have time to discuss right now.”

  He nods, the tiredness on his face apparent.

  “Where’s your car?” There are a lot of pricey cars in the parking lot, so I’m unsure which one is his.

  “I don’t have a car here.” When I peer up at him in confusion, he explains, “I came in the ambulance with K. She collapsed during our fight.”

  “Oh.” I want to say more, but I’m lost for words. I thought his lack of contact was because he didn’t care. I had no clue it was for other extremely important matters.

  Cormack’s glistening baby blues bounce between mine when he asks, “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”

  I nod before my brain can fire a single objection. Even if my answer wasn’t prompt, I don’t see it changing. No matter what happened between us, I am not a monster. Cormack has been through an ordeal today; the least I can do is make sure he gets home in one piece.

  “We’ll just need to stop somewhere for gas. I’m sitting on E.” My grimace reveals I’m not looking forward to the hit to my credit card. I promised James’ car premium gas if he made it to the hospital. He kept his word, so now I must keep mine.

  Cormack and I make the trip to Mummo Koti in silence. It is as uncomfortable as it sounds. We never suffer big bouts of silence when we are together, so the strain is highly noticeable.

  When I pull to the front stairs, a valet rushes down to open Cormack’s door. My heart leaves with the rush of warm air vacating the car. I know what must be done, but leaving here for the second time in a little over twenty-four hours is going to be hard.

  Just before Cormack clambers out, he shifts his eyes to me. “You don’t owe me anything, and I will understand if you say no, but can I please show you something? It won’t take more than a minute of your time.”

  My heart and head are saying no, but K’s plea for peace has me saying yes.

  “Yes?” Cormack double-checks as the life in his eyes returns for the first time the past five hours.

  “Yes,” I confirm with a weak nod.

  After requesting the attendant keep my car close by, Cormack rushes around to my driver side door to help me out. The meaning behind his chivalry is somewhat lost on me today. I will always see Cormack as kindhearted, empathetic, and sweet, but there are a few more words his betrayal added to his list of qualities. They are nowhere near as pleasant.

  For the first time ever, we climb the stairs of Mummo Koti not hand in hand. I can see it is just as much of a struggle for Cormack as it is for me. He wants to touch me. He wants to beg for me to listen, but he is also being respectful of my decision. That eases the turmoil twisting in my stomach.

  “This way,” he requests, ignoring the eerie quietness of a space usually humming with activity. K is the very essence of Mummo Koti, so the loss of her presence is sorely noticeable.

  Cormack leads me to the same office I fled yesterday. All the rooms in this mansion have a similar style, but I know this is the same room. How? My engagement ring is sitting where I left it.

  After gesturing for me to sit, Cormack moves to the other side of the desk. I sit in the chair furthest away from my engagement ring. It hurts too much to look at it. Only yesterday, I thought my dreams were about to come true. Today, I woke up in a nightmare.

  Intuiting my unease, Cormack slips the ring off his desk and slides it into his pocket. I stop staring at my feet when he secures a rolled-up document in his hand. With the devotion of his eyes locked on mine, he rolls the paper across the desk. It is a similar map to the one Clara showed me yesterday, just twenty times the size. Although my bakery remains in its original place, the shops surrounding it look a little different. They are modern and sleek, yet retro. A drastic improvement from the shambles they resemble now.

  “The architect who drew these took elements of your bakery and included them in the buildings surrounding it.” He runs his hand along the shop frontage with the same quirky features my great aunt installed back in the ‘40s. “After I met you, I asked him to add an additional layer.”

  When he removes his hand from the first sheet of paper, a second map becomes exposed. This one is nearly identical to the first, except most of the buildings surrounding my bakery now include a second story. The entire top floor of my block is earmarked for Destiny Records Headquarters, revealing he plans to keep all the original shops he purchased instead of knocking them down. Although his redesign eases the conflict brewing in my gut, it doesn’t explain why he kept his rival bakeries operating in the weeks following our introduction.

  There is only one reason he didn’t immediately shut them down: he had every intention of extracting me from my bakery even after we met. That hurts. That hurts a lot.

  When I take on my fighting stance, Cormack says, “Look at the dates, Harlow. I requested for these plans to be drawn up the morning you left my office. I tried to convince myself they would never be used, but the more they came together, the greater my excitement grew.”

  “But it wasn’t enough for you to stop your campaign altogether.” Hurt resonates in my tone. “You stood in my bakery, baking with me, all while knowing you were the man responsible for its demise.”

  He nods, knowing no amount of lies will save him. “I made a mistake.”

  “Yes, you did. A big one. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.”

  My words drain the color from his face, but he accepts them without retort. I can feel his devastation. I understand his so
rrow, but I can’t forgive an admission of error without an apology.

  After a small bout of silence, Cormack says, “K said what she did because she doesn’t want us fighting.”

  “I know,” I agree. “But I need time, Cormack. Time to think. Time to sleep. I need . . . time.” My last word is a sigh.

  “How much time?” I can hear the hope in his voice. Time to think means I’m not immediately ostracizing him as I did yesterday. He can work with that.

  I swallow to soothe the bile burning my throat before shrugging my shoulders. “I don’t know. It could be a week. A month. A year. I honestly don’t know.”

  The gasp he releases adds to the knot in my stomach. It was as painful as the one he delivered at K’s bedside. My reply hurt him as much as it did me to issue it.

  “Okay,” Cormack eventually murmurs. He rolls up the papers and returns them to the cabinet next to his desk. “I need to stay at Mummo Koti until K recovers, but I will arrange for the jet to take you back to Ravenshoe?” Although his sentence sounds like a command, his tone doesn’t allude that.

  He stops staring at his desk when I say, “I want to return James’ car to him. It’s his baby. He cherishes it.”

  “I can have it shipped to him,” Cormack suggests.

  I screw up my nose. “That won’t be necessary. He lent it to me, so the least I can do is return it to him.”

  I can see he wants to argue, but he holds back, realizing this isn’t a fight he will win. He would also never force me to do something against my wishes. He is too respectful of women to ever do that, and his respect for me is even higher than that.

  He licks his dry lips before asking, “Will you at least stay until tomorrow, so you can get some sleep?”

  I once again shake my head. I can’t be this near to him and not crumble. Just his heartbroken eyes already have my restraint wavering. I won’t survive another hour in his presence.

  “Alright.” Who knew so much pain could be expressed in one word? “I’ll show you out then.”