by Taylor Dean
“Yeah, pretty much. Work has a way of filling the void.”
“What void?” I pause and look directly at him.
He turns and meets my gaze. “The void in my life after you left me.”
A normal conversation couldn’t last between us. I should have known better.
I say nothing because I’m not ready to tell him that I was in New York, that I saw him, that I know everything. No, I take that back. I’m ready to have the needed conversation, but not here, not now. Customers can enter the store at any time and I don’t want to be interrupted. I hate that he doesn’t know why I left him. I also hate that he doesn’t feel the need to confess his mistakes and take the blame for our break up. He’s acting as though it’s all because of me.
“That isn’t fair,” I whisper.
“How so?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” Either that or he’s faking it.
“Remember what?”
“This isn’t the time or the place to rehash it all.”
“But you do think we need to talk?”
“Yes, I do. I think we have unfinished business.”
“Me too. I feel like we parted mid-sentence six years ago.” Jace approaches and picks up the dirty bowls and utensils surrounding me on the counter. He stands so close, I can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes. “Do you want me here, Shay?”
I have no idea how to respond. I want Jace. I’ve always wanted Jace. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want in life.
“I don’t know what I want.” It’s the truth.
“I know exactly what I want.”
I swallow and it turns into a gulp. “And you do whatever you want.” My tone is a tad bit cutting. So much for keeping things civil.
“True. We’re adults. Within reason I do whatever I want. Don’t you?”
“Not if it hurts someone in the process.”
His expression turns questioning. “Did I hurt you, Shay?”
“You know you did.”
“I don’t understand. What did I do?”
The bell on the bakery door jingles once again, alerting me that customers have entered the store. “Excuse me.”
This conversation is not over.
Maybe he doesn’t remember what happened the night I was there. But he knows what kind of life he was leading in New York. It kills me that he’s acting all innocent. It hits me that I’m waiting for him to confess everything. I realize that’s what is holding me back from throwing everything I know in his face. I don’t want to be the first one to bring it up and force a confession out of him.
I want him to tell me willingly.
It looks like I might be waiting a very long time and the thought saddens me.
A regular, old Mrs. Terry, is entering the bakery, struggling as she tries to manage her walker and the swinging glass door. Before I can take two steps, Jace is holding the door for her and taking her by the crook of her arm to help her to the display case.
I’ve always loved his gentlemanly ways. He never hesitates or waits to see if someone else will help. He’s the first one to respond. Even at the barbeque on Saturday, he was there helping Mia and Grayson pull the whole thing off. Plus, he left a solid job in New York to take his turn helping his mom. Impressive.
“The usual, Mrs. Terry?” I ask.
“Yes, Shay. You know I love breakfast for lunch. Your waffles are the best.”
“I’ll have them ready in just a few.” I go back into the kitchen and pour the batter into the waffle iron. While the waffles are cooking, I slice strawberries.
Jace joins me and asks, “You’re making waffles?”
“Yep. Waffles with no grains, gluten, dairy, or sugar. Depending on your diet, they can be topped with homemade almond butter, pure maple syrup, or sliced strawberries. Customers come in at all times of the day for them.
“Huh. I look forward to trying them. Sort of.”
“They might surprise you. They’re made with chickpea flour, coconut flour, tapioca flour, and hazelnut flour.”
“I give. Throw one on for me. The smell alone is making my stomach growl.”
When I’m done helping Mrs. Terry, Jace walks her outside and ensures she’s safely seated in her car, engaging her in conversation and making her laugh.
I watch him through the glass storefront with an ache in my chest. He’s so perfect, it scares me.
But his weaknesses scare me even more.
When he returns and finds me watching him thoughtfully, he folds his arms and leans against the doorjamb. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s staring and neither do I. I have no idea what he’s thinking. Truly, I don’t know him at all anymore.
His gentlemanly ways remind me of an event from our childhood and I decide to voice it. “One of my favorite memories of you is the time when we were sitting in church and the other boys were kindly sticking spit wads of paper in my hair—unbeknownst to me—and laughing about it. I think I was around twelve at the time. When you noticed what they were doing, you stopped them and carefully removed the mess from my hair. You told the other boys that was no way to treat a girl. I was in love with you even then.”
“The feeling was mutual, but you were too young for me and I was scared to admit I had a crush on you. Why do you think it took so long to get that paper out of your hair? I was taking my time about it.”
“And here I was commending you for being such a gentleman.”
A half smile appears on his face and he lets out a short laugh. Then he sobers and says, “You’re not too young for me now, Shay.”
I breathe in and out very slowly and shakily. “What do you want from me, Jace?”
“If I answer that honestly, I promise I will scare you away.”
I swear my heart skips a beat or two. Maybe three. “What do you want from me right now? Maybe that’s an answer I can handle.”
“Okay.” He looks down for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “I would love to take you to dinner one night this week. It would be nice to get to know each other again and have a chance to talk.”
And give him a chance to be honest with me. I need him to be upfront and truthful. If not, we’re going our separate ways once again. Game over.
“All right, Jace. I’ll go to dinner with you. Just don’t read too much into it, okay? It’s only because we need to talk. I’m not ready for anything more.” I hate sounding so harsh. But I don’t want to lead him on. Or lead myself on.
“Fair enough.”
“No offense.”
“Why is it that people always say no offense right after they say something offensive? I’ve never understood that.”
I see a flash of pain wash over his features. He hides it quickly, but it was there. I saw it. Maybe he really does have strong feelings for me still. I’m holding my cards close to my chest, revealing nothing. I certainly don’t want him to know how much he still means to me.
I don’t apologize for being honest. “You make a good point.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should be a lawyer. Oh wait, I am.”
I can’t help but laugh. But in my heart, I wonder if his mom is right and he’s a broken man. I wonder if his humor is a cover for something deeper within himself. I aim to find out.
There’s one thing I know for sure that he may not realize. We can never be friends. Love and passion will ignite between us as if it’s the law of nature. We are either together or apart. There’s no in between, no friend zone. It’s one or the other.
Still, I want to get to know the adult Jace. Maybe it’s a new and improved Jace.
Maybe.
I motion toward the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s eat waffles.”
“Thank goodness. I was about to get down on my knees and start begging.”
Do that, Jace Faraday, and throw in a heartfelt apology while you’re at it. Toss in a confession and tell me you’re a changed man, and you’ll get a lot more than waffles.
So much more.
CHAPTER
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br /> Eight
TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT. Jace is taking me out to dinner. I have no idea how it will go. I figure it’s fifty/fifty. Fifty percent chance of total disaster and fifty percent chance of complete catastrophe.
The odds are against us.
I steel myself for an uncomfortable Thursday evening. At the same time, I’m ready to face him. My thoughts are whirling as I feed Brit her dinner. I place her on the booster chair, cut up her food, and snap her bib around her neck. She’s a good little eater, but she doesn’t like to be sticky. A spill on her shirt leaves her devastated. I’m not complaining at all. I love my ultra-feminine little girl.
The doorbell rings thirty minutes later as I’m just getting Brit into her pajamas after a warm bath. She’s cuddly and sweet smelling, my little bundle of love. I run down the stairs to answer the door and see Jace standing there in perfect fitting jeans and a button-up shirt. His jet black hair is styled in that just-woke-up-look and the hint of aftershave tickles my senses. He’s well-groomed in a sleek kind of way. His sleeves are rolled up on his forearms, his jeans hit his loafers at just the right spot, and his watch catches the light of the porch light and shines in my eyes.
I refuse to be blinded by his handsome good looks, even though my heart is trying to escape from my chest. There’s so much more to a man than a striking physique. I learned that lesson the hard way.
Still, he does have a striking physique. Just saying.
“Hello, Shay. You look beautiful.”
I chose to dress casually in jeans and a blouse. I curled my long hair in loose waves. Feeling as though I look good is definitely a confidence booster and I feel ready to have a serious heart-to-heart. I hope the conversation goes that way.
Brit holds her hands up to Jace and says, “Tuck me in.”
“You bet.” Jace picks her up and she cuddles up to him. I love how quick he is to hold her in his arms. There’s no hesitancy at all. My child doesn’t scare him. He gets major brownie points for that. He pats her back and his eyes wander up to mine. I wish she was his child. More than anything.
“Okay, Jace can tuck you in.”
“And Mama,” Brit adds.
We climb the stairs together and place Brit in her toddler bed. Jace covers her with the blankets and I place her favorite teddy bear in her arms.
“Goodnight, beautiful Brit.” Jace kisses her forehead and I swear my eyes prick with tears. Why does he have to be so darn perfect?
Brit asks Jace to read her bedtime story and I hate to say it, but he does it better than me. He adds a bit of a dramatic flair to the story that Brit loves.
“I wuv you,” Brit mumbles as her eyes close.
I think loving Jace Faraday must run in our genes. There’s no other explanation for her taking to him as quickly as she has.
He turns and leaves as I close her drapes and turn out her light. When I reach the top of the stairs, he’s standing at the bottom, looking up at me with serious eyes and furrowed brows. I see the worry in his features and I know he feels the same as me, wondering if we can make it this time around. As I near him, he holds out his hand to me. I accept it and our fingers intertwine tightly. I’ve missed his touch.
“Don’t you break my heart, Jace. I won’t survive it.”
“Never,” he whispers. “C’mon, let’s fall in love all over again.”
I gasp at his words and stop dead in my tracks. “Don’t say that.” I don’t want to be under his spell, but there’s no doubt that I am. Even though I made it clear this was a night to talk, I think we both know where this will lead. I need to stop kidding myself. Tonight is the equivalent of letting him back into my life. He knows it and so do I.
“I’m not sorry,” he says boldly. Yet, his face is a mask of devastation.
“I told you . . .”
“I know. Don’t say it, I get it. We’re two old friends having dinner, that’s all. Let’s leave it at that for now, okay?”
He doesn’t know what I expect from him this evening. He’s on shaky ground. If he messes up, the only falling that will happen will be out instead of in.
I turn to see Mom watching from the living room and I can see the concern in her eyes. “Have a lovely evening,” she says.
Please let this night be lovely and not ugly.
As we walk down the front sidewalk, he holds my hand in his and it feels so good and familiar. Then he says, “I bought a car last weekend. You’re the first to ride in it.”
It’s a sleek, silver Honda Civic sedan. “You didn’t have a car?”
“Nope. Never needed one in New York City.”
I don’t want to think about New York City life. It’s the life I wanted with Jace and it was denied me. Once we’re in the car, surrounded by the smell of brand new leather, I tell him, “I hate to say this, but I miss your old Nissan.”
“That was a great car. It held a lot of memories.”
Like our first date. Our first I love yous. Our first kiss—and many more thereafter. What kind of memories will this car hold? I can only hope they will be good.
At a stoplight, we hear a voice from the next car over yell, “Hey, Jace! Great to see you!”
It’s one of his old high school buddies. When he notices me in the car, he yells, “Hey, Shay! Just like old times!”
Yes, just like old times. The reflection in the mirror has changed a bit, and the trappings in our lives are very different. But here we are, just like old times.
“How does that always happen to you?” I ask.
“No clue. I swear.”
We both laugh about it, but I know my laughter is a little forced while his is light and easy. Jace was always the guy with the easy smile and friendly words. He was liked by all and was one of those people who never once met a stranger. I loved that about him. Even so, it became a joke between us. If we went to the mall, we always ran into people he knew. If we went to the movies, we always stopped to visit with acquaintances. If we walked down the street, people would yell, “Hey Jace!” from the windows of their cars, just like tonight. Somehow Jace always seemed to know everyone, as if he was everyone’s friend.
Sweetwater is considered a small town, but I hardly know everyone in it. Then or now.
Jace parks in front of a new Italian restaurant. “Is Italian still your favorite?”
“Yes. Thank you for remembering.”
We walk in and there’s a large chalkboard announcing the special—chicken parmesan with homemade gnocchi on the side. Yum. “That sounds delicious.”
We share a small smile and he says, “I think so too.”
Without missing a beat, Jace pulls out my chair and I take my seat. Chivalry is not dead. I haven’t had to touch a door all evening. His mother instilled good manners into him and I love it. I think of Spencer’s words and I realize this is something I really do love about Jace. It has nothing to do with physical attraction or his handsome good looks. It’s something about his personality that I absolutely love. When I really think about it, I’ve never known him to be unkind to anyone. As a matter of fact, in high school he was the defender of the socially awkward. I suppose that’s why being a lawyer suits him. He enjoys helping the underdog.
Vague memories wander through my mind. I remember a student dropping his books in the school hallway and Jace helping to pick them up while other students laughed at the poor kid. I remember a freshman who cried because he couldn’t unlock his locker and he was frustrated. Jace taught him how to work the lock like a pro. I remember students making fun of a lower classman and Jace telling them to knock it off. And they listened.
Such small things, but they speak to his character. There are reasons why I loved this man so much. He’s intrinsically good on the inside. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.
Our candlelit table is secluded in a corner of the darkened restaurant. I love the immediate privacy it affords us. The flickers from the candle dance in Jace’s eyes and I tell him, “This is nice.”
He holds my
hand from across the table and I let him. “Yes, it is.”
The waiter approaches and asks if we would like wine. Jace shakes his head in the negative and asks him to please remove the wine glasses.
I wonder if it’s a temptation to him. If so, he’s rejecting it with apparent ease. That’s a good sign. Maybe he was able to beat the habit.
The waiter hands us the menus and Jace tells him, “No need. We’ll take two specials.”
Like a car skidding to a sudden stop, my mood abruptly changes. My heart drops to my stomach and the romantic atmosphere instantly vanishes. Slowly, I pull my hand away from his. I stare at the table for a moment, my chest heaving with every breath. I can’t do this. Never again. I promised myself.
“Shay? Are you all right?”
I stand quickly and my chair falls to the ground behind me. I don’t even care if I’m making a scene. I turn and march out of the restaurant. If I have to walk home, I’ll do it. I’m so done with controlling men.
I’m outta here.
I hear footsteps behind me as I pound the pavement with a brisk stride. I know it’s Jace.
“Shay! Wait!”
He reaches me and places himself directly in front of me. I can either stop or plow right through him. I choose to stop.
“Shay, what’s wrong? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t need someone to make all of my choices for me, okay?”
He shakes his head while splaying his hands. “Okaaaaay,” he says slowly, clearly having no idea what I’m talking about.
“Why did you order for me? Why? Do you think I’m not capable of choosing something for myself? I can read the menu and order for myself you know. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
He steps back as though I hit him, a perplexed expression marring his features. “I know you can. I-I thought you wanted the special. You said it sounded delicious.”
“It does sound delicious. But I would like to look at the menu and make the decision for myself. Maybe I don’t want the special and maybe I do. I’m not sure until I look at the menu and decide for myself. Me. I will decide what I eat.”
