Gimme Some Sugar

by Juliette Poe

  “That’s awful,” she murmurs sadly.

  “Do I sound bitter?” I ask with a mirthless laugh.

  “You sound conflicted, and now I understand why,” she says, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “I guess the only thing I’d tell you is don’t set yourself up for regret. You don’t owe them your time or attention, but if you withhold it and something were to happen to your dad, what type of regret are you going to have?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that either,” I say honestly.

  “Then my advice is to play it safe,” she says. There is no hesitation in her voice. “You should go see him.”

  I blink in surprise, but not because of her advice. Larkin has a kind heart and is a devoted family woman. She’d always err on the side of family unity.

  However, the tone of her voice tells me how empathetic she feels over my difficult situation. She’s advising me to do something she probably knows I’d have never decide on my own.

  She’s pushing me out of my comfort level, and I respect her for it.

  There’s only one thing to do, though.

  “Will you come with me?” I ask.

  CHAPTER 20

  Larkin

  Diary Entry

  Monday

  December 28th

  Dear Diary,

  We’re in the airport, waiting to board soon. Deacon is pacing up and down the concourse, clearly nervous.

  Not about flying, but because of our destination.

  He’d asked me two days ago to accompany him to see his father, and I couldn’t turn him down. Which is weird. I haven’t taken any time off from my business for almost six years now—not vacations, sick days, or even just plain old hooky days. The bakery has always come first.

  But I didn’t hesitate.

  I said yes without even having a defined game plan on how to cover the bakery. Of course, I got it covered—shout out to Lowe and Mely for returning the favor I’d done for them.

  I won’t be gone as long as they were. Deacon just wants to fly in for two nights. I get the sense he feels even that might be too long to be stuck there.

  I got mixed reactions from the family about going on a trip with him so soon after meeting him.

  My mama had said, “Be careful honey but have fun.”

  Daddy had just given me a blank stare.

  Trixie had lectured me. “You hardly know this guy.”

  Pap had encouraged me. “I sense he’s good folk and probably comes from good folk.”

  Laken had squealed. “Did I tell you he’s hot? Because he’s really hot.”

  Colt had only shot me a hard glare.

  My family is adorable, but none of them really get it.

  I’m going with Deacon to Idaho to visit his family because even though I haven’t known him that long, I’ve already fallen hard for the guy. There’s just no stopping this in its tracks.

  At least not for me.

  I can only go forward.

  They’re starting to board the plane… gotta go.

  Love,

  Larkin

  CHAPTER 21

  Larkin

  The ride from the Boise airport to the Locke family home is short, and Deacon points out places of interest.

  The high school he attended.

  The grocery store where he’d worked as a bag boy in high school.

  One of his stepsister’s neighborhoods where she now lives with her family, not too far from our destination.

  The weather is unbearably cold for a Southerner like me. My wool winter coat is fine for the milder North Carolina December, but it wouldn’t suit the weather here for long. Deacon assured me it would be fine for this trip since we wouldn’t be spending time outdoors.

  Good thing, too, as I take in the layer of fresh snow on the ground. The roads are all clear and dry, but the snow just fell yesterday and will probably be here until we leave the day after tomorrow. It’s beautiful to look at, though. The rare times we get snow in North Carolina, we are ill prepared for it in the mid and eastern parts of the state, unlike our mountainous west. Everything shuts down if a few flakes fall. Luckily, it never lasts long as the average temperatures just don’t permit it.

  Deacon pulls into a neighborhood that looks like it could belong anywhere. Mostly ranch houses with single-car garages and cement board siding in brick. It must be trash day as the streets are lined with the bins the homeowners roll out the night before.

  Deacon flips on the right turn signal, alerting me that we’re approaching his parents’ house. He slows, then pulls along the curb since the driveway is filled with three cars already.

  “Looks like the whole welcoming committee is here,” he murmurs as we come to a stop. He turns the engine off, but he just sits there. Deacon had called his stepmom two days ago to let her know we were coming for an impromptu visit, and I have no clue if it’s cool I’m tagging along. I wasn’t present for that conversation, although Deacon told me they were excited to meet me. I wonder what they think I am to Deacon.

  We get out of the car, and I shiver from the icy blast of an Idaho winter hitting me. Deacon rounds the front, then extends his hand to me. “I’ll come back out later for the luggage.”

  I smile as I place my hand in his, relishing the warmth against the chilly air.

  We traverse the sidewalk to the driveway. It’s cleared of snow, but it still has some icy patches. I walk carefully, clutching hard to Deacon’s hand. Strangely, I’m not nervous about meeting his family, but if the stiff bearing in his shoulders is any indication, this is clearly a little stressful for him. I’m not sure if I’m adding to that or not, but I’ll choose to believe not based on the gentle squeeze he gives my fingers.

  After we walk up the steps to the porch, I’m surprised to see Deacon raise a hand to knock. This is his family home, yet he knocks? At my parents’ house, we all just sort of barge in. I start wondering if that’s an inappropriate thing to do, but I discard that thought—at least for my family.

  The front door flings open. Weirdly, what looks like Deacon’s entire family fills the doorway.

  There’s an older woman—my guess is his stepmother, MaryAnne—blinking at us in surprise. Behind her is an older man, presumably his father, Frank. Behind them are two women about Deacon’s age. Scattered in between them, are one… two… three kids. Two girls and a boy.

  They’re all staring at us with wide, shocked eyes.

  “Deacon,” MaryAnne exclaims with a faltering smile. “I wasn’t sure we’d still be here when you arrived.”

  I can feel Deacon’s entire body go tight, just through the grip of our hands. “Excuse me?”

  MaryAnne shakes her head, giving an apologetic smile while she waves a piece of paper at us. “I mean… I knew you were coming. I was just getting ready to put this note on the door for you. We’re running a bit late.”

  “Late?” Deacon asks in confusion.

  “When you gave me your flight info, I had totally forgotten Casey has a dance recital. We’re all on our way out the door for that. We’ll be back in about two hours, so you and your friend just make yourself at home.”

  MaryAnne’s eyes come to mine when she says the word “friend,” and she actually stumbles over it. I can tell by the expression on her face she has no clue why Deacon has brought a woman here. She extends her hand, though, brightening her smile. “You must be Larkin. I’m MaryAnne.”

  We shake, and I offer a tentative, “Pleased to meet you.”

  “That’s Frank,” she replies with a half turn back toward her family. “Keely, Dahlia and the kids—Casey, Chloe, and Brandon.”

  His sisters smile and say, “Hi.”

  Deacon doesn’t say a word.

  Then they all come traipsing onto the porch. His sisters give Deacon quick hugs and promises to catch up when they get back. They move to the cars, then herd the kids inside. I wonder where their husbands are.

  Frank comes onto the porch, giving Deacon a hearty hug. “Good to see
you, son.”

  Deacon claps him on the back. “Good to see you too.”

  MaryAnne moves in, then hugs Deacon, too. “I’m really sorry for flubbing this up. I just hadn’t connected that your arrival was at the same time as Casey’s recital. But we’ll be back, and I’ll make a lovely dinner for everyone. You and Larkin just hang out here until we get back.”

  “That’s fine,” Deacon mutters, but it’s not okay with me. It’s kind of rude, actually.

  MaryAnne gives an airy smile before bounding down the porch, Frank following along.

  Then she stops, slaps her hand to her forehead, and turns to give Deacon a sheepish look. “And I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get a chance to clean out the guest bedroom. I’ve got my sewing stuff all over the place in there. So I’m going to have to put one of you on the couch. We’ll just have to make up a bed on the floor for the other.”

  “We’re going to stay in a hotel anyway,” Deacon replies easily, but that wasn’t the plan. We’d planned to stay here to spend time with his dad.

  “That’s probably for the best,” MaryAnne quips, then she and Frank hurry to their car.

  Deacon and I stand on the porch, watch all three vehicles leave, then turn to each other.

  “Sorry about that,” he says in a clipped voice. “That wasn’t anything against you.”

  “Oh, I can see that,” I reply, not able to keep the anger out of my voice. “That was clearly you just not being important enough for them to take any time off for you.”

  Wincing, I regret the rash, harsh words the second they leave my mouth. I didn’t mean to call attention to anything that would make Deacon feel like he was lacking. But how could they be so dismissive about him coming home to visit?

  “I’m sorry,” I immediately rush to apologize, stepping into him. I put my hands on his chest, which is protected by his thick leather jacket. “That was kind of blunt and rude of me.”

  Chuckling, Deacon shakes his head. “It was true, and you just got a first-hand look at the dysfunction of my very nice but far removed family.”

  “It’s awful,” I blurt, feeling I’ve been given permission to rant. “My parents would have had a band and huge party to welcome me home if I lived elsewhere and had come to visit. They wouldn’t have forgotten if there was a conflict. And if there had been one, they would have prioritized me since I had taken the time and spent the money to visit. And not cleaning out the guest room for you? Throwing you on a couch or the floor? My parents would have offered up their own bed to make me comfortable. And what the hell, Deacon? Why didn’t they invite you to the recital? That was just… wretched. And what makes it worse is that, well… they seemed nice. I mean… their intentions are a little misplaced, but I can tell they’re genuinely nice people and they do love you, but—”

  Deacon kisses me, which is an effective means of shutting me up. When his lips leave mine—which happens way too quickly in my opinion—he bends to touch his forehead lightly to mine. “You’re really, really cute when you run on at the mouth.”

  Leaning back, I look up at him earnestly. “You deserve better than that.”

  “I thought so for a time,” he admits in a deep voice that’s tinged with a bit of sadness. But it’s the acceptance in it that makes my heart hurt. “But this is not a surprising turn of events. I wouldn’t have expected much different, so it wasn’t really a letdown.”

  I make a clucking sound in the back of my throat, realizing I sound just like my mom when she disapproves of something. That thought horrifies me, so I cough to clear it out. “Still… I’m sorry. It has to hurt.”

  Deacon’s eyes cloud over slightly, and he slowly shakes his head. “Actually, it doesn’t. It’s what I’m used to, Larkin. I just feel bad that you feel bad. I know this is sort of foreign to you, but this has been my life for more years than I could even try to remember. I know not all families are like mine, but not all families are like yours, either. It’s just different experiences for different families.”

  Those words haunt me. It’s Deacon’s truth, that’s for sure. Family unity, loyalty, and support are just not a part of his frame of reference. It’s foreign to him. While it makes me sad, it doesn’t seem to have that effect on him.

  That makes me hurt for him even more, because, well… how can I expect him to want something more than what he has if it doesn’t even make sense to him?

  Doesn’t even appeal to him?

  “Come on,” he says with a broad, easy smile as he takes my hand. “Let’s go check into a hotel, then we’ll head over to Dumond’s Bakery to pick up something for dessert to go with tonight’s dinner. It’s nowhere near as good as your stuff, but it will do in a pinch.”

  My reply smile is a halfhearted attempt to shake off this sense of impending doom I feel where Deacon’s concerned. While he is everything I think I could want in a man—a long-term partner and lover—could he ever want me the same way?

  CHAPTER 22

  Deacon

  MaryAnne and Larkin are engaged in conversation about Larkin’s bakery. My sisters and their kids are gone. My dad is in the garage puttering around.

  I’m restless.

  It was a nice evening. After everyone came back from Casey’s recital, MaryAnne whipped up some kind of tasty chicken casserole. My sisters chatted with Larkin, not seeming overly interested but totally polite. Not that they wouldn’t find Larkin interesting, but I think it was more they just weren’t all that in tune with anything in my life. It’s not like they’re invested in my happiness.

  I was relieved their husbands hadn’t shown up. They’re pompous jackasses.

  The kids are nice. Always thought so, although I can’t say I’ve been overly close to my nieces and nephew. I send them presents for Christmas and their birthdays. They write back dutiful thank-you notes I’m sure their mothers force them to send. It works for us.

  Larkin got along great with everyone, though. How could she not when she’s utterly charming, genuinely kind, and funny as hell? The kids gravitated to her, and MaryAnne was happy to have Larkin’s helping hands in the kitchen.

  Most of my attention has been on Dad all evening, though. He’s definitely off, and I think MaryAnne is right to be worried.

  And she is incredibly worried. While she cooked and entertained, I could see the stress on her face as she watched her husband like a hawk all evening. I’m sure I missed some things, but others were obvious. He thought today was Monday, but it’s Friday. He couldn’t place Chloe’s name when he asked her to run out and get his newspaper, only to be reminded by MaryAnne he’d already gotten the newspaper earlier in the day and read it.

  He’d gotten up from the table about five minutes ago, saying he wanted to do some work in the garage, but I hadn’t followed since I hadn’t wanted to leave Larkin alone. She’s holding her own, though. Plus, I know she’d want me to spend time with him, so I rise from my seat. “I’m going to go hang out with Dad for a bit.”

  MaryAnne’s eyes come to me, and I can see her silent question. Do you see what I’m seeing?

  I give a slight nod. Yes, I do.

  Larkin gives me a reassuring smile, letting me know she’s fine and I should go.

  Dad had always loved working with wood. He’s a great handyman, but he’s an artisan too. He’d done things over the years like build new kitchen cabinetry or add to the back deck. But once he retired from the phone company, he started doing even more. He spends a lot of time in his garage, which he’d converted into a wood shop.

  I open the door from the mudroom to find him bent over a framed piece of raw wood. His head pops up. It seems it takes him a moment to focus on me, but I could be reading into that. Finally, his eyes warm and he smiles. “Hey. Want to give me a hand?”

  “Sure,” I reply as I come down the two steps to the cemented floor. I’d often helped him while I was growing up, basically handing him tools and cleaning up. He’d taught me some basics when I was younger, but we never did any projects together. I suppose
I inherited my gift of carpentry and such from him, but I can’t say it was a hobby we shared.

  “Hand me that… that…” He points over at his workbench along the wall to where he has tools hanging from pegboard. “That… um…”

  He points furiously at the wall where several tools hang. “The… um…”

  My dad motions with his hands, and I take a guess. “Bevel gauge?”

  “Yes, the bevel gauge,” he says with a sigh of relief that makes it obvious it was quite painful for him to not be able to find the words. Something is definitely wrong, and I wonder if he even realizes it.

  I pull the gauge from the wall, hand it to him, and lean against the bench.

  “I’m making a chest for Casey,” my dad says airily, the frustration over not finding the right word a second ago already forgotten. “It’s to put all of her ballet outfits and shoes in. She’s really, really good. Got accepted into a prestigious program this summer, and we’re all so proud of her.”

  “That’s incredible,” I say with watered-down amazement.

  It’s watered down because he had just told me that exact story a little over five minutes ago before he’d come out to the garage.

  Sadness fills my chest as it’s beyond obvious… something is definitely wrong.

  “Sorry we had to rush right out the door when you got here today,” he says, changing subjects with ease. “But you understand, right? We sort of dote on those grandkids.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” I murmur. “They’re great.”

  Dad picks up a planer sitting beside the frame, then runs it along the edge. “You would have been welcome to attend, but tickets were sold out. That Casey is something else. Got enrolled in a really prestigious ballet company for the summer.”

  “Yeah, that’s great, Dad. And I totally understand about the recital.”

  “Still,” he muses, lifting his gaze to mine. His eyes turn troubled. “I should have stayed behind. Been to every one of her recitals. I could have missed one, especially since you don’t come home to visit all that often. I’m sorry.”