“We don’t do this enough,” she says, taking my hand in hers.
“I know.” I feel my eyelids getting heavy.
“You need to slow down at work. You’re working too hard.” Her other hand comes up to run her fingers up and down my arm softly, teasingly.
“I know, Kate, but if we want to be able to provide Margo with her first car, college, and a wedding, these hours I’m pulling are needed.”
“I know, I know,” she agrees, removing her seatbelt and leaning over the console between us to press her lips to the skin of my neck.
“Remember this?” she asks. “See what you’re missing.” She kisses her way up to my ear and nibbles on it.
It makes my body come alive. It’s been far too long since we’ve been intimate. I let out a hissing sound.
Her lips move back to my neck, pressing soft kisses along my neck and jaw, and her hand drops down to my lap, where she squeezes my thigh before moving it up to cup me over my pants.
“Kate, you need to get back to your seat,” I tell her, more than ready to pull this car over to have my way with her.
“Oh, come on. You used to like it when I pleasured you in the car, remember?” She pulls away with a smirk.
“That was when we were still dumb enough to know better. Put your—” I don’t get to finish the rest of that sentence because there’s a hard hit catapulting me into confusion. At first, I don’t even know what’s going on. It was so fast that the lights coming at us from her side didn’t register. It felt like getting hit in the side of the car by a freight train, a sudden, immense impact that jerked my head to the side, making it smash off the driver’s side window. Everything goes black.
I shake the memory from my head as I feel my chest begin to cave in. My breathing is suddenly hard to get control of, coming too fast and in short spurts. My heart is racing, and there’s a ringing in my ears so loud that I can’t hear anything else above it. I’m paralyzed, unable to do anything but slide down the wall onto the floor. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t think. All I can do is feel the crushing weight of the smashed-up car like it’s sitting on my chest. I feel the sticky warm blood as it runs from my head and drips onto the roof of the car. I feel the blinding pain in my head as the dizziness takes over. My eyes blur as they try to focus on the here and now and forget the dark, rain speckled highway that I was on that night.
Just like I knew I would, I see her face. But it’s not the face I fell in love with. Not the face I watched change and age over the years. It’s the face of ruin, the face of pain, the face of loss. Her eyes are wide open as she gasps for air on roof of the car. We’re upside down and I’m hovering over her, held in place by the seatbelt. Her mouth opens as she works to take in another breath. Her brows are lifted, causing lines to appear on her forehead, and her body is broken and twisted, covered in cuts and blood.
With a loud gasp, I pull myself from the memory, forcing my lungs to work properly. Margo hears the noise, and she comes running in.
“Daddy, what you doing?”
I wipe the tears from my eyes that I didn’t realize had formed. “Nothing, honey. I’m just taking a little break from unpacking. Your show over?” I ask, still unable to look at her, in fear that she’ll see something is wrong with me and worry.”
“No, I thirsty.”
“I’ll pour you some milk and bring it to you in a minute, okay? Go watch your show.”
“Okay, Dada,” she says, turning and running back out. I hear the moment she’s no longer in the kitchen, her feet now pounding against the soft carpet instead of slapping again the tile of the kitchen.
I open my eyes and force myself to take in the kitchen before me, reminding me that I’m here, not in that car, watching my wife die before my eyes. I take inventory of everything, a way I’ve learned to handle these episodes. I see the oak cabinets with their black granite tops. I see the built-in oven and white tiled floor. I see the boxes I still have to unpack on the floor, next to the stack of empty boxes I’ve already put away. As I list off each thing I see, my heart rate drops a little more until it’s finally returned to normal. As my heart slows, so does my breathing, and I’m no longer feeling the dizziness. I finally have the strength to push myself up. Slowly, I walk to the fridge and get the milk, testing out my balance. I pour some into a cup and take it to her in the living room, where she’s still in front of the TV.
“Thanks, Daddy.” She’s not taking her eyes off the screen.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, heading back for the kitchen. I place my hands on the counter and hang my head. I just have to focus on the here and now. Forget the past. One foot in front of the other. I have to remember to focus on making it one day at a time.
With everything feeling back to normal, I get back to work with unpacking and putting everything away. When I finish up in the kitchen, I go to join Margo on the couch. She’s done with her donut, and her milk is gone. She’s lying on the couch, watching TV and falling into her late morning nap.
I can’t take my eyes off her as I watch her slip away into unconsciousness. She’s beautiful, smart, and kind. I wish Kate could see her. She’d be so proud. She looks so much like the two of us mixed together, it isn’t funny. She has my dark curly hair and my dark eyes, but the shape of her face, the roundness of her cheeks, the cute button nose, and pouty lips—that’s all Kate. She’s far too sweet to get any of her looks from me too. Her fight and determination, that’s all me. I am definitely going to have my hands full when she becomes a teenager.
I push that thought away immediately, not looking forward to it in the slightest. I let myself relax, and before I know it, I’m asleep too. Only in my dreams, I’m not in Grand Lakes, Colorado. I’m back in Chicago, in college, and feeling my girl kiss my neck from the passenger side seat.
Three
Violet
The week passes, and unfortunately, I don’t see Carson or Margo again. Every time the door opens, I look up, hoping to see them walking in, but it never is. Maybe the bakery isn’t going to be a daily thing for them. Maybe it will be like some others in town: just a nice treat here and there. That thought makes me sad. I would like to see them more often and get to know the little girl I see so much of myself in, get to know her father, and become friends so that my friendship with a child doesn’t seem so weird.
I’ve all but given up on seeing them again when the door opens and Margo runs in. “Violet!” she yells, coming to a sudden stop before the counter.
I lean down with a smile. “Hi, Margo. Where you been?”
She motions toward her dad. “Home. He don’t let me leave. I’m a prisoner,” she breathes out, clearly tired of being stuck at home and it makes me laugh.
“Well, you’ve escaped today! What treat do you have in mind?”
“I want cookies and cupcakes and donuts and candy,” she starts listing off.
“Whoa, okay now. Remember what I said?” Carson says from behind her.
She takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. “Just the cupcakes, please.”
I smile and look up at him. “How many?”
“Just a half dozen, please,” he replies, already pulling out his wallet.
“Margo, would you like to pick out the ones you want?”
She runs down to the end of the display cases where the cupcakes are. “I want a blue one, a pink one, a purple one, a green one, yellow, and red.”
“Alright. Good job,” I say, grabbing one of each color.
I put them into a box and then bring them over to the counter. “Is that it? Would you like any coffee?”
“No, that’s all.” He hands over his card to pay.
I swipe it and wait for it to go through. “I bet your mommy is going to love the cupcakes you picked out,” I say with a smile.
She frowns. “Mommy is—”
“Going to love them,” Carson says, cutting her off.
I feel like I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth, so I hand over his card and receipt. “We
ll, enjoy.”
He nods as he grabs the box off the counter and drags Margo to the door.
“Why you say that?” Margo asks him, but the door closes and I can’t hear his answer.
I crane my neck to keep watching them, but they’re soon out of my view, and I have to let my eyes fall back to the register I’m standing in front of. I lean against the counter and think back on our conversation. It was weird the way he cut her off like that. He clearly did not want her telling me whatever she was trying to say. Something about her mom? Is he recently divorced? Is there some kind of trouble or story there that he didn’t want her spilling? I wish there was a way I could find out for sure, but I don’t know how. This guy clearly doesn’t have any interest in me. He doesn’t seem to be looking for friends or anything more. Why do I care so much?
The door opens and Mrs. White walks in.
I shake off my confusion regarding him. “Good afternoon, Mrs. White.”
“Good afternoon, dear. Was that Carson Evans and his daughter I just saw walk out?” she asks, moving to stand in front of me on the opposite side of the counter.
I nod. “It was. They’ve been coming by about once a week to get her special treats. She’s super sweet.” I smile.
“Well, isn’t that nice. Such a shame though. That poor man and his daughter have been through too much already.”
My mouth drops open, but I snap it shut. My brows pull together. “What do you mean? You know about him?”
She nods. “Mm-hmm, I’m on the town committee, dear. I know everyone in this town and their backstory.”
“Are you going to tell me or hold out on me?” I tease as I pour her cup of coffee and hand it over.
She smiles. “Well, word on the street is that he just moved here from Chicago. He was some high-profile lawyer there and made boo koo bucks, but his wife passed away in a car accident a couple of years ago. He and his daughter moved here for a fresh start. I guess he couldn’t stand to look at their old home anymore. So sad…”
Wow, that is sad. Poor Margo. “Where’s he living at now?”
“He just bought a place on Shadow Mountain Lake on Highway 34. It’s the big cedar place with the floor to ceiling windows. You know the one.” She points at me.
I nod. “Wow, so he must have made boo koo bucks,” I say, using her term.
She nods. “What’s all this interest in him, honey? You’re not thinking of—”
“No!” I jump to say. “It’s just a small town, you know? I know everyone that comes in here, except him. And he keeps himself so guarded that I knew he wouldn’t volunteer the information up willingly.”
She nods but offers up a sly smile like she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Anyway, what will it be today? Donuts, croissants?”
It’s been three days since he last came into the bakery, and each day that passes seems to go by slower than the last. I don’t know why, but I want to see him again. I want to feel that tingle that forms in my stomach when he’s near. I want the breathlessness when his eyes meet mine. I want to be close enough to smell him, to feel his heat against my skin. I know, I know. Stupid. He’s a single father who’s still mourning his dead wife, but still, something is pulling me toward him, and I don’t know what.
I’ve never been the overly friendly type. I make friends easy enough, but I’ve never went out of my way to do so. I’ve never forced myself on anyone who didn’t seem to want my company, but all that gets thrown out the window when it comes to Carson.
I bake a dozen cupcakes and put them into a box, without icing. Then I get a half dozen piping bags and fill them with different colored frostings. I put everything into a bag and tell Jane to watch the place while I’m gone. I bet Margo would have a great time frosting these cupcakes, and it will give her something to do up on that mountain range.
I get behind the wheel and start my drive to the lake. I’m so nervous that I nearly turn around three different times, but I manage to push through it and complete the drive. He’s going to be so confused as to why I’m here, why I’m doing this. What will my excuse be? Even I don’t know.
I pull into the drive, and the house is just as beautiful as I remember it. The entire house is made up of gray stone and cedar. The front door is painted a dark-forest green, and there is welcome wreath hanging on the door. I frown at that as I ring the doorbell. He doesn’t seem like much of a home decorator. Maybe the previous owners left it.
The door opens, and Carson is standing on the other side. He’s holding a phone between his ear and his shoulder. He frowns when he sees me there, but he motions for me to step inside. I do as I’m asked and close the door behind me. The entry way is fairly plan, with nothing inside but a desk and the stairwell to the second story, but the walls and ceiling are made up of a beautiful oak. The floor beneath my feet is cold stone with a rug in the center. The light in the center of the room is a chandelier made up of twisted twigs and sticks, giving it a nice country feel.
“Right, I understand that, but—” he says into the phone, motioning for me to follow him deeper into the house.
He leads me into the living room where he sits on the couch and bends over the coffee table with a bunch of documents scattered across it. He starts talking on the phone much faster, reading off whatever the papers say.
I stand off to the side, trying to give him privacy but also taking in this room. The floors and the ceiling are the same as the entry way, but this room is much more comfortable. There are soft leather couches, oversized chairs, and a big coffee table in the middle of them all. There’s a dark fluffy rug in the center that I’m sure would feel like walking on clouds. A big TV is in the corner of the room, next to the stone fireplace, and there is a big set of double glass doors that lead out to the back property and the lake behind the house. I can see into the kitchen from here, and the same oak walls and floor follow the entire layout of the house, with floor to ceiling windows all along the back wall. It’s beautiful here.
I hear him drop the phone onto the table. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, pulling my attention back to him.
“Oh, that’s okay. It’s not you knew I was coming.”
He stands up and closes the distance.
“Anyway, I had some overstock on cupcakes today that hadn’t been iced yet. So I thought that Margo might enjoy icing them. Here’s a dozen of them and piping bags full of icing.” I hold them out.
He looks from me, to the bag, and back. “Oh, okay. Thanks,” he finally says, taking them from my hands. “She’s taking a nap right now, but I’ll let her know as soon as she wakes up.”
I smile and nod. “Okay. The place is beautiful, by the way.” I motion around the house and property.
“Thanks. I really do like it. It’s a lot different from Chicago.”
“Is that where you’re from?” I ask, pretending like I have no idea.
He nods. “Yeah. As you can imagine, living in a penthouse apartment is very different from here. I almost can’t sleep, it’s so quiet.”
I smile. “I remember those days,” I agree.
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, here and there. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City. We moved around a lot.”
“What made you want the country life?” he asks, setting the box down on the table.
I shrug. “My life was kind of hectic growing up. My mom passed when I was young, and my dad was a drug addict. Nothing was ever stable. So when he passed, I thought about how my life was and how I wanted it to be. More than anything, I just wanted a home, something stable, and warm. So I moved here and worked at the bar until I saved up enough money to buy a place. Then I opened the bakery a little while later.”
“Wow, I never would have expected that,” he says, falling back onto the couch.
“Why not?” I ask around a smile. I almost feel like I’m standing in front of the class, giving a speech I’m not prepared for. I feel nervous under his gaze.
He shrugs. “I don’t k
now, you just seem so…normal. You seem to fit in here like you were born and raised here. You don’t seem like an outsider like me.”
I offer him a smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient. I was like you for a long time. People were so curious about me, where I came from, why I was here, what my life story was. But it goes away… eventually.” I laugh and he lets out a chuckle himself.
I don’t sit down because he doesn’t ask me to, so I stand, just hovering and feeling awkward. “Well, I guess I’ll take off.” I pull my eyes from his and look toward the door.
“Would you like a drink?”
I turn back to face him, surprised. “Oh, I…”
“If you need to go, please don’t let me keep you. I’m just”—he shrugs—“really bored and in need of adult interaction.”
I smile. “Of course. I can stay for one.”
I follow him into the kitchen, and he takes two beers out of the fridge. He turns to look at me. “Beer okay?”
“Sure,” I agree.
He uses the bottle opener to remove the cap, then hands it over. I take a sip, following along behind him out onto the back patio that overlooks the lake. We each sit in a wooden patio chair, and I have another nervous drink as I take in the sight of the lake before me.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, mostly to myself.
“It really is. I saw this place online and bought it instantly. I figured that even if the house was shit, I could tear it down and build something better. But there was nothing that compared to this lake.”
“So, what did you do in Chicago?” I ask, wanting to confirm the rumors.
“I practiced law.”
“Wow, a lawyer?”
He smiles and nods. “Yeah. It was a good job, but it kept me working over forty hours a week, and I was missing a lot of time with Margo. It was like, in the blink of an eye, she went from being a little baby to two years old. I realized how precious life is, and I was missing hers. Suddenly, working wasn’t important. Life was. Being here, being present.”
Grand Lake Colorado Series: A Complete Small Town Contemporary Romance Collection Page 28
