by Liz Talley
Once she’d overheard her mother confiding to Tippy Lou that since she and Rex had been unable to have any more children, celebrating the day Ellery had come into their lives had been important to them.
“About that,” Daphne said, sipping her tea and rubbing her pointer finger along the grout lines of the tiled counter. “Since I’m in the middle of this remodel and have the book tour, I think we need to go low key this year. I called Josh to see if he has plans, but he never called me back. So what do you want to do? Your fiancé is in school, your besties all live out of town, and you have two jobs, so maybe this year we just have a nice dinner and call it a day? Or do you want to plan something more?”
Even though Ellery didn’t want to feel hurt, she did.
A nice dinner? And Josh hadn’t even bothered to discuss her birthday celebration?
Of course, she was turning twenty-three, and she’d just given a diatribe on being an adult, so it wasn’t like she could be upset that her mother was treating her like one. But for some reason her mom pretending like Ellery’s birthday was just another thing to check off her list felt like salt in a cut—the same way she’d felt every time her mother had canceled on her or had been too busy. Not to mention it was the first birthday she’d celebrate while being engaged. She’d imagined Josh doing something romantic—a picnic and perhaps a nice piece of jewelry—but now she wondered if he’d even given a passing thought to her birthday. Her life felt more and more shitty every day. “Sure, whatever is easy. I better get busy.”
A buzz and ding came from the direction of the bench by the back door where she’d left her bag. She grabbed it and her tea and started toward her mother’s office, where she had a small table with file folders, a laptop, and tons of padded mailing envelopes for signed books. She looked down at her phone and clicked the text message from Josh.
Sorry about last night. Make it up 2 U this weekend. Hate 2 do this but can’t go to movies 2night. Group’s gotta meet. Sorry. I <3 U.
Of course he was bailing. And what was with all those stupid 2s? He was a med student, not a middle schooler.
Ellery fought back the tears threatening to make an appearance. She’d waited up for Josh with the wine he’d asked for, wearing a soft cotton men’s undershirt with hot-pink panties and her hair in a messy bun. She’d left scented oils on the nightstand so she could rub his shoulders, but instead of getting the intimacy she’d been craving for weeks, she’d gotten a text that said he and Drew had misjudged the time they needed to study. He’d be later than he’d planned. Oh, and did she remember they needed milk?
Effing milk? The man obviously thought about milk more than he thought about the woman he was supposed to love.
She’d thrown the book she’d been pretending to read across the room, angrily turned off the bedroom light, and lain awake for an entire hour thinking about everything from “accidentally” cutting a hole in his favorite Vineyard Vines waxed canvas jacket to throwing her diamond ring in his face when he finally decided to show up at the town house. Or maybe she would just get the dog she’d threatened to adopt every time she saw a plea on Facebook or Instagram from a local rescue. Then she would let Fido or Lola chew his good wool socks and get dog hair all over his pillow. Finally, with no more envisioned punishments for her beloved, she’d cried herself to sleep.
“Are you okay?” her mother called as Ellery slid past the old baker’s rack that held half-dead plants and silly paintings she’d done in grade school perched on easels.
“Sure. I’m fine.”
Her mother moved toward her, concern evident on her face. “You don’t sound fine.”
“I am.” But her damned voice trembled.
“Elle, is it the birthday thing?”
“No, I don’t care about my stupid birthday.” Ellery turned away and blinked up at the fluorescent kitchen lights, trying to hold it together. “It’s not that.”
“Baby.” Her mother’s soft voice was her undoing.
One tear fell. Then another. She didn’t want to admit things weren’t good, but she was so tired of holding everything inside and failing at making things work. “Mom, things are so messed up, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it.”
“What do you mean? With Josh? Is it . . . cheating?”
“No,” Ellery interrupted, wiping a hand across her face. Her emotions were a dam with a crack spidering down the center. Water kept leaking out. “It’s just that he studies all the time and never comes home. He cancels all of our plans, even the movie tonight. He promised he wouldn’t cancel again. I just feel so . . . so . . .”
“Helpless?” her mother finished.
Ellery nodded, well aware that she looked ridiculous crying over her fiancé doing what he needed to do to make a better future for them. She was a spoiled princess, a silly woman who couldn’t suck it up for a year or two to give her future husband what he needed. Weak wasn’t even the word for what she was. “It’s stupid, but I didn’t realize it would be so hard. I mean, I work, and everything’s okay when I’m at the store or here. It was hard enough to get past not getting the internship and having to slink home, but I cheered myself up with the thought that I would be here with Josh and that I could plan the wedding, be supportive, get experience working retail, just all the things that sounded so good when I said them, but in reality suck. I’ve never felt like this before, Mom.”
Her mother’s arms came around her, and for once she didn’t fight against the intrusion. She needed someone to touch her, to give her some comfort. “I know, sugar. Growing up really stinks. Imagine having to do it with a toddler and a husband who was trying to make enough to pay the electric bill. Adulting isn’t for the faint of heart, but don’t worry. Things will get better. It’s just been a hard few months adjusting to a big change.”
Even as she took comfort, aggravation reared its head. Of course her mother would compare Ellery’s misery to her own . . . and of course her mother’s life had been much harder. “I know. I just didn’t expect to be so sad all the time.”
“So let’s plan something that gets us out of town for your birthday. I’m tired of dust everywhere and the hammering going on at all hours. You need a getaway, and so do I. Let me call your friends, and we’ll put our heads together for a fun surprise.”
“You don’t have to do that. And it doesn’t have to be a surprise. Dinner is fine.”
“You love surprises. Keep the last weekend in October open, okay? Or maybe the first in November. Make sure they don’t schedule you to work.”
Ellery sniffed and wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “You don’t have to do that, Mom. It’s silly. I’m too old for—”
“No, I want to.” Her mother set her hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Now go mop up your face and start thinking about a cute outfit to wear for your birthday weekend. Where that will be, I’m not sure. I’ll call Madison, and we’ll think of something.”
She nodded, wishing that she didn’t feel so happy at the simple thought of a birthday weekend celebration. God, she should be beyond her mother having to cheer her up. At that moment that guy from the vineyard, uh, Gage, popped into her head. He smirked and shook his head. Spoiled little girl.
“Sure. That would be . . . that gives me something to look forward to.” Ellery smiled and accepted that though she should be more of an adult, she needed someone to care about how she felt. And her mother may drive her crazy sometimes, but Ellery knew deep down she was loved.
CHAPTER NINE
The morning fog skated around the twisted trunks of the grapevines covering the slopes of the East Texas hillside as the sun welcomed the day with a golden softness that made Daphne’s mouth curl up at the edges. Something this serene demanded appreciation.
Daphne had arrived at the bed and breakfast chosen for Ellery’s birthday weekend late last night and had slept in, ensconced in the gorgeous mesquite wood sleigh bed, serenaded by the waves from the sound-machine alarm clock. The cup of hot tea in her hand and the promise of
quiet on the rustic porch had nudged her into the chill of the autumn morning.
Sommelier House Bed and Breakfast, located on the grounds of One Tree Estates, an East Texas winery, had been the absolute best idea for Ellery’s birthday that Madison had ever had. Ellery had been raving about the wines grown a stone’s throw from Shreveport for a month or two and had claimed she’d wanted to visit, so it would be a perfect surprise. Ellery’s girlfriends were in charge of getting the birthday girl to the vineyard. They would arrive that afternoon after having spent the morning getting pedicures and facials. All Daphne had to do was go over the menu with the catering staff, decorate the living area of the on-site private house she’d rented for Ellery, Josh, and their friends, and maybe squeeze in a tasting in the vineyard’s large barn-turned-retail-center. Or she could be talked into a craft cocktail at the adjacent distillery.
Either way, a drink was on her agenda because once the crew arrived, there would be no time for quiet reflection.
The past few weeks had been exhausting. Not only had she been avoiding Clay like the plague, but her entire house was torn apart. Her Mardi Gras book—Dixie Doodle and the Missing King Cake Strudel—was coming out in a month and a half, and her new one was due to her publisher in a week, and she had only half of it completed. She’d spent the last week sleeping at Tippy Lou’s, which at least aided her in avoiding Clay but hadn’t helped her productivity.
Clay Caldwell had been the most pleasurable mistake she’d ever made, but their one night of horizontal mambo had been a mistake nevertheless. A typical one-night stand would have been easier to face the next day. She knew how women did it in the movies—a gal had too much to drink, stumbled up to his hotel room, and then the morning after, hooked her high heels in her fingers and tiptoed to the elevator, never to be seen again. But Daphne had slept with her contractor, a man she saw every day, a man she had to stand beside and pick out kitchen drawer pulls with.
Yeah, she was beyond brilliant.
Her only consolation was that Clay seemed to know the score. After all, his casual remark of “It’s just sex” had cemented her tumble into his arms. Sounded crass to suggest she’d been just scratching an itch, but that’s pretty much all it had been. And if she needed an itch scratched again, she wouldn’t rub up against a guy she could never have an actual relationship with because he was wrong for her in every single way she could think of . . . except maybe in bed. They’d been good there.
Of course, Daphne hadn’t made it through the morning after before Clay cornered her on the back patio and flipped her self-assurances about the night before being no big deal upside down.
“Wanna try for some afternoon delight?” Clay had drawled, stomping onto the porch when she emerged not five minutes after Ellery had left.
“What? Uh, I don’t think—”
“Come on now, I thought we’d established that thinking was overrated?” His smile should have made her weaken, but she’d girded herself with guilt, logic, and the image of her daughter’s face when she’d talked about “appropriate” guys and her reputation as a sane children’s author. Nope, Daphne wasn’t falling for his sexy teasing. They were one and done.
“Uh, Clay, I’m not sure that’s necessarily true. Thinking definitely has its place in life.”
“Aw, come on, babe. I’ve been thinking about last night all morning and waiting for Ellery to leave,” he said, looking around to make certain no one was listening or watching them. None of the workers were because why would they? “I keep thinking about those sweet little sounds you made when you came. And, Lord, Daphne, you know how to treat a man.”
Daphne moved away from him, trying not to turn the color of the maple leaves that had begun turning a punchy red. Dear Lord. She liked making those noises. Really, really liked them. “Uh, Clay, last night was . . . exactly what I needed, if I’m honest. It’s been a long time since I felt that good. But you and I, well, it’s not a good idea.”
He made a face. “Why? Because of Ellery?”
“Yeah, that and the fact that we’re not suitable.”
He’d laughed, and she’d had to punt away the awareness that he was an awfully sexy man. Her body still hummed when she thought about the night before. But her mind warned that saying yes to Clay would be like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. It could happen, but it would be a hell of a mess.
Nope. One and done. That was her mantra.
“Come on. Suitable? What’s this? A Victorian melodrama?” Clay asked.
“You know what a melodrama is?”
Clay stopped grinning. “You know, most people assume I’m as dumb as a stump. I’m not. I chose to go to vocational school and start my own business because I know my gifts. Doesn’t mean I’m stupid, Daphne, and I would expect you of all people to be able to look beneath the cover of the book.”
Shame burned in her gut, something she’d grown too accustomed to in the last twenty-four hours. “I’m sorry, Clay. That wasn’t kind or fair. I realize that you’re more than just a pretty face.”
He smiled. “Thank you, but being pretty ain’t half-bad, as you should know.”
She hadn’t felt pretty in so long. Yes, she felt shame for what she’d done, but dwelling right beside it was the pleasure of feeling desirable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that way. If she were guessing, it was a few years back when she’d been walking Jonas and a guy had whistled at her. The homeless man hadn’t had many teeth, so she wasn’t sure how valid it was. She’d been surprised he could still whistle with such a lack of enamel. “No, it’s not, but being attractive is not all you have going for you, Clay. That was unfair.”
“Thank you. So why don’t you want to see me tonight? We had fun.”
Daphne swallowed. “We did, but it’s like you said. Just sex. And I, uh, I don’t think we should continue to . . . have it.”
His gaze narrowed. “So you think it was a mistake?”
Yeah. Big-time. After all, if she hadn’t read that book and drunk a bottle of wine, there’s no way she would have slept with someone a decade and a half younger than she was. In fact, there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t have even slept with a man her own age. It had been a moment of insanity, born from an unnatural compulsion to have sex, and she wasn’t going to give in to something like that again.
“Clay, it’s not that it was a mistake, per se, it’s that I am not that sort of woman. Nothing about sex is casual to me, and since you and I are more likely to spontaneously combust than enter into a relationship, I can’t do what we did again. You understand? It’s not that you weren’t terrific—you were—it’s that I can’t be that person.”
“So you’re saying it was a mistake.”
“No, it’s just not something I want to repeat, if that makes sense.” One and done. One and done. One and—
“So you’re looking for a relationship, huh?” Clay scratched his head as if he hadn’t been expecting that from her. “I guess that’s what all women seem to be looking for. Commitment.”
Daphne smiled. Clay said it like most men—like someone had sneezed all over their rib eye steak. “Maybe. I’m not sure. What I do know is that you’re young, and what you’re looking for is not what I’m looking for.”
Clay stared at her for a few seconds and then shrugged. “You got me figured out, I guess. I’ll get back to work now.”
Daphne watched him walk away and felt uncomfortable with how everything between her and Clay went down. He’d be working on her project for at least a month more, but she’d danced the dance, and now her fiddler was calling for his two bits.
So for the next two weeks, she’d lain low because it felt like the thing to do. When Clay asked something of her, she was friendly and courteous, but she didn’t spend any idle time chatting with him . . . or checking out how nice his butt looked in the work pants he wore. She suspected he was a bit miffed or confused by her professional demeanor, but he didn’t say much. Sometimes she caught him watching her,
but she tried to avoid him as much as she could. As for her libido, Daphne ignored the impulses that arose when she thought back to that night, when she remembered how good it felt to be held and loved. She wanted that again, but she wanted intimacy on the right terms. Sneaking around with a man-child, even one as good in bed as Clay, while fulfilling in the short term, wouldn’t sustain her soul.
Daphne longed for a partner who would do just that—a man who would challenge her . . . a man who would sit with her on a cool fall morning, sip tea, and not say a word because none were needed.
Her phone dinged, and she lifted it from the edge of the rail on the screened porch.
Rex.
Coming to vineyard for the kiddo’s birthday. Hope that’s okay. Madison invited me. Got the last room in the B&B. Hope we can talk.
Daphne closed her eyes. “Nooo.”
Since the divorce, she and Rex had managed to be civil because that was what dutiful parents did. Things weren’t bad between them, but then again, both of them had given up on each other, and that knowledge sat there like a fat slug between them. Daphne had looked forward to an easy weekend, and nothing was easy about Rex and never had been.
From the beginning, Rex demanded attention. With cherub cheeks and blond locks, Rex had been the boy in class who twisted teachers around his pinkie while manipulating others into doing mischief so he didn’t get caught. They’d been in Miss Kilgore’s kindergarten class together, and Rex was the kid who always won student of the week, the first-place ribbon in the sack race, and a trip to the principal’s office to choose a prize for spelling the most words correctly. Rex laughed loudest, ran fastest, and let the girls catch him when they played kiss chase at recess. His top-feeder status didn’t change as they meandered through middle school and arrived in high school.
