Only for You

by Barb Curtis

  Intricate maple leaves filled the entire counter. No wonder her hand felt like it was going to fall off. She’d never need this many, but it didn’t hurt to have extra in case some didn’t survive the application to the cake.

  Pounding on the front door startled her, and her heart pulled in a bunch of directions. Tim? Had he changed his mind? Probably not, but just trying to smooth everything over and go back to the way they were before? She couldn’t do that. They could never go back, which was what made this whole thing so unbearable.

  A click of the dead bolt out front sent her heart into a stampede. She froze, then Nana surfaced in the kitchen doorway.

  “Good God, child, are you deaf? I banged on the door for five minutes before I remembered I have a key.” Nana’s gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re haven’t showered in three days, and why are you closed on a Monday?”

  Emily’s hand immediately touched her greasy hair. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “I’m still on seasonal hours. And I didn’t hear you. Sorry, Nana. What’re you doing here?”

  “I had an appointment with the oncologist.” Excitement flashed in her eyes. “The surgery got it all. There’s no more cancer. I don’t need chemo or radiation.” She fisted her hands in the air and shimmied.

  Emily’s hand pressed into her chest, and tears pooled in her eyes. She rushed over to wrap her grandmother in a careful embrace. “Oh, Nana, that’s amazing news.”

  “Since I was right around the corner, I thought I’d stop here and tell you first.”

  Of course, she wanted to text Tim the good news. The realization that she couldn’t sent an icy chill up her back. “Where’s Mom? She didn’t go to your appointment with you?”

  Nana rolled her eyes. “I took a cab. I needed to get out of the house by myself. Ever since your father joined us for dinner that night, your mother’s been in another world, cleaning, primping. She’s having dinner with him on Thursday, and she’s going to drive me crazy in the meantime.”

  Her parents having dinner of their own free will? She’d outgrown any hope they’d rekindle their romance years ago, but still, it was nice to imagine a happily-ever-after for them. Emily scratched her itchy head. “How long have I been holed up in here?” Since hell had frozen over, apparently. “What time is it?”

  “Two in the afternoon.” Nana’s eyes scaled over the maple leaves on the counter and got wider the farther they traveled. “What’s all this?”

  Wow, it was a massive number of leaves, now that she looked at them from another person’s perspective. She’d completely lost track of time, too. “They’re for a big cake I’m making for the window display during the festival.”

  Nana’s fingertips touched her lips as she bent forward to study them. “They’re exquisite,” she whispered.

  Emily tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt down and pulled them over her hands. “They turned out decent, I guess.”

  “They look like they’re made of glass.” Nana frowned and met her gaze. “What’s really going on here? What or whom are you avoiding?”

  Emily shrugged and busied herself filling the kettle for tea. “I just had a lot of hours to make up for after the last couple of weeks, and the Maple Magic Festival has really been cutting into my time.”

  Small but mighty, Nana closed in on her space. “Tell it to someone who can’t see right through your act. You only work this obsessively when you’re hurting.”

  Emily sighed and faced her grandmother. Might as well tell her. She’d never let up until the details were out in the open, anyway. She started with the fake relationship and continued all the way up to confessing to the giant crush she’d had for forever and a day.

  Nana perched on a stool. “So, he didn’t take it well?”

  Massaging her temple, she lowered into a chair. God, it felt good to sit. She hadn’t realized how stiff her back had gotten or how much her feet throbbed until she was off of them. “Whatever was going on with us, I guess he didn’t intend for it to turn serious. At least not this soon, anyway.”

  Nana folded her hands on the counter. “Have you considered that in his mind this has only been going on a couple of months, even though for you it’s been years?”

  Emily rubbed at the ache in her neck. It had crossed her mind a few times since their conversation. She admitted that she should’ve been more understanding of that—given him more time before tossing around ultimatums, especially after everything he’d been through. “I’ve totally blown it. I shouldn’t have forced the issue so soon, but I…I’ve waited too long for this, Nana.”

  The kettle began to whistle. Emily started to get up, but Nana waved her off.

  “I’ll get it. I’m not that feeble.” She dropped teabags into their cups and poured hot water. “The ultimatum might have been a little soon from his perspective, but telling the truth is never going to equate to blowing it. You owe it to yourself to be able to express your feelings. Nobody should have to live in hiding.”

  That was something. Even though Tim’s reaction had been nothing like she’d hoped, a huge weight had lifted once the longtime secret had been purged from her heart.

  Nana was still talking. “He may just need some time. At the very least, if he never comes around to reciprocating your feelings, you’ll be free from the what-ifs that have been preventing you from ever giving any other man a fighting chance.”

  Emily sipped her tea. Nana always made chamomile when she was down. “I’m worried that in telling him the truth, I’ve totally sabotaged a friendship I’ve grown to rely on and a group dynamic that may never be the same.” She blinked back tears. “Two months from now I have to stand up there with him at Jay and Leyna’s wedding and pretend everything is okay. How am I going to give a happy toast and smile in the pictures and pretend I’m not completely gutted that the guy standing next to me doesn’t believe in marriage or happily-ever-afters?”

  The very things that kept her going in life.

  Nana leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “You’ll need to hold your head high in the coming months. Rise above it, Emmy. If anyone can do it, you can. It won’t be easy, because you’re hurting, and being in such close proximity to him won’t help matters. But for the sake of Leyna and Jay, you’ll pull through it. Afterward, if you want to fall apart for a little while, you go ahead and let yourself do that. Your friends and your mother and I will be here for you. Rely on your staff a little, and maybe take some time off. Go somewhere to unwind. Don’t worry about my party, either. We can do it somewhere else.”

  They’d never book another spot at this point. “Your party isn’t changing. We’ve got more reason than ever to celebrate.” She finished her tea and carried her cup to the sink. “So Mom and Dad are having dinner together? Without a referee?”

  Nana set her cup in the sink, too. “Your father’s been sniffing around since the weekend he visited, and your mother’s had a dreamy look in her eye. “I’m staying out of it, but let’s just say I had a feeling this was going to happen sooner or later, and when my gut tells me something, it’s usually right.”

  After Nana left, Emily attacked the kitchen. It was a complete write-off from the time she’d spent experimenting the last couple of days. Dishes cluttered the deep stainless steel sink, and the garbage overflowed. Every gadget she owned seemed to be scattered around. She ran hot water and scrubbed the dishes.

  She tried to not allow her eyes to wander out the window to Great Wide Open, but occasionally they did, and that was where her gaze was fixed when Fuzzy surfaced in front of her window and tapped on the glass.

  Yelping, she splashed dishwater all over the counter. She grabbed a towel and dried off her hands to open the back door.

  He shoved a cup from Jolt into her hand and breezed by her. “Large mint hot chocolate. I came over to ask how you’re doing, but that sweatshirt says it all.”

  She eyed the threads dangling from the frayed cuffs of her sleeves.<
br />
  “What are we talking here, 1997, 1998?” Cringing, he picked a clump of dried frosting off her sleeve and flung it onto the floor.

  Emily took a sip of hot chocolate and lifted the cup. “Thanks.”

  Fuzzy had moved on to scoping out the taffy leaves. “Color me intrigued! What are you doing with these?”

  She scratched her head. Ugh, she needed a shower. “They’re for a cake for my window display. Here.” She slapped her sketchbook on the counter. “This is what it’ll look like, if I can manage to pull it off.”

  He gasped, squeezing her arm. “It’s stunning. Is it going to be done in time, though?”

  “Yeah, well, all I really have to do at this point is assemble everything. This hot chocolate should keep me going long enough to finish it off, hopefully sometime before I open tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh no, no, no, you cannot pull an all-nighter tonight, my love.” He waved his finger at her. “You need to get yourself together. A journalist from The Star is coming tomorrow. They want to do a feature on the festival and interview you and Tim. And this cake is front page worthy.”

  The cake would come together. “Why me and Tim? Why can’t they interview you?” Suddenly overheating, she set her cup down and pushed her sleeves up.

  “Because you two co-chaired the committee. You’re responsible for everything. Rosalia’s evening reservations are sold out, every inn within a forty-minute drive is booked for the weekend, and once that webisode airs on Thursday night, tourists will flock to Sapphire Springs for the family festivities. The two of you have outdone yourselves.”

  The webisode. Shit. She’d managed to put it out of her mind. “It’s airing Thursday night?”

  Fuzzy propped his Italian loafer on the bottom rung of one of her stools. “It is. Lars finished editing it, and I’ve seen it. It’s really good. He’s captured the entire day in twenty-two minutes. The conversation is engaging, and it’s all very lively and upbeat. The two of you just gave life to the whole culture of the sugar shack.”

  She didn’t need to see the episode to know that. The day had been magical, every minute of it, but she could do without the replay. On a deep exhale she turned around to face Fuzzy. “Speaking of Lars, I assume he’s the one who tipped off the Twitterverse that Tim and I broke up?”

  The corners of Fuzzy’s mouth pulled downward. “Yes. But,” he rushed to add when she spun away again, “only because word was going to get out anyway, and he figured it might benefit the festival and draw some attention if word leaked out sooner than later.”

  He took a step closer. “I know Tim has no interest in that dumb show. But maybe we just ride the wave while we can, you know? Use it to gain Sapphire Springs some exposure. Something good might as well come from it.”

  He started for the door and turned back. “Anyway, the interview is tomorrow. Don’t forget about it. I’ll text you when I know what time they’re coming, but I’m sure they’re going to want a photo or two, so make sure you get your beauty sleep.”

  Emily nodded and gave her head another scratch. She’d have a long night ahead of her, assembling the cake, but Fuzzy was right about one thing. Something good might as well come from all of this.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tim’s phone was back to chiming every other minute. One of Behind Closed Doors’ producers called yesterday to officially put the offer back on the table, and no amount of protesting could penetrate his thick skull that Tim was not interested. The guy just kept smooth talking, telling him for the ninth time to take some time to warm up to the idea when Tim ended the call.

  The nightmare had begun all over again.

  Not that he needed another nightmare. He already lived one. Every waking thought that passed through his head made him want to text Emily, but the right thing to do was let her go so she didn’t end up hurt more than she already was. But God, he missed her. He dreaded crawling into bed at night, only to toss and turn on that big empty mattress, and he hated sleeping alone now after the weeks he’d spent with her.

  He shoved out of his office chair and strode toward the window, where a line had already formed at a gourmet food truck. The unwanted attention made him skeptical of anybody he didn’t recognize lurking around, so he closed the blinds.

  All he wanted to do was get through this damn festival while maintaining some kind of normalcy. Emails from the committee bombarded his inbox, and now the newspaper wanted an interview, which would inevitably involve close proximity with Emily.

  She’d been hiding in the Tesoro kitchen since they broke up. He knew, because he’d taken to running his guts out every night so he’d be so tired that he couldn’t possibly lie awake. It hadn’t worked, but he’d noticed the kitchen light on more than once after midnight. Whatever she was focused on, she gave it her all.

  He missed her so much that it ate him alive, and her avoidance of him only amplified his angst. He wanted so badly to call her, but what would he say even if she did answer? I was wrong? I’m in a total war with myself, because my instincts are to avoid relationships, yet I want to be with you so much I can’t even breathe? I’m questioning every single belief I’ve ever had?

  Just hearing her voice right now would probably render him speechless.

  But he did want to talk to her. He wanted to try to make her understand he wasn’t just some jerk with commitment issues. It wasn’t about not having feelings for her. The feelings were there, loud and clear, with all their weight pressing right onto his chest. She was right. He was a coward.

  He checked the time. The journalist from the paper would be at town hall by now, so he had to get over there for the interview. He hadn’t seen Emily in three days, and now he had to face her in front of a reporter and a bunch of other random people. Dread stirred in his stomach. She probably felt exactly the same way.

  The milder temperatures had brought out some buskers in town square. It was nice to have some music around town again—a reminder that summer would be here soon. Boats would speckle the lake, and he could escape to his own whenever he needed to clear his head.

  He slowed his pace in front of Tesoro and came to a standstill. An elaborate cake—no, a work of art, actually—filled the window. Five round tiers curved downward. Something had been poured on the top and dripped, collecting on each surface.

  Maple taffy.

  It had to be.

  Under the carefully selected light, intricate maple leaves glistened like glass—wait, were they made of taffy, too?

  Of course.

  A smile parted his lips, and he pulled in a deep breath.

  She’d done it. She’d taken a risk, and look at what she’d pulled off. Phenomenal.

  Movement inside caught his eye, and when he shifted his focus, Emily barreled out of the kitchen. She halted in her tracks when she saw him standing in front of the window and hesitated a moment before saying something to Harlow and pushing open the door without putting on her coat.

  He turned to her but couldn’t quite find his voice at first. “Um…” He pointed to the window. “The cake—”

  “Was a nightmare,” she finished. “I think I’ve developed carpal tunnel.” She hurried along, turning the corner onto Union Street, her high-heeled boots clicking on the brick sidewalk.

  “It’s incredible,” he called, rushing to catch up.

  Still a few paces ahead, she glanced over her shoulder. “To be honest, I had hoped we could manage to do this interview without having to both be there at the same time.”

  With a few quick strides and a last-second lunge, he stretched forward and pulled town hall’s heavy glass door open before she could reach it. “Somehow, I don’t think that’ll work.”

  “I can’t really chat. I have about a million things on my plate today.”

  She all but collided with an employee Tim recognized from the tourism department who was descending the stairs.

  “I need to touch base with Fuzzy to make sure we’re set for the festival kickoff on Friday.” She
flew up the stairs and veered right, heading in the direction of Fuzzy’s office.

  Tim rubbed at his cramping neck. He couldn’t exactly blame her for the cold shoulder. When he reached the top of the stairs, Fuzzy was already plowing down the hall with Emily trailing behind him, talking a mile a minute.

  “We don’t have time to rework the schedule, love. The journalist is already here and the photographer has other shots to get around town.” Fuzzy met Tim’s gaze and gestured for him to follow them. “He’s ready to do the interview now, so we need to move it.”

  Fuzzy ushered Tim and Emily into a conference room, where a guy in his twenties sat scrolling through his phone. Introductions were made, and he started asking them questions about the planning of the festival.

  Fuzzy did most of the talking at first, plugging the webisode airing Thursday night. With that out of the way, Tim and Emily fell into a rhythm, taking turns answering questions, so as not to step on each other’s toes—or, more accurately, to avoid actually having to speak to each other.

  After about twenty minutes the journalist said he had enough for his story, and Fuzzy led them to a display of maple products in front of the staircase, where the photographer waited.

  “Oh, look at the time.” Fuzzy mimed checking his watch. “I am going to have to skedaddle. I’m so sorry.” He placed his hand on the photographer’s arm. “But these two are the brains behind the festival, anyway, and they’ll look wonderful in your photo.”

  It wasn’t until the photographer instructed them to stand in front of the staircase that Emily and Tim both tore their gazes from where Fuzzy trotted down the steps.

  “Can the two of you squeeze a little closer?”

  Emily’s back stiffened.

  “Emily, is it?” The photographer lowered the height of his tripod. “Maybe you could back up a bit closer to Tim, just for a second, so I can frame you in a tight shot with all the maple products?”