by Kate, Jiffy
“I just thought you might like a ride,” he continues. “This is definitely no weather to be walking in. If you got pneumonia, I’d feel solely responsible.”
Letting out another airy laugh, feeling every bit as nervous as I sound, I tell him, “You sound like my mother.”
I glance over to see Shaw wince a little at that, but if I’m not mistaken, there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“She literally just told me that like five minutes ago.”
And that’s when it happens.
The corner of his mouth turns up in a lopsided grin and he turns it on me, giving me its full-force, practically knocking me out of my seat. I resist the urge to suck in a deep breath and just swallow down my elation, pretending like him smiling at me like that is the most normal thing on earth.
“Well, thank you,” I finally manage, trying to cover up my befuddlement. I can do this. I can sit in this small space and be normal. Besides, I already know what happens when I act on my impulses concerning Shaw. It ends badly.
“You’re welcome.”
We don’t speak again for the short ride to the bar. I want to ask him if he’s planning on giving the rest of the guys a ride, but I don’t. I think I know the answer to that. When we pull up into the alley behind the bar and he puts the Jeep in park, we both sit there, still soaking in the comfortable silence.
“I didn’t know you had a Jeep,” I tell him, running my hand along the leather handle. When he stays silent, I feel stupid for making such a dumb comment. Of course I didn’t know he has a Jeep. Shaw and I have only had a handful of real, genuine conversations. It’s not like I know everything there is to know about him...but I want to.
“Yep,” he says shortly, pulling the keys from the ignition.
When I go to open the door and make a run for it into the bar, he stops me with his words.
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
Two simple words, but they are more profound than a hundred.
With my hand still on the door handle, I look back at him, meeting his gaze. His dark brows are furrowed over his equally dark eyes, upping his intensity and making me feel the depth of his apology.
I should ask for clarification, but I don’t because I don’t have to. From the way his brows are pinched together in regret, I just know. I don’t know where the regret ends, whether he’s just sorry about what he did the other night or if he’s also sorry for kissing me, but I give him a nod of acceptance.
“Thank you,” I tell him again.
A smile and an apology from Shaw, both within a few minutes of each other?
Today must be my lucky day.
Chapter 16
Shaw
Something shifted in me the night of the Brandy Debacle.
Seeing the hurt on Avery’s face cut deep inside my chest, down to a place I thought was dead and gone, along with so many other things...along with Liz. For the last five years, I’ve felt broken, numb, desensitized to everyone and everything, and I’ve been okay with it.
I had love.
I had the greatest love.
I had the love of a lifetime.
Enough for two lifetimes.
To expect a second chance would be selfish, and I’ve never been a selfish person. A dick? Sure. An asshole? Absolutely. But selfish? No. Not until two weeks ago when I made the split-second decision to use Brandy to put Avery in her place—far away from me, somewhere I couldn’t hurt her...or kiss her. Because that fucking kiss...that kiss was like an electric shock.
I’ve thought about kissing her several times—dozens of times—in the past few months, but never allowed myself to move past the fleeting thought, pushing it far from my mind each time it crept in. When she took away the forbiddenness of it all by making the first move and closing the distance between us, I couldn’t help but meet her there and take what I wanted, what I’ve been wanting.
When I drove away from that curb and left her standing there, I felt the need to run, but I also felt revived, like I’ve been on the brink of death and someone took a defibrillator to my chest.
Alive.
Awake.
Aroused.
Everything I’ve tried so hard not to feel.
The origination could’ve been from grief or guilt or pure determination to not live without Liz. I’m not sure, but Avery has somehow changed everything.
To say I was scared as shit would be an understatement.
Since then, and in the following week as I tried to make it right, I’ve had a change of heart. I realized that no matter what, I couldn’t treat her badly, even if I rationalized my behavior by saying I was doing it for her own good. I couldn’t be responsible for that look she gave me—disappointment and heartbreak written all over her face.
“So, I was thinking we could have everyone come to the cooking school for Thanksgiving. The guys can watch football here at the bar. The women can hang out in the kitchen. It’ll be nice,” Sarah says, walking up beside me and resting her elbows on the bar.
“Okay,” I tell her, because I know there’s no use going against her wishes. She gets what she wants and she knows it, which is why she’s telling me what we’re doing instead of asking.
Grabbing my coffee cup and helping herself to a sip, she adds, “And I want to invite Paulie and the guys...and Avery.”
“Did you just steal my coffee?” I ask in disgust.
“Just a sip. Don’t be a baby.”
“And left fucking lipstick behind,” I groan, pushing the tarnished porcelain her way. “You can have it.”
“Thank you,” she says cheerfully, once again, getting exactly what she wants. “So, do you want to extend the invite or do you want me to?”
“I’ll do it.” My response must not be happy enough for her because she gives me a pointed stare over the top of the mug as she takes another drink. When I give her a fake ass smile, she shakes her head and sets the cup back down.
“It’s the right thing to do, you know?” Her shoulder bumps into mine and I grunt. “We’ve never been a family who disregards people with no place to be.”
She’s right. We haven’t. That trait was passed down from our parents. Being immigrants, they were always passing along random acts of kindness. My mother said so many people helped them get here and make a life for themselves and they felt responsible to pass that kindness on.
“You’re so much like them,” she whispers with a hint of sadness in her tone, the same tone she always takes on when speaking of our parents.
“You are too,” I tell her, bumping her shoulder back softly.
“They’d be really proud of you,” she adds. “So would Lizzie.”
With that statement, I feel my chest tighten like it usually does when her name is mentioned in conversation, but I also notice that the squeeze isn’t life-threatening like it used to be. A few years ago, after Lizzie and then the death of my mother and father, I could barely stand to walk past any place Lizzie and I went together. I let the bar go to shit, kept the cooking school in the exact state it had been when we stopped working on it, never ate at the Palace Café, only walked down side streets to avoid places we took daily walks...I avoided life and everything good that was left on this earth.
And any time anyone brought up her name, I died a little inside.
I know it should’ve been the opposite, I should’ve loved hearing her name spoken. I should’ve cherished people’s memories of her. I should’ve wanted to feel like she could walk around the corner at any time. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
My therapist told me it was normal, because grief doesn’t have a formula.
Everyone is allowed to handle death anyway they want, except for checking out.
He never let me check out.
Neither did Sarah.
She’s been my accountability partner for thirty-eight years and she certainly didn’t stop when Liz died. She checked on me, cooked for me, and later, when I was ready, she pushed me to move on with life.
At first, the movements were small—I took down the Christmas lights that had been up since Lizzie went into the hospital and dumped out the dead plants from her funeral.
Then, together, Sarah and I opened the bar back up.
And more recently, she pushed me to re-open the cooking school. That was partly for me and partly for Sarah, but mostly for Liz. We remodeled it exactly to Lizzie’s specifications.
She loved that place and her visions for it. She spent hours talking about it and daydreaming about it. She wrote down recipes and ways she could tweak them and make them her own. She had paint swatches picked out and floor plans drawn. It was the driving force behind her first time in remission.
But then the cancer came back and all of our energy and focus turned to getting her better.
She died six months later.
Three weeks after Christmas.
The fact that date is looming hasn’t gone unnoticed, which is probably why Sarah’s making even more of an effort to keep me out of my own head and focused on something positive—something I can control.
I can host Thanksgiving and I can invite my employees, even Avery.
“Okay, listen up,” I say, clapping my hands together to get everyone’s attention. Paulie is talking quietly with Avery. Jeremy and Kevin are cutting up, per usual, and Charlie is watching everyone with a pleased expression on his face. I have to admit, aside from my lingering reserves regarding the kid, which I’m still not ready to let go, the whole crew has really gelled and they’re making a great staff. Even after a weekend like we just came off of, which could give Mardi Gras a run for its money, they hung in there, made the customers happy, and in turn, made me pretty proud.
“What’s up, boss?” Paulie asks, directing his focus at me and bringing the rest of them in line. They follow him and that’s what makes Paulie a great manager. He fills in everywhere and anywhere I need him to, and he helps Sarah out a lot. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.
However, Avery definitely gives him a run for his money. For being younger, she’s intuitive and smart. She handles the customers and herself with grace and ease. I can’t help but appreciate that about her.
“I’m not sure what y’all have going on for Thanksgiving, but I want you to know we’ll be having dinner next door and you’re all invited.”
“Dude, like with turkey and dressing and everything?” Jeremy asks, his eyes growing wide at the prospect.
“And cranberry sauce and rolls and pumpkin pie,” Sarah adds, smiling from her spot beside me. “And a full helping of O'Sullivans.”
“Yeah, my shithead brothers will be here too,” I tell them, in full disclosure. “And their wives and a few kids.”
Charlie, the new guy, pipes up. “Man, like a real family Thanksgiving.”
That comment fucking tugs at my heart a little, I’m not gonna lie, so I try to lighten the situation back up before I get all emotional about the fact that most of these guys haven’t had a real family holiday in a while, maybe never. “If you’re into that sort of thing,” I tell him, scrunching my face in mock displeasure.
“What can I bring?” Paulie asks.
“Just yourselves,” Sarah tells him with a soft smile. “I want you all here and plan on spending the day with us. Let us show you how much we appreciate all your hard work and dedication.”
When I breathe sharply out of my nose, Sarah pokes me with her elbow.
“Even though Shaw is a man of few words and even less praise, we,” she says with a pause and sideways glance my way, “appreciate all of you. And we want you to know you have a place at our table.”
I watch as Avery’s face softens and she gives Sarah a smile that’s equally happy and sad.
“I wish I could come,” she says softly. “But I bought a bus ticket yesterday, so I’ll be headed home for a few days.” She pauses, her eyes going wide. “Oh, shit. I hope that’s okay. I’m planning on leaving late Wednesday night. I could work for a few hours. And then I’ll be coming back on Saturday morning. I meant to say something, but I hadn’t really decided if I was going or not until yesterday.”
“That’s fine,” I tell her gruffly, but I don’t mean it to come out like that.
“Okay, well, I guess that does it for our Tuesday meeting.” This time, it’s Sarah that claps her hands together and dismisses the group, everyone going about their business.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner,” Avery says quietly, fidgeting with the tie on her apron. “I should’ve. I’ve just been in such limbo and—”
“It’s fine,” I tell her again, this time a bit softer than earlier. “Take all the time you need.”
Her eyes finally meet mine and I hope she sees the sincerity there. It really is fine. We’ve never been big on policy and procedure around here. If you need a day off, you take it. There’s always someone around to pick up the slack and if there’s not, I’m happy to step in. I’m definitely not above bartending or bussing tables. I used to do pretty much everything, but lately, my staff has grown and I’m not needed as much.
When she nods her head and diverts her gaze, I feel a small twinge of regret. It’s ridiculous though, so I push it down and bury it.
I’m not sure why I wanted Avery to meet the rest of my family, but it’s probably a good idea she’s going home.
Better for her.
And better for me and my weakening walls.
Chapter 17
Avery
“I can’t thank you enough, CeCe.”
She unlocks the door to her apartment and pushes it wide open, allowing me to step in first. “Stop thanking me. It’s my pleasure, really. Besides, once you see how tiny it is, you may change your mind.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve spent the past few months living in one room. You have rooms, including a kitchen, and actual space to move around. I swear, I’m in heaven.”
As I look around the apartment, I can’t help the huge grin that spreads across my face. Exposed brick on the walls, windows that face the French Quarter, the already mentioned kitchen, and the fluffy couch that will be my new bed while I’m here all contribute to my joyful mood. Throw in CeCe’s eclectic decorating style that obviously spilled into the coffee shop below us and I immediately feel at home. Temporarily, of course.
CeCe lowers my duffle bag to the floor by the couch. “I still can’t believe you only have two bags. That bastard better send you the rest of your stuff when you get your own place.”
“To be honest, I don’t want any of it. I mean, I’d love to have my books and pictures back, but those can be replaced. As for my clothes,” I shrug, thinking about how most of my wardrobe in Houston wasn’t really me anyway, “he can keep them all. He can even wear them, for all I care.”
Laughing, CeCe wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a side-hug. “You really are better off without him, you know. And I’m so proud of how well you’re doing here. This place is better now that you’re here.”
Her words hit me hard and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from tearing up.
“Oh, no you don’t. None of that crying shit. If you cry, then I’ll have to cry and then we’ll have to pig out on ice cream and my jeans are tight enough at the moment.”
She’s full of it, of course, but this time her words make me laugh and all desire to cry is gone.
“So, make yourself at home and help yourself to anything in the kitchen or bathroom you might need. I have to get back to work, but I’ll be back in time for us to do an early dinner, okay? You’re more than welcome to hang out downstairs if you get bored, but don’t feel like you have to. Enjoy your afternoon off work!”
Once CeCe has left, I head straight to the wall of windows and look out. I can make out the cathedral and shops, as well as hear the mixed sounds of people chatting and street musicians playing. People-watching while sitting in an air conditioned space is pretty much the best of both worlds and, again, a rush of gratitude slams into my chest.
CeCe’s words
about this place being better now that I’m here, whether she meant New Orleans or her apartment, was just the validation I needed to know I’m doing the right thing. It seems crazy but, fulfilling my dream and moving here, thriving even, gives me the confidence I need to go home tomorrow. I won’t be returning a failure, I’ll be visiting my family for the holiday and then coming back to my new home.
I guess that means it’s time to call my mama and let her know to be expecting me and that I’ll need a ride from the bus station. I could rent a car, but I don’t want that kind of expense, besides, my daddy would never allow it anyway, even if I offered.
“Hey, baby, everything okay?”
“Of course, Mama. You sound a little out of breath. Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes, I’m at the grocery store and you know how crazy this place is the week of Thanksgiving. I normally don’t wait this long to do my shopping, but I was trying to give you extra time to decide if you were coming or not. I don’t suppose that’s why you’re callin’, is it?”
She sounds so hopeful and I immediately feel guilty for waiting until the last minute to make my travel plans.
Before I can give her the answer she wants, she starts talking again. “I almost forgot to tell you, I saw Brant yesterday.”
The sound of his name has my blood going cold and my smile fading.
Brant is back home. Of course, he is.
Shit.
“Baby, he looked just awful. I’m sure he’s sorry for whatever happened between you two. Haven’t you forgiven him by now? It would be very romantic for you two to make up over the holiday. I hope you don’t mind, I invited him and his mama and daddy out to the farm for dessert. It’s not Thanksgiving without family and friends, right?”
I have to remind myself that she has no idea what she’s asking me to forgive before I lash out and say something I might regret. There’s no fucking way I can go to Oklahoma now. I don’t even care that I just wasted money on a bus ticket.
“Mama, I’m sorry, but I was calling to say I won’t be able to be there for Thanksgiving. Also, I’d really like it if you’d stop trying to convince me to forgive Brant. We’re over. Like, really over and I don’t want to see him ever again.”
