Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Cheer up, woman. You had a holiday.”

  I couldn't talk myself out of being sad, though. Not this time. Six years ago I'd managed it. But now that he'd gone and betrayed me again, I found my sense of humor was slightly less acute.

  I cooked myself supper and went to bed. I was so sad as I lay there, feeling the emptiness all round. I cried myself to sleep.

  “Mrs. Hendricks!” Marcelle greeted me cheerfully when I walked into work next morning. “Great! How was it?”

  “It was nice,” I said neutrally. I closed my eyes, wishing her not to pry. “We should get the scones mixed, hey?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “It's so good to have you – I was worried we would run out of premixed dough before you got back...good that you made so much of it! We went through three lots yesterday, and two on Saturday.”

  “Wow,” I commented. “That's all of it.”

  “Yeah,” she chuckled. “I was scared I'd get stuck with it...but no-one makes scones like you do, Mrs. Hendricks. Fluffy and crumbly and good.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks.”

  As she complimented my work, I recalled Drew sampling my baked goods. It gave me sweet sorrow. I closed my eyes. Why did the damn man have to keep on popping up in the most unlikely ways?

  “Mrs. Hendricks!” Kelsey said behind me, bouncing out of the café part of the shop excitedly. “Welcome back!”

  I smiled at her, feeling my heart soften a little. With her big blue eyes and fluffy ponytail, it was hard to feel anything but innocent joy around her. “Thanks,” I said. “I hear you did really well on Monday.” Well, Marcelle hadn't actually mentioned that, but it was worth extrapolating.

  “Oh!” I was pleased to see Kelsey blush with pride. “Thanks, Ms. Hendricks.”

  “Sure, Kelsey,” I said.

  I watched her skip away, visibly more confident. At least I made someone's day, I thought dully. I felt so bad myself. It was nice to see someone else happy when I wasn't sure I could even remember how to be.

  I went through to the back to answer the phone. As I wrote down the order I found myself remembering the way I'd met Drew again so suddenly. And our dinner. And everything that came after that.

  “Oh, for...” I closed my eyes, every memory of him painful. He had made no attempt to contact me since we returned. Admittedly, neither had I. But I would have thought something simple like, “did you get back safely,” would have been in order.

  “You think the buns can go in now?” Marcelle asked quietly from my left-hand side.

  “Oh.” I blinked. “Sure. Scones should come out. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Hendricks.”

  She had noticed there was something bothering me, I could just tell. Marcelle was a quiet person, sweet and also incredibly perceptive. She was keeping an eye on me, subtly stepping in to help, making sure I didn't forget little things like the fact that the scones were in the oven and might crisp.

  I took them out and set them aside to cool, then got straight into mixing the pastry for tomorrow's croissant delivery.

  “Whew,” Kelsey said, coming in with a bright smile. “There's a stunning guy out there, Ms. Hendricks.” she was fanning herself, face bright red, and I chuckled.

  “Let me see?” Marcelle asked.

  “Marcelle!” I said. I shook my head in surprise. Marcelle was always so level-headed. I wouldn't have thought she was the type to go and ogle sexy young guys. I laughed as the two of them peeked round the partition that divided kitchen and front-of-house, like two naughty kids.

  “I have to see too,” I said. My curiosity was overwhelming me. What did this guy look like, to have both Kelsey and Marcelle staring round the counter at him like kids seeing the Christmas tree?

  I peered round the partition.

  “Where is…. oh!” I shut my mouth as Kelsey shushed me, then pointed surreptitiously at the table in the front.

  “There.”

  There was a boy there of perhaps nineteen, with flax-pale hair and big brown eyes, shoulders like a footballer. He looked up at Kelsey and smiled.

  “Oh...” Kelsey made a little high-pitched sound and I wanted to smile. I ducked quickly back into the kitchen and Marcelle did as well.

  We looked at each other and grinned.

  “Stop smiling, Ms. Hendricks, it’s serious,” Marcelle whispered hotly. We both giggled.

  “I'm perfectly serious,” I said, failing dismally to hide my smile. I felt happy for Kelsey. But at the same time, it made me feel a little sad. Wistful, I guessed. I remembered what it was like to feel like that. So innocent and exciting and new.

  Come on, Allie, I told myself. Every time you fall in love, it feels like that. Whether you're eighteen or thirty-two, it makes you feel just as silly, just as excitable.

  When Kelsey came back in we were both leaning on the partition with admirably-straight faces.

  “Guys? Where...oh!” She looked at us and we couldn't help it. We both grinned at her. She went bright red and then started laughing too.

  “You guys!” she teased us. “You're just...uh!”

  I laughed. “We're not teasing you, Kelsey,” I said. “Promise.”

  “No,” Marcelle said fondly. “It's not that. We're happy for you.”

  She blushed. “Thanks, guys.”

  The growing affection between Kelsey and the footballer-guy was so sweet that I felt my frosted heart start to melt a little. I looked at her flushed, pretty teenaged face and Marcelle, her lovely face soft and full of care as she looked at Kelsey in her love-flushed happiness.

  “I love you guys,” I said. I felt my heart expand and my throat closed up, all my emotions blocking it.

  “Aw, Ms. Hendricks,” Marcelle said fondly. “We love you, too.”

  She gave me a spontaneous hug and I clung to her a moment, feeling indescribably like I wanted to cry. I let her go and shook my head, chuckling.

  “It's like family in here,” I managed to say. Kelsey giggled.

  “You two are like sisters,” she said. I smiled at her.

  “I'm honored, Kelsey. Truly. I would have liked a little sister like you.”

  “Aw! Thanks.” She blushed and squeezed my hand and then hurried out to the front-of-house. I guessed she was taking Mr. Football his bill.

  I leaned on the kitchen-counter-top, feeling nostalgia and tenderness and sorrow all mix inside me like a strange and poignant cake-batter.

  I'm just glad for the love I do have in my life, I told myself. Whatever Drew does. However much I wish I was young and carefree like Kelsey and hadn't learned not to trust.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Drew

  I drove to the hospital after dumping my things at my apartment. I felt my heart thumping and I swore as the traffic crowded around me.

  “Come on!” I yelled. “I can't just stall here. Start going.”

  I tried to make myself be patient – it was Monday morning, everyone's work day – and finally the traffic was thinning out and I was heading up to the hospital. I got out and ran up from the parking to the front door. I slipped inside, trying to still my nerves.

  “Good morning, sir?” a woman said. She was dressed in a nurse's uniform and I drew a breath to gather my thoughts.

  “I'm looking for Ms. Bronson?” I said. “I'm...I'm not a relative, exactly, but...” I trailed off. Somehow I'd gotten the impression that they only let relatives in to see people who were in Intensive Care. Would they let me see her?

  “Oh,” the woman frowned. “Carrington Bronson?”

  “Yes, that's right.”

  “If you'll just come with me?”

  I followed her down the maze of corridors, her thick-soled shoes soundless on the lino flooring. I felt myself start to get stressed. I had been in a hospital only once. That was, when my friend Nic broke his leg in a sporting accident. We all came up from the school and I remembered the brightly-painted ward and trying to smuggle candy in for him. Such innocent things!

  No
w, I was thirty-five and I was visiting a dangerously-ill woman.

  “Mr. Bronson?” the nurse called, as we came to a halt outside a door.

  I saw someone stand from where they'd crouched over a bed. It was Mr. Bronson but he looked so different. His gray hair was barely combed, his eyes ringed with bruising from sleepless days. He seemed shrunken somehow, his usually larger-than-life presence muted and frail.

  “Drew?” he said. He looked at me strangely, then recognition dawned and he grinned. “Thank goodness! Nurse, he's like family. Let him in.”

  “Okay, Mr. Bronson,” she said lightly. “Don't stay longer than an hour,” she said. “Visiting hours end at twelve.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I turned from her as she went up the hallway again and mutely followed Mr. Bronson, chief shareholder and worried father.

  “Is she...”

  “Shh,” he cautioned. “I don't want to wake her. Doctor says she needs her rest.”

  I nodded and joined him, looking at the bed. Carrie was asleep, her strong, proud face slack with sleeping. Her black hair was swept back from her brow and it looked as if someone had been sitting at her bedside, stroking her head. Her father, I guessed.

  “Carrie,” I murmured.

  She looked ill, somehow. I didn't know if it was the fact that her face had sunken so alarmingly, or the gray shadows around her eyes. It could just have been a trick of the ward's dim lighting – one fluorescent strip high up, its dull hum the only sound in silence.

  “She's sleeping now,” Mr. Bronson said, though it was obvious that was the case. “She was feverish earlier.”

  “What is...” I hesitated. How was I supposed to ask him what was the matter?

  “Her kidneys,” he said succinctly. “It was so sudden. So sudden...” he shook his head, looking at his hands. I frowned.

  “Is she okay now?” I asked.

  “She's stable,” her father said quietly. “Some kind of infection. We don't know what or how. Just...there, all of a sudden. Doctor said it could have been latent for months. I didn't know she was so sick. How didn't I know?”

  I didn't say anything. Carrie always pushed herself too hard. The combination of living on far too little to eat, taking creatine to build muscle tone and not sleeping enough had all wrecked her health. She always tried to be perfect – the young socialite, her daddy's pride and joy; the ace lawyer. She once told me she couldn't risk looking anything less than magazine-worthy when she went out, so she wouldn't embarrass her parents. I could have been angry about that – I felt protective of Carrie. Whatever else, she was my friend.

  I don't want to say anything recriminating. He feels bad enough now.

  “I'm just so grateful she's alive,” he murmured. “I just...I never appreciated just...just having her.”

  He was blinking rapidly now, throat tight with tears he was holding at bay. I walked over to the window, giving him the dignity to cry. I looked out over the city, the skyscrapers stretching into the air like stiff, cold fingers to grip the leaden sky.

  When I turned around, Mr. Bronson had stopped crying. I looked down at the bed.

  “She looks like she's going to get better,” I said softly.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “The doctors say she can be discharged next week if she stays stable.”

  “Good,” I said. I felt myself suddenly get tired. I sat down heavily on the chair on the other side of the bed. The room was silent except for the sound of breath and the gentle humming whisper of electronics.

  “She was asking for you,” Mr. Bronson said as he, too, sat down.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. We spoke softly, so as not to wake her.

  “She wanted to tell me off?” I asked, a smile coming unbidden to my face. Always honest, Carrie had some very forthright ways of telling me when I'd crossed some boundary.

  Her father chuckled. “No. Not this time. No, son. She wanted to tell you she was sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I frowned. “Why? She never did anything to hurt me. Not ever.” I was bemused.

  “She thought she had,” he said with a sigh. “She thought she'd let you down. Not managing to make things work out. She thought she'd driven a wedge between you and old Bradford.”

  I shook my head. “No way.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know. I can't believe it either.”

  “She thought that was her fault?” I was stunned.

  Her father gave a mirthless chuckle. “Yes. I tried to tell her, but she thought she'd let you down.”

  I felt as if he'd pulled the floor out from under me. “Carrie!” I said. I hadn't meant to speak so loudly. Her father gave me a furious glare and I cringed. “Sorry.”

  We both watched, nervously, as she stirred. Her eyelids twitched but she didn't wake up. I let out a sigh.

  “Whew. Sorry,” I said again, the merest whisper. “I didn't mean to disturb her.”

  “I know,” Brent Bronson said. “And I know you didn't mean for her to feel that way.”

  “No,” I said. “Thanks,” I added, belatedly. It didn't really make me feel any better, but I was glad he didn't blame me.

  We both sat and watched Carrie where she slept.

  I'm sorry, I thought numbly. I had no idea how much pressure you were under. I should have known. I've known you for almost ten years, after all.

  She stirred and rolled over. She seemed to be peaceful. I felt uncomfortable, seeing her so vulnerable. It brought back memories of our time together. I had slept with her, after all. Sitting beside her made me remember that intimacy. And right now, I didn't want to remember that. It felt disloyal to Allie.

  Oh, man! I shook my head at myself. Why did I make my life so complicated?

  “I guess we're not helping here, right?” her father said softly. “We should probably go. It's the doctor's round soon.”

  I looked at the clock. We'd been sitting here almost an hour. “I guess,” I said numbly. I stood. “You coming?”

  “I'll stay a bit, son. You go on.”

  I nodded and patted his shoulder, then headed out of the room. I walked past the nurse as she came back to the room. I didn't say anything to her and she didn't say anything to me. Her glance was sympathetic and I guessed she thought that Carrie was...

  What is Carrie to me, anyway? I had never really stopped to think about it. She'd been in my life, in some extent or other, since her father joined the company. We were friends. I thought she was as honest with me as I was with her. But she had hidden from he how much stress she was under. And how responsible she felt.

  “Mr. Liston?”

  I frowned. “Yes?”

  “I'm Dr. Harrow. Ms. Bronson's doctor.”

  “Oh?” I shook the man's hand. “Pleased to meet you.” I was frowning. Why would he know who I was? “Did you need to ask me something?”

  “No, no...” he shook his head, smiling. “I didn't mean to worry you. You must be busy. I just wanted to tell you that Carrington is stable now. We expect – if she carries on responding this well to the antibiotic – that she should be able to be discharged next week.”

  “Good,” I nodded. “I'm glad to hear it. How...has she been sleeping this heavily since she came in?”

  “She's been sedated so she can sleep. We're reducing the dose. She should be feeling more awake by this evening. So if you come back then, she should be awake.”

  “Oh. Good.” I nodded. I looked at my watch – it was eleven am. I really had to go. “I'll probably do that,” I said quickly. “When's visiting hour?”

  “Between five and six.”

  “I'll be there,” I promised.

  I hurried out into the street.

  Whew.

  Out there, the clouds were still overhead, though the morning was starting to show signs of warmth. I walked briskly to my car and sat down heavily behind the wheel. I felt drained.

  “This is hard.”

  I had never had to contemplate someone I cared about – really cared
about – being sick before. Much less being dangerously sick and in intensive care. Sitting there had been the weirdest feeling. I had looked down at her and felt such a wrongness, that someone so young and talented and vulnerable should be brought to that state.

  I wish I could tell Allie...

  Of all the people I knew, I wished she could be here with me. To talk to, to help me to make sense of it all. She was good like that. She never judged. She always let me talk. Let me work it out of my system.

  “Oh...Allie. I didn't call her.”

  I felt embarrassed suddenly and I reached for my phone and scrolled through the contacts. I sent her off a quick message as I reversed out of the parking-space and headed into the parking-lot.

  Am safe back. Let me know you are too? Thanks.

  I sent it, my mind already taking the drive to work.

  I need to finish the budget presentation and sign those papers Melody gave me. I should prepare the talk for the shareholder's meeting too...oh shit...

  I was stressed and frazzled and feeling pushed before I even walked into my office. When I sat down at my desk I took a deep breath.