by Daria White
“Babe?” Andrea’s voice said. “I’m going to Paris!”
“What!” His body jerked. Thank goodness he didn’t feel needles in his skin.
“I got another gig and I couldn’t pass it up.”
He shook his head just as Mrs. Nelson returned.
“Don’t move,” she said. “Unless you want another round of pins, hold still.”
Chantelle covered her mouth as if to stifle her giggles.
Lance rolled his eyes before returning to his conversation with his fiancé. “Babe, I don’t think your taking another gig is good timing right now.”
“That’s why I called your mother already. She’ll help you.”
He sighed. “I appreciate the thought, but I’d rather have you here.”
“Lance, did you hear what I said? I’m going to Paris!”
“Babe—”
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lance. You know how much this means to me. Why can’t you be happy for me?”
“I am happy for you, but—”
“Lance, I have to go. I’ll call you back later, and we can talk about it more. Okay.” She hung up without allowing him to say goodbye.
Chantelle brought the phone down from his ear. “Is everything okay?”
“Are we finished yet, Mrs. Nelson?” he asked. He didn’t answer Chantelle’s question.
***
Chantelle didn’t respond to Lance, noting the clenching of his jaw. What made him so upset for his eyebrows to furrow? She wouldn’t ask him again. Instead, she smirked.
Lance raised an eyebrow. “What’s the sneaky smile for?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Sneaky? Me?”
His eyes squinted at her. “Chantelle?”
She gestured as if she were zipping her lips.
Lance blew out of his cheeks. “Fine.”
“How about late lunch early dinner? Have you eaten today?”
He shook his head. The most he had was a bagel and coffee.
“My treat?”
“Sure.”
After Mrs. Nelson finished her measurements, and Lance changed back into his clothes, he walked side by side with Chantelle to Jasper’s Diner. Chantelle clutched her purse to her side.
“You know what’s weird?” She asked.
“What’s that?”
She paused in her walk. “Being back here. The other times I’ve visited, I don’t think I had the chance to take it all in. Delta Heights looks the same, but different somehow.”
Lance smiled. “It hasn’t changed much.”
“You still love it here?”
He stared at her. “It is home, right?”
She bobbed her head. “Agreed.”
Once they walked through the front door of the diner, she spotted several fruits and meringue pies displayed in glass domes. Metal napkin holders sat on each table along with salt and pepper shakers and a bottle of ketchup. A long counter with stools spaced along it seated a few customers.
“Want a booth?” Chantelle asked.
Lance pointed to an empty one in the corner. “Sure. Haven’t eaten here in a while.”
She settled into the cushioned seat. “Why’s that? This was the spot back in high school.”
“The key word being high school.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked into a smile. “Have you brought Andrea here yet?”
“She’s never been to Delta Heights.”
Chantelle’s mouth dropped open. “Andrea hasn’t been to your hometown?”
“Is this off the record?”
She tilted her head to the side. “I’m not all business.”
“No, she hasn’t been here.”
Chantelle couldn’t help but wonder why? The woman he was pledging his life to didn’t know where he came from. If this was his home, why didn’t she want to share it with him? Chantelle didn’t want to pry, but leaned in closer. “So… her first time coming will be the wedding?”
“She’s not into small towns. She’s a city girl.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I live in Chicago.”
“But you know where your heart is.”
She swallowed. “I don’t understand why she hasn’t been here. She doesn’t come to see you?”
“I’m traveling anyway, so I fly out to see her when I can.” He picked up the laminated menu.
Chantelle did the same. She read the options for meatloaf, burgers and fries, grilled cheese, and patty melts. Cutlery clinked in the background along with the clatter of change hitting the tables. She inhaled fragrant coffee and meat grilling.
“What’ll it be?” The waitress asked, placing glasses of water on the table.
Chantelle lifted her chin, only to spot an old friend. “Mildred?”
“Chantelle Woods.” Mildred put her hands on her hips. “As I live and breathe, what are you doing back here so soon?” The corners of her eyes crinkled. Her ivory skin glowed and she pulled her brunette hair back into a messy bun.
“I’m here for a story,” she said.
“I hear you’re a famous reporter now.” Mildred’s sea-blue eyes twinkled.
“The Wedding Report.”
“Well, the only person I know getting married in town is…” Mildred stopped mid-sentence and turned to face Lance. “Lance Taylor.” Her eyes diverted between the two of them. She cleared her throat, taking up her notepad and pen in her hand once more. “What can I get you two?”
“I’ll have the cheeseburger and fries,” Chantelle said.
“I’ll have the same.” Lance sipped his glass of water.
“Coming right up. Good to see you, Chantelle.” Mildred took their menus and walked away.
“Awkward.” Lance rested his forearms on the table.
Chantelle didn’t blame Mildred’s response. The history between her and Lance? No secret. For those who knew, they sympathized with the young couple. Some even said they were two kids trying to right their wrongs.
Chantelle recalled her first Sunday in church after the... incident. Pastor Franklin and the community church had embraced her, sending her off to college with a care basket. Even some women in the women’s group sent cards and letters to encourage her.
As she sat across from Lance, who scrolled on his phone, she couldn’t help but remember their mistakes. Her parents had been right. What did they know about love back then? Her mouth twisted into a grin, recalling how Lance would sing to her what he called their song, “Young Love” by Chris Brown.
Chantelle had believed him. He had told her it was them against the world, but that was the calm before the storm. Life had trampled them as ruthlessly as the hoof of a horse trampled a rose.
She played with the bracelet on her wrist. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Lance raised his head from his phone. “So profiling your ex’s wedding doesn’t bother you?”
She licked her lips. “No.” Liar.
He gave a half smile. “I’m glad.” He ran a hand down his face. Setting his phone to the side, he focused on her. “So what’s up with you?”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “How’s Chicago? Any friends? How’s work outside of the story you’re writing about me?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “What do you want to know?”
“How come I haven’t talked to you in ten years?”
She sat back in her seat. “I would come home to visit family, Lance. You were off at school or traveling for work. It’s not as if I haven’t been here.”
“For ten years? Not one phone call.” He frowned.
“It’s not like I heard from you either.”
“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just as guilty.”
“What would we have said to each other, anyway? There was... nothing to talk about, I thought.”
He didn’t respond. Did he agree?
Moving on, Chantelle answered his question. “Work’s good though. I’ve come up as a reporter.”
Lance
took another sip from his chilled glass of water. “I see, but why weddings? I thought you’d be international by now, reporting on more... serious issues in the world or owning your own newspaper.”
He thought she was that good? If only her colleagues thought so. “I like weddings.” That would suffice for now.
Lance’s nose wrinkled. “That’s it?”
“I enjoy writing and I want more serious toned stories, but I enjoy showcasing true love. It inspires the readers. What about you? Still happy at your dad’s law firm?”
“It’s work,” he said, and turned his attention to the large window.
Chantelle poked her tongue into her cheek and inhaled a deep breath. “Do you still want to be there?”
His gaze diverted back to her. “For now, Chantelle, it works for me.”
She sat back in her seat. “Okay, I won’t ask anymore.”
He sighed. “I don’t mind you asking, it’s just been…”
“A long time since we talked.”
He bobbed his head. “I don’t know how to open up like you do. That was always your strong point. You know how to make people comfortable. You talk as if no time has passed. As if…”
“If what?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Never mind.”
Chantelle reached to pull a napkin from the overstuffed holder, but she ended up ripping it. Lance chuckled.
“You could have helped,” she said.
“And miss the show?” He grinned.
“So I’m great for a good time, laughs, and a pretty face.” She could bite her tongue for letting something so personal slip from her mouth. “Never mind. That did not come out right.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who’d rather keep things to himself,” he said.
She wrung her hands together, refusing to respond.
Chapter 11
Television sets affixed to the walls in front of the cardio equipment: treadmills, stationary bikes, stair climbers, and elliptical machines. Lance jogged in place on the treadmill as Grant worked with the elliptical machine. Music along with heavy breathing, grunts, and groans occupied his hearing. Sweat slid down Lance’s neck and back while the pleasant burn of his muscles took over. His feet pounded the treadmill.
Nothing personal. The thought repeated in his mind like a commercial. He exhaled puffs of breath. He needed to slow down, but he was past no return.
Only a few more weeks and his troubles would be over. Trouble? Not the best way to describe his situation, but how did a man handle his future wife and ex at the same time?
He had friends that took pride in having more than one woman, but for Lance, it only increased the tension in his head. Thank goodness Chantelle had moved on with her life. He couldn’t handle it if she harbored bitterness towards him.
He ran harder. Sweat dripping from his nose. His t-shirt clung to his skin. He pictured himself walking into her hospital room. He had panicked seeing the blood. Lance called 911 that night since Chantelle had needed help. He’d been clueless. Making those fateful steps to her room had been brutal.
It was the right thing to do—at least that’s what his parents convinced him.
“You have your whole life ahead of you,” his mother had said.
His father had only nodded. “Listen to us, son. You and Chantelle are young. I’m proud of you for wanting to do that right thing, but this is too much for teenagers.”
Lance had sat in the empty hospital room with them, listening to their opinion on his relationship. If he had stayed, how would he support Chantelle? Lance hadn’t gotten that far. Then everything changed.
“Want to slow down there, bro.” Grant panted.
Lance’s muscles twitched as they reached the end of their endurance. He blocked out the memories. If only he could run from his problems. If only he could stop the tug-a-war inside. It tempted him to have Andrea to call off the wedding and meet her in Paris. They could get married with no hassle.
He huffed. She’d never go for it. Andrea loved the camera and being in the spotlight. Lance despised it. Why did the world need to know?
He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. Simple. Why did their wedding guest list have over five hundred people? Half of them, he didn’t know, but between Andrea’s celebrity friends, his friends and family, and his father’s business partners, not inviting them would do more damage than good.
Chantelle’s face flashed in his mind once more. She would’ve listened to him, instead of brushing his feelings under the rug. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone listen. He didn’t have to fight for his place with her. She always understood. Except that one time.
Her eyes were cold as they bored into him that night. “Are you kidding me?”
He didn’t respond.
“You want it to be... over?” Her bottom lip had trembled.
“I can’t handle it. Can you?” Lance had to be honest.
“Get out.” Her voice chilled his bones. Her stare burned like a burning coal in his soul.
He stepped forward. “It was a mistake. Can’t you see that?”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “I should have known. Why did you even ask me?”
He couldn’t lie to her. “I love you.”
She turned to her side. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”
Lance’s heart raced as he pumped his fists. He couldn’t think about it anymore. It wasn’t fair to Andrea—or to him.
“Lance?” Grant called out again. “Slow down.”
“Why?”
“So you won’t fly off that thing,” his friend said.
Slowing the speed, Lance switched from running to a slower pace. He grabbed his nearby towel, dabbed his forehead dry, and wiped behind his neck.
“What’s up with you?” Grant asked.
“Too much going on.”
“The wedding?”
“That. Your sister’s back in town. My mother’s taking over the wedding, and Andrea who wants to take another modeling gig in Paris.”
Grant bobbed his head. “Wow, that is a lot.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Anything I can do? We can move up your bachelor party.”
Lance chuckled. “No, I can wait on that. Besides, I have work to catch up on when I get home.” He waved his hand to dismiss his comment. “I don’t want to talk about me anymore. What about you?”
“Elise wants kids.”
Lance winced, but hoped his discomfort didn’t show. He would listen to his best friend. “You don’t?”
“I do, but it makes me nervous.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you be? Having a—” Grant shut his eyes as if realizing his mistake. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t be. I’m cool.” He wouldn’t admit the truth right now. “I say learn as you go.” He gulped from his water bottle. “Nobody’s perfect and you’ll do great.”
“Thanks.” Grant wiped his own sweaty forehead. “You sure I can’t help with anything?”
“Like what? Picking out the food for the reception?”
Grant laughed. “I guess you’re right. Not my thing either. Still, you can’t go wrong with chicken.”
A laugh escaped Lance’s mouth. “According to Andrea, maybe chicken or fish. No beef.”
Grant choked. “What! No beef?”
“That’s what I said. A man needs a burger sometimes. Even your sister eats burgers.” Did that slip out of his mouth? He and his best friend didn’t talk much about his past with Chantelle. Grant and he had only grown closer in the last few years. Lance didn’t blame him for wanting to protect his sister. Though they buried the hatchet, Lance treaded lightly when discussing Chantelle with Grant.
“What’s up with you and my sister?” Grant asked.
“Nothing. We ate today at Jasper’s Diner. Nothing major.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” What more did he need to do? Get his word in writing?
His fr
iend bobbed his head. “Cool, but do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Don’t hurt her.”
More sweat formed on Lance’s brow. He wiped it away. “Shouldn’t you worry about her hurting your best friend?” It was a long shot, but Chantelle wasn’t the only one who suffered heartbreak. He may not have expressed it as she did, but he blamed himself for years. Was the stress too much for both of them? They’d gone behind their parents’ back after both families had decided what to do.
Grant watched him. “She’s my sister. I’m not getting into who’s right and who’s wrong. Just be careful—both of you.”
“Will do.” The message from his best friend was obvious. Lance was to stay away from her.
***
Chantelle held her cell to her ear, dreading to hear Brenda’s comment on her notes so far with Lance. He was such a private person and there was no way he would spill details on him and Andrea. She felt sorry for him.
How was he supposed to feel with his life under a microscope? Living in the spotlight wasn’t easy, especially in a small town like Delta Heights. What could Chantelle say? They loved that a local was getting married.
“Any good news?” Brenda asked, not bothering to say hello.
“Hello, Brenda. Did you get my email?” Chantelle rubbed the back of her neck.
“This is not what I expected. There’s no romance in this. Does he even love this Andrea?”
Chantelle swallowed. “He does. Lance Taylor is just very private. This is still his relationship.”
“I understand, but he is a celebrity. Celebrities give up those rights once they become famous. Lance Taylor is no different.”
Blowing out her cheeks, Chantelle shut her eyes for a moment. She never condoned exploitation. It was not acceptable in her eyes, but it didn’t matter to her boss. At least Brenda was better than Edward Lyle.
She could see his sky-blue eyes. Working at The Hillside as a reporter proved to be an exciting task. Being fresh out of graduate school, Chantelle loved every minute. Though in his late fifties, the man ran the newspaper like an assembly line. There was a downside. He didn’t care about the talents of his employees. It was about the circulation numbers. When Chantelle came at the height of the newspaper, she caught the eye of Edward.
“Do you think you can make it out there?” He had asked, with his deep raspy voice. The corner of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “It’s better if you let me help you get there.”