by Barb Curtis
She muttered something under her breath.
A wave of vanilla washed over Tim. Though a voice in his head berated him for being weak, he leaned a little closer, a discreet attempt to inhale the scent of her shampoo, just for a second.
God, he’d missed her.
Tim sighed. “I feel terrible about the way I accused you of manipulating me.” His voice sounded ridiculous, the way he talked through his fake smile like a ventriloquist. “I know you’d never do that.”
She kept her gaze fixed on the camera. “Forget it. There’s enough going on.”
The photographer let go of his camera to let it hang from the strap around his neck. He propped his chin into his hand. “Can the two of you stop talking please, just long enough for me to get a decent shot? I’m having a really hard time getting a natural expression out of either one of you. Laugh or something, like you’ve been friends for years.”
The fakest high-pitched laugh floated out of Emily. “Ahahahaha…Imagine, the two of us pretending we’ve been friends for years.”
Christ. Tim rolled his eyes before smiling for the camera again, each rapid click of the shutter making his face cramp harder.
“I think we must have something here I can use,” the photographer finally muttered, clicking back through his photos. “The two of you are free.”
Emily made a beeline for the stairs.
Tim started to follow her, but he slowed his pace halfway down the stairs as she pushed open the door and bolted down the street toward Rosalia’s.
She wanted a commitment, and he wasn’t ready. Pretending otherwise wasn’t fair to her. Nothing he could say would change anything, so he just let her go.
At least for now.
As Rosalia’s buzzed with the lunch hour rush, Emily rapped her knuckles on Leyna’s office door.
“Come in.”
Leyna frowned at her laptop, and Jay leaned over her shoulder, eyebrows drawn. They both glanced up when Emily nudged the door open wider.
“Hey.” Leyna closed the laptop. “How did the interview go?”
“It’s done.” She sank into the chair on the other side of the desk and rubbed her throbbing temple.
Leyna and Jay exchanged a look.
Jay grabbed his cell phone and checked the time. “Whoa, I’ve gotta get going.” He kissed Leyna’s forehead and gave Emily’s shoulder a squeeze on his way out the door.
Emily folded her arms and hugged them to her body. “Could you clone him for me? Seriously, he’s such a keeper.”
“I feel like that could get weird.” Leyna pushed her chair away from her desk. “Now how did it go really?”
Before she could even try to stop it, her bottom lip began to quiver and a sob worked up her throat. “It was so awkward. He kept trying to be all nice.” She plucked a tissue out of the box on Leyna’s desk and blotted her tears before her mascara could run.
“Have you considered he may be just processing all of this, trying to figure out how he feels? It’s really not that long since he was burned by Melissa.”
Emily shook her head. “I’m done chasing a guy that doesn’t want the same things as me.”
She blew her nose, squared her shoulders, and forced her voice to rise above the ball of fire in her throat. “And before you even say it, I already know it’s his loss. I’m worth more than some fling relationship, and that’s all it was ever going to be for him. I do know that. It’s the reason I pulled the rug out from under everything. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”
She gave into the sobs again. “I’m just so freaking tired.”
Leyna exhaled a sharp breath and rose from her chair. “Okay.” She grabbed her leather jacket off the back of her chair and rounded the desk. “You need to take a day or two off.”
“Take a day off? Have you lost—”
“You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for weeks now. You’re physically exhausted and emotionally drained.” She pulled three more tissues out of the box and shoved them into Emily’s hand. “I’m going to personally escort you to your apartment. We’re going to remove your makeup and turn on your white noise machine. I’m giving you strict orders to put on your sleep mask and rest. And I am not leaving your apartment until you’re asleep, otherwise you’re never going to make it through this festival.”
“But—”
“Don’t even think about stopping at Tesoro,” Leyna pointed a finger, silencing her. “I’ll call Harlow and explain.” She took Emily’s arm and steered her out the side exit of the building.
“I’m going to have to give her a raise.”
“Yes, you are,” Leyna agreed, pulling Emily along, the clacking of her heels echoing in the narrow alley.
“You’re pretty bossy, you know,” Emily sniffed, scrambling to keep up.
Leyna glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, it’s high time somebody looked after you for a change, Em.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The only positive thing about the resurgence in social media attention was that it had driven up business again at Great Wide Open. When Tim’s popularity spiked, online sales soared. They were already having their best week since January, and the festival didn’t start for two more days.
Tim had stopped by the shop to make sure everything was in order for the day for his staff. He never took a day off midweek, but he craved an escape from his apartment building and town square and practically every other landmark in Sapphire Springs. Everywhere he looked he saw Emily. Every whiff of syrup reminded him of her, and at the moment, the sweet scent of maple dripped off of every surface he passed.
He wasn’t one to rush time, but ever since the night they talked at Jolt, he’d been longing for summer so he could take off in his boat and just clear his head for a day or two, with no distractions. Instead he’d have to settle for a drive to his mother’s house. He’d been thinking a lot about his dad’s sailboat the last few days.
Time to bite the bullet and scope out how much work it would need to refit. Time to actually commit to something for a change.
The drive to his mother’s was quiet, with minimal traffic. Once there, he found her puttering around the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea.
“Hi,” she said, a hand immediately going to her messy ponytail. “This is a nice surprise. It’s the middle of the week. I thought you’d be working.”
“I took a day before the festival frenzy ensues. I actually came over looking for an old cassette tape.”
“Yikes, I hope I didn’t get rid of it. There are a few boxes in your bedroom closet.”
“I’ll go look. No big deal either way.” He climbed the stairs and went down the hall to his old room. His mom had painted and updated the bedding, but all his trophies still stood on the shelf. In the closet, below some old winter coats, he found a couple of small cardboard boxes.
Bingo. One overflowed with cassettes he used to keep in his car and a bunch of old photos. There was even a Walkman he hadn’t seen since high school.
Some goofy photos with Jay and Rob back in high school fluttered out of an envelope. He could probably use them for the wedding. He pawed through the rest of the contents and landed on the cassette tape with Emily’s loopy handwriting in purple ink on it. He closed his hand over it and shoved it into the inside pocket of his coat. Since he didn’t even own a cassette player anymore, he grabbed the Walkman, too, before closing the closet door.
A couple of AA batteries, and he’d be in business.
Back downstairs, he rummaged through a kitchen drawer. “Hey, Mom, do we have any batteries?”
“Middle drawer, I think. Did you find what you were looking for upstairs?”
“I did. It’s a mixtape Emily made me in another lifetime.” He pocketed two batteries and took a seat at the island while his mom got two mugs out of the cupboard. He filled her in on everything that happened with Emily’s confession and their breakup.
“Wow, you’ve been through the ringer these last couple of days.” She reached a
cross the table and covered his hand with hers. “I can’t say I’m surprised Emily’s cared about you so long. But why does it bother you so much?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, tapping his fingers on the cup of steaming tea he really didn’t want. “Emily’s got an image in her head of relationships that’s practically like something out of a fairy tale. I guess I just worry that I can’t possibly measure up. That I’ll disappoint her.”
His mom blinked rapidly, as though she’d heard him wrong. “Why would you think you couldn’t measure up? You’re a walking, talking success story. You’ve always treated your girlfriends with respect, at least from where I’m standing. Choosing to move on from relationships that weren’t working hardly makes you some kind of failure, Tim. It means you recognize when it’s time to make better choices for yourself. I certainly hope you don’t think you’re any kind of disappointment to me, or that you would be to your father.”
“Well, I did quit the Navy.”
“You did not quit. You fulfilled your obligation and moved on to follow your heart. With an honorable discharge,” his mother added. “Your father had a vision for you, yes, and when you admitted it wasn’t what you wanted, he worried you were deciding too fast. He hoped you’d reconsider, but he never thought less of you for it. He would be extremely proud of what you’ve turned his boat tour vision into. You have to know that.”
“I do.” Sort of. The steaming cup of tea heated his cheeks, and Tim folded the tag on the end of his tea bag, making little creases.
She squeezed his hand, and the simple gold band she still wore glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. “As for Emily, only you can decide what to do, but I’ll give you some advice, for whatever it’s worth. Forget every rule you devised, everything you ever thought you knew about love, and choose the road that makes you happy. If she doesn’t want the same thing, then let her go. But if she does?” She gave his hand a few taps to knock her point home. “Then stop wasting time. We know better than anyone how little of it we’ve got with the ones we love.”
Tim swallowed, pushing past the wave of nausea in his stomach. He really was wasting a hell of a lot of time these days.
His mom stood and took a pie from the fridge. “Do you have time for a slice?”
At this moment he had zero interest in eating, which was not like him. Still, he put on a show of patting his belly. “I always have time.”
Something passed by the window, and they both glanced outside. Mr. Thompson, the next door neighbor, waved at them before setting to work, scraping paint from his fence.
Tim shifted his gaze to his mother, who looked on, smiling. Really smiling.
He cleared his throat. “On second thought, I think I’m going to head out to the barn and take a look at the boat—see what I’m up against. Why don’t you invite Mr. Thompson in for a slice of pie?”
His mom looked at him, puzzled. “You don’t think he’d think it’s too early for pie?”
Tim shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Something tells me he’ll adjust his schedule.”
“Are you sure? There’s enough here for all of us.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I’m sure. Just ask him.”
Tim let himself out the back door and crossed the yard, his boots crunching against the frosty grass. The old barn door opened with a contrary whine. Tim rarely went inside. It was his dad’s place. His man cave, before they were called by that name.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the thirty-foot sailboat. It had seen better days.
And it would again.
His dad’s driving force had been the pleasure of bringing an old boat back to life. We’ll get to know her, bond with the boat as we refit her, he’d said.
When his father passed away, Tim lost his drive. At first it had just been too hard—unbearable, actually—to imagine taking on the project by himself. So he’d put it on the back burner, and months turned into years. The longer he put it off, the less motivation he had.
It was sturdily built, nearly half a century ago. Beautiful vintage craftsmanship. The electrical and plumbing were good, which was a huge savings, and there were no structural issues that he knew of. What it needed was a little TLC—a basic face-lift, new windows, a paint job, and reupholstering. Polishing, varnishing, and a thorough cleaning.
He walked around it two full times before climbing the ladder and stepping onto the deck. His shoulders relaxed. Man, just standing up here brought back a flood of memories. He could practically see his dad at the helm, talking over his shoulder.
He’d be happy Tim was finally ready to breathe life back into it.
With the shop expansion and his council commitments, it could take months to refit—years, even—and it wouldn’t happen without some blood, sweat, and tears. But there was no rush. He had his cabin cruiser for personal use and the yacht club for chartered tours, and he’d be working toward something. Something he’d always wanted to accomplish.
Honor. Courage. Commitment.
A sense of pride washed over him.
What was it his dad always said? The things we often take for granted are the things that matter most. His gaze fell on the bow. The antique anchor that his father had prized had once provided stability for this boat.
Now it lived on the mantel in Tim’s apartment.
An image of Emily on his couch, tracing her finger up the ink on his arm, surfaced, and in that moment, the most important thing of all struck him. When he raised this boat’s sails for the first time, he wanted Emily by his side.
She had been a constant. She’d always accepted him, no matter what. She was loyal, even after he put her through so much heartache, oblivious to her feelings. Even after she’d made a pact with herself to forget about him, she’d stood by his side and been a friend to him.
Who was he kidding? She was a hell of a lot more than a friend and had been for a long time. He was just too dense to clue in. Too busy hiding behind his fears, being afraid to trust and unable to admit that happily-ever-after could actually happen if you had a little faith.
He’d always skirted around commitment, believing it let you down, wasn’t worth it. But maybe he’d had it wrong all this time. Maybe when you had the right person by your side, commitment could give you purpose in life.
He’d hurt her, though, more times than he probably knew.
If he could convince her to give him one chance to prove himself—just one more chance—maybe they could finish what they’d started.
He patted the pocket of his coat, pulled out the mixtape, and popped it into the Walkman. He fed it some batteries and grabbed a set of headphones he kept in his truck for running. It was mild, and he felt like walking through the woods.
He pressed the Play button, and the first few notes of “Bitter Sweet Symphony” started, bringing a smile to his face. He wandered under the umbrella of branches, deeper into the tranquil forest. Each song topped the last, the most amazing blend of songs he’d heard in a long time. Just when he thought he’d heard every good song from the early days of their friendship, something completely unexpected came on, raising the bar again. Songs he’d forgotten about. Memories he’d forgotten about, like bonfires at the lake and summer road trips. Through it all, Em had been there.
What if he’d clued in back then instead of listening to the tape once and tossing it aside? Would he have connected with her? Maybe he wouldn’t have put it all together.
He damn well could now.
By the time he walked the full sixty minutes of the cassette and then some in silence, his face hurt from smiling at the collection of songs and the memories they stirred. He built a fire and sat at the cabin for a while, where he had plenty of time to process his mother’s words and bits of advice his father had drilled into him over the years. He thought of the anchor again—how pulling it up signified a new voyage.
It was high time he embarked on a new chapter, and he was c
rystal clear on one thing. That new chapter included Emily Holland.
When he got back to his truck he sent a message to Fuzzy. He had some groveling to do, and he’d need all the help he could get.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Festivalgoers filled town square on Saturday afternoon, the warm sun already raising the chilly temperature. They couldn’t have asked for better weather. Businesses geared up for a busy day, with a slew of activities happening in the square.
Emily joined her mother and Nana early in the morning for the pancake breakfast at town hall before checking in with Harlow and Lauren at Tesoro. To say the festival was a success was an understatement, and today promised to be the busiest day of all.
As much as the buzz around town pleased her, it was impossible to fully enjoy the success of the event when her heart still ached. Even though she’d managed to avoid any face-to-face contact with Tim over the last few days, she felt his presence everywhere. The newspaper article ran in Thursday’s paper. She and Tim were plastered on the front page, next to town hall’s staircase. To somebody not keeping track of the recent gossip, they looked cozy.
Like a couple.
The sugar shack webisode aired Thursday night, and despite her vows not to watch it, in the end she’d caved.
Lars had actually done a really good job producing the episode. The dialogue was charming and the music lively—like watching a montage of what had been one of the best days she and Tim had shared. She’d watched it again last night and managed not to text him.
Was he watching it and reliving it all, too, or was he smart enough to avoid the whole thing altogether?
If she were to see it again today, she would cry all over again, no question. Especially when half the vendors in town square—Connie and Bill, the maple taffy sellers, and the ax throwers—were people she and Tim had met that day.
With her maple bar restocked with cookies, fudge, and macarons, she left Tesoro in the capable hands of her staff and set off to find Fuzzy in the swarm of people cluttering the square. She’d decided not to attend the closing event at town hall tonight. With all the volunteers, she wouldn’t be needed, and she just couldn’t deal with having to see Tim any more than necessary right now. One of her self-care nights would be much more beneficial.