by Jody Holford
“You were thinking it was time to grow up, but that doesn’t mean giving up the things you love.”
“Don’t shrink-talk me, man. This isn’t like what you went through with Megan, so don’t start.”
“Right.” Adam was crouched, forearms on his knees, staring at Declan. “No similarities. Fell in love with a woman who was the best thing that ever happened to me and my son, fucked it up supremely, nearly lost her completely until someone told me to get my head out of my ass. Turnaround is fair play, so can you pull your own head out, or do you want me to give it a tug?”
Declan nearly smirked. “I want to punch you in the face.”
Adam laughed and stood up. “How about a beer instead.”
Declan gave up, stood, and stared at the mess he’d made. “I already tried that.”
“Yes, but that was before you destroyed a galaxy far, far away. Trust me, when the rage simmers, you’re gonna want to be toasted to face what you did in here.”
He was probably right, but at the moment, all the hours and collecting and pride that was tucked into this room was meaningless. Stomach roiling, he stalked out of the room, knowing Adam would follow. He didn’t say anything until they were down in the kitchen. Adam wasn’t much of a drinker, either, so Dec grabbed two sodas from the fridge. His eyes landed on the ginger ale he kept in there for Sophia, and his heart twisted again.
Handing Adam a can, he went to the windows and opened his, took a long swallow that eased some of the sharp dryness in his throat.
“Why are you even here?” Declan asked without looking at him.
He heard the bar stool move, Adam’s drink popping open. “Figured you could use a punching bag.”
“I have a punching bag.” He should have headed for that room upstairs. Would have made more sense.
“We caught the show. Megan told me to come. I told her that guys like some time to brood and break shit before we see reason, but she insisted I come now. At least you got a bit of wreckage in.”
Declan turned. “You think this is a joke? Did I joke around when you came into my bar crying in your fucking beer about being an idiot with Meg? And you were an idiot. I wasn’t. I know I stepped on her toes some. She’s so damn independent. I was just trying to take care of her and have her back. That’s what you do, right? Her asshole ex showed up. I protected her. She didn’t want to see him.”
Adam skipped over most of what Dec said. “She tell you that?”
“I’m in love with her. I told her I love her.”
“It’s good you told her and obvious you do, but maybe the timing wasn’t perfect.”
Declan took his drink to the counter and set it down. “Doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.”
“So, you’re done? You going to sell this place, move back up over the bar, and go back to a different woman every weekend?”
The thought made him feel like he’d swallowed expired milk. “Maybe.”
Adam laughed, and Declan glared at him, gripping the countertop to keep his temper under wraps.
“Right. I don’t think you will. If you do, you are a fucking idiot.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
Declan sighed and dropped his head. “I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Why’d Sophia leave at eighteen?”
His head snapped up. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Why’d she go?” Adam sipped his drink like they were talking about going fly-fishing in the summer.
“She felt smothered by her family. Like she couldn’t live up to their expectations so why bother. They assumed she’d let them down.” He stared over Adam’s shoulder out the window. Fuck. Had he done the same? He’d been trying to take care of her. But had he inadvertently told her she wasn’t able to take care of herself? Had he smothered her? No. He’d accepted her as she was. He hadn’t pushed too fast. He’d read her signs, backed off about the living together, let her choose the pace.
Hadn’t he?
“She doesn’t strike me as a woman who wants to be rescued.”
“I wasn’t rescuing her! I love her.”
“You tell her that before you tried to make her decision for her? Before you sent her brother who, as much as I like him, has been a dick to her lately?”
No. No, he had not. “What was I supposed to do? Call her up and say, hey babe, your ex is here, want me to send him over?”
“What do you think she would have done?”
Declan glared at Adam. “How the hell should I know?”
Adam stood, shaking his head, his eyes flaring with heat. “You love her, you should know her. What would she have done?”
“I don’t know. Shown up to kick him in the balls?”
Laughing, Adam nodded. “Probably. She sure as hell wouldn’t have called her brother to deal with her past and her problems for her.”
She didn’t want anyone dealing with her problems for her. She was okay having someone to face them with, but he hadn’t done that. He’d stripped her of any choice like he had the right. He’d made her feel weak and incapable when she was the strongest, most capable woman he’d ever known. He’d let insecurity render him stupid so that at the height of his fear, he’d worried seeing Keith would make Sophia want to reunite with him. But she knew her own worth, and there’s no way she’d go back to that clown. Or put up with Declan if he was going to prove himself to be one as well.
The breath he took hurt his chest. He felt like someone had punched him with brass knuckles right in the center of his ribs. “I need to fix this. I need to get her back.”
“Maybe we should start by fixing the disaster you created upstairs so you can figure out how to do the rest.”
Declan nodded. Clapping Adam on the shoulder, he tried to ignore the urgency racing through him. Sophia needed space. She’d asked him to go. He’d already ignored her wishes once, cutting her out of her own decisions. He wouldn’t do it again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sophia felt like she’d drank an entire bottle of hundred proof rum. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders, and her eyes were thick and gritty. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. It took her a second to realize that the knocking wasn’t her brain rattling around, but someone at her door.
She moved off the couch, her eyes dry and sore from the tears she’d shed. Part of her wanted it to be Declan so she could yell at him. And hug him. It was some sort of stupid twist of fate or pitfall of love that it was the person who’d torn her up in pieces that she was wishing could put her back together again. You put yourself back together. But none of the pieces fit right.
Shock rendered her speechless when she opened the door to her father. He stared at her, looked her up and down. In one arm, he held a brown shopping bag.
“You’re sick?”
Sophia shook her head. “What are you doing here?” Goddamn Marcus. Couldn’t mind his own business. Because Declan told him your business.
Her father came in, walking straight to the counter, and then discarded his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. “I’m trying a new recipe. Your palate is better than any of the others’.”
She rubbed her eyes, shut the door, and then continued to watch him from where she stood. He unloaded the bag, setting tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, spices, olive oil, and other items on her counter.
“I get that Marcus is your favorite, but you don’t have to believe everything he says. I’m fine. Whether he thinks I am or not.”
Her father folded the bag and put it under the sink before turning to face her. “I haven’t spoken to your brother since yesterday morning. I’ve been taking Sundays off to try new recipes for months now. Today, we’ll make it together.”
God. Did any of the men in her life believe in asking a question? “I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Then I’ll cook. Why would Marcus not think you’re fine?”
Staring at her father, she tried to measure whether or not he was messin
g with her. But he wasn’t the type. He would just say what he thought. He always did. No wondering what was on his mind when he wanted to share an opinion. He’d given her enough of them over the years.
“So, you just decided to come over and cook with me? After ignoring me for weeks?”
He rooted through her cupboards and found a pot. “I’m not ignoring. You walked out of my house. You left your sisters. You didn’t call and invite me over.”
She almost laughed. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she opened them again and tried to sort out the madness in her head. Water. She needed water and pain meds first. Wait, was it Tylenol or Advil that was safe? Declan would know. Her heart muscles clenched, like just his name sent the organ into lockdown mode.
“I invited you several times when I lived in Arizona.”
“Too far. This is not so far. But, you didn’t invite me, so I invited myself. Why do you look sick? Is the baby okay?”
Unbelievably, tears stung her eyes. She should have been completely dehydrated with how much she’d cried last night. “Baby is fine. I just had a bad sleep. I need some water.”
“Sit. You need more than water. You need food. You have to look after yourself, mia ragazza.”
She couldn’t handle the softly worded endearment. Fresh tears slipped over, and then he was there, wrapping her in a hug, and tears she shouldn’t have had soaked his shirt as she sobbed. He rubbed her back like he used to when she was little. Circles, constant circles, and it soothed her, reminded her of all of the times he’d been a good dad. A good person. A good man. A bossy one, but still, one of the best.
“You cry like your heart is broken,” he whispered.
“It is,” she said against his shirt. He held her harder and stroked her hair. She was five again, getting her cuts and scrapes kissed better. She was eleven, and he was telling her she was the most beautiful girl in the world when one of the neighborhood boys told her she was ugly. She was fifteen, filling up on pizza and pouting because her friends had ditched her. She was seventeen, graduating, and he was beaming at her with so much pride. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“No more sorry, belleza. It is time for us to move forward. But I am sorry, too. Sometimes, old men are stubborn fools.”
She laughed and leaned back. “I think you mean all men.”
He nodded, pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, and passed it to her. “Yes. This is true. Especially about people they love. Love makes men lose all reason.”
“Good to know,” she sniffled.
“Things are not good with Declan? You want me to talk to him?”
Sophia laughed harder and wiped at her tears. “No. But thanks for asking.”
“You love him?” Her dad held her gaze, and she knew lying would be futile, so she nodded.
“He loves you back, so all will be okay. Your mother, she didn’t love me back, you know.”
Sophia didn’t have to feign surprise. She hadn’t expected him to know. Moving back to the counter, he went through her cupboards and drawers, finding what he needed, and Sophia sank into a kitchen chair.
“You knew that?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “A man knows when a woman loves him or not. Sometimes, they just need more time. Others, they just aren’t the one. But a man knows. He can feel it. It makes him a better man. Your mother, she cared enough about me to stand by my side, but I knew the day she fell in love with me. I was nervous getting ready for the opening of the shop.”
Sophia dried the rest of her tears, listening to her father while he prepped whatever he was making.
“She came into our bedroom and fixed my tie. She said, ‘Nerves won’t help you. Good food. That fixes everything, and you make the best food.’ She had a look in her eye. Different than any other time, and she believed what she said, so I did, too. I wanted to prove her right.”
“She loves you so much.”
He turned, knife in hand, pausing from his chopping. “Every day for months, I told her I loved her, and she said the words back. But that day, she meant them. It was worth the wait. Love is like cooking. It takes time, makes you feel good, and heals. But you have to tend to it, nurture it. You use bad ingredients or cave and take the easy way, it won’t be the same. Sometimes no matter how well you know the recipe, it still turns out wrong. So you try again. You always try again if it’s worth it. You make a commitment, you follow it through. You always did that, Sophia. You never said you would when you wouldn’t, you followed your heart always. I’m grateful it finally led you home because mine was a little emptier without you here. What does your heart tell you, huh?”
Standing, she went to him, and even though he was busy chopping garlic, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and squeezed.
“I missed you, Papa.”
“Missed you, too, ragazza dolce. So. Declan. Is he a takeout dinner, good when you have no time to eat, or is he a proper meal, worth the time and effort?”
She inhaled slowly, thinking about the way he’d just opened up his arms, his home, his friends, his life to her like he’d been waiting for her the whole time. He made a mistake. A few. But who knew better than her how it felt to be judged so harshly for them? “He’s a proper meal,” she whispered.
“Then help me make this one and tell me what you think of our menus. I’m thinking of updating them. You like that sort of thing, right?”
She washed her hands, looking at him from the side of her eye. “Are you asking for my professional help?”
“You going to charge me?”
“Hell yes,” she said with a laugh, her heart still aching but not as sharply.
His laughter rang out, and a little piece of herself snuck into its proper place. “Then I get to say no if I don’t like your ideas.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“Just like you don’t have to like all my ideas or my opinion,” he said, turning on the burner and pouring olive oil into the pan. He scooped up the garlic. “It’s hard to admit, sometimes, especially when you’re old like me, that maybe your ideas aren’t the only ones with merit. I want to take care of my family. I can’t do that if they aren’t here. You left. I broke. I’m stubborn, so are you. Now you’re back, and I’m not missing out on my grandchild. On you. We don’t get that time back. Whatever you decide with Declan, do what you’ve always done and just follow your heart.”
She nodded, then began slicing tomatoes while he told her what he was thinking for the menus. With the scent of her childhood filling her apartment, she thought about what she wanted. What her heart wanted. She knew the answer without question. She knew, though, that wanting something didn’t always make it happen.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Declan had learned several things over the last week. Without Sophia, his life sucked. He felt like he was living in a country song. The sun didn’t shine as bright, coffee didn’t taste as good, laughing felt hollow, and there was an ever-present ache in his chest. That was one. He’d also learned that no matter how long a person spent picking up scattered Lego, there’d be more to find. He was reminded of how much he hated painting when he’d put a fresh coat on the room he’d all but destroyed. He didn’t know if Sophia would want to use that as a nursery. It was closer to the master bedroom, but the other spare bedroom had a window seat. It would be her choice. And he hoped like hell she was going to choose him.
He’d sent a text and was waiting, heart and stomach tangled in a big fucking heaping mess at the bar. The scent of flowers was giving him a mild headache. He’d bought every variety he could find at the local florist.
Sophia had shown up for work on the Tuesday after their fight only after he’d promised he wouldn’t be there. For a week, he’d given her the space she asked for, working around her schedule, squashing the almost consuming desire to phone her, to go see her. The only thing that kept him sane was his plan to get her back. He couldn’t wait anymore.
The alarm beeped, alerting him that she’d arrive
d. When Sophia walked into the bar from the backroom, Declan felt like someone had finally passed him an oxygen mask.
She looked around at the empty space. “Where is everyone?” Her eyes landed on the flowers. There was no way to miss them as they covered the length of the bar, each bouquet in a separate vase.
He rose from the stool but didn’t step toward her. If he got any closer, he’d scoop her up and hug her until their bodies melded together.
“I’m closed. Until tonight.”
Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders. She wore an adorable white shirt with a huge pink heart in the center. Perfect for Valentine’s Day. And she was the only Valentine he ever wanted. He’d always thought the holiday was trite. Now, he just figured one day wasn’t enough to truly show her everything he felt, but it was a great day to start.
The tips of the heart perfectly highlighted her breasts while the bottom of the heart seemed like an arrow pointing at her gently rounded belly. She’d paired it with a black skirt that flared out at the bottom and sexy boots that went to her knees. She looked like everything he’d ever wanted.
“Why are you closed? I thought the only day you closed was Christmas.” Her breath hitched, like she just realized the implications of them being alone.
He nodded. “Usually.” He took a couple steps. They looked like they were facing off at dawn. The sun even splashed through the windows, putting them in the spotlight.
“You look so good,” he said, his voice thick and rough.
“You, too,” she whispered.
“I miss you,” he said. He hadn’t meant to say it.
Her jaw clenched, and her eyes darted down to the floor. Right. She needed choices, he’d give them to her and deal with the aftermath.
“I, uh, I have a few things for you to look at. Things I need some help deciding.”
Sophia lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “That’s why you asked me to come in?” She looked over at the flowers, then back at him.
“I didn’t know which kind was your favorite. If you tell me, I’ll always get the right ones.”